Rain soaked the clearing, cold and relentless, washing the smoke and blood from the air—but not from Arnav's mind.
Pranati lay limp in his arms.
Her head rested against his bare chest, her breath shallow but steady, lashes wet with rain. She looked fragile now. Human. Unaware of how close she had come to death.
Arnav walked through the downpour slowly, every step heavy with shame.
"I almost…"
His voice broke. He didn't finish the sentence.
The jungle thinned into a deserted roadside. A single streetlamp flickered weakly in the distance, its light struggling against the rain. Arnav stopped beneath it.
He closed his eyes.
The air shifted.
With a low hum, the ground trembled slightly, and a simple iron bench rose from the earth as if it had always been there—rain-slick, solid, real.
Arnav gently lowered Pranati onto it, careful as if she might shatter at his touch. He adjusted her head, easing it onto his folded shirt, his fingers trembling when they brushed her hair.
For a moment, he only stood there, rain pouring down his back, his breath uneven.
Then his jaw tightened.
"Enough."
He lifted one hand, palm open.
The rain froze midair.
Droplets hung suspended like shards of glass, trembling, before dissolving into mist. The clouds above thinned unnaturally fast, as if pushed apart by an unseen force. Within seconds, the rain stopped completely.
Silence followed.
Arnav stepped back, staring at what he had done—at how easily the world obeyed him now.
Fear flickered across his face.
He turned back to Pranati.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice raw. He knelt beside her, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the ground. "I swear… I didn't want this. I never wanted to become this."
His hand hovered over her shoulder, hesitant, afraid of himself.
"You were right to run," he murmured. "Anyone would."
He swallowed hard, eyes burning.
"I don't know what I am anymore," he confessed to the unconscious girl. "But I know one thing… you should never have crossed my path."
A faint breeze stirred, lifting a strand of Pranati's hair across her cheek. Arnav gently brushed it aside, his touch fleeting, almost reverent.
He straightened slowly, forcing distance between them.
"I erased your memory," he said softly. "You won't remember my face. Or my mistake."
His gaze lingered on her for one last moment—too long.
Then he turned away, shadows already beginning to cling to him again.
Unseen, the OM mark beneath Pranati's sleeve pulsed once… faintly.
As if it had recognized him.
Arnav turned to leave—
—and froze.
His eyes fell on the broken scooter lying a few feet away, its body cracked, handle twisted, pieces scattered where he had slammed it in rage. A sharp wave of guilt hit him harder than any spell.
"This too…" he whispered hoarsely. "Because of me."
He stepped toward it and knelt.
For a moment, he hesitated—afraid of what his hands might do again. Then, carefully, as if handling something sacred, he raised his palm.
The air shimmered.
Metal groaned softly as the scooter's shattered parts pulled toward each other, aligning with unnatural precision. Cracks sealed. Bent iron straightened. The broken mirror reformed, clear and unblemished. Even the scratches vanished, leaving the scooter exactly as it had been—whole, ordinary, harmless.
Arnav exhaled shakily.
"Go home safely," he murmured, as if Pranati could hear him.
Headlights suddenly cut through the stillness.
Arnav stiffened.
A car slowed and stopped near the roadside, its engine still running. The door flew open before Arnav could move.
"Bhaiya!"
Ranav was out first, panic etched across his face. Arav followed a second later. They didn't stop to ask questions. They didn't look at the rain-soaked ground or the faint scorch marks nearby.
They ran straight to him.
Ranav crashed into Arnav's chest, gripping him tightly, as if afraid he might disappear again. "Don't ever do this again," he choked. "Don't ever leave us like that."
Arav wrapped his arms around Arnav too, voice shaking. "We were so scared, Bhaiya."
Arnav stood frozen for a heartbeat.
Then his control finally broke.
He pulled both of them into his arms, holding on with a strength that trembled. "I'm sorry," he whispered again and again, his voice thick. "I'm so sorry."
Arnav's gaze drifted briefly back to the bench… to the girl lying unconscious, untouched by memory.
No one noticed the faint glow beneath her sleeve.
And far away, something ancient felt a pull it did not yet understand.
To be continued…