Morning— Where Breath Learns Routine
Woke before the alarm. Not startled. Not rushed. Just awake, as if the body decided sleep had done enough damage for one night. The ceiling fan hummed unevenly, blades cutting stale air into something tolerable. Morning light pressed through the window in thin bands, pale and undecided, touching the room without committing to warmth. Fingers reached instinctively toward the side table. Coffee first. Always coffee. The bitterness settled somewhere behind the ribs, grounding thought, sharpening edges. Steam rose, slow and patient, and for a moment everything aligned — breath, posture, awareness — like the world had paused just long enough to let me stand upright inside it.
Movement under the blanket. Small. Precise. Kaali shifted closer, a dark shape curling tighter before unfolding one golden eye. Fur swallowed the light instead of reflecting it, edges blurring like smoke that chose to stay solid. Tiny wing-buds twitched once, reacting to nothing visible.
"Morning," she said. One word. Enough meaning.
"Debatable," slipped out, quiet, familiar.
Sitting up brought the usual awareness. Fingers brushed the center of my chest without thinking. The triangular scar rested there — clean lines, sharp angles, deliberate. Not an accident's work. Never hurt. Never healed. Sometimes warm. Sometimes heavy. Like something listening from the inside. Doctors had noticed it once. One of them stared too long at a scan, muttered about anomalies, about coloration. Purple, he said. The heart. Purple. Laughed it off after. Equipment error. Human variance. Hands shaking when the file was returned. No questions asked. Some answers wait until they decide to arrive.
Routine — Where Normality Pretends
Cold water against skin. Uniform pulled on. Hoodie layered without thought. The mirror reflected something ordinary enough — messy hair, half-awake eyes, posture too relaxed to be impressive. Kaali watched from the dresser, tail flicking slowly, evaluating like a supervisor who had seen too many mornings fail.
"You're late."
"Lucky exists," came back easily. "Perspective."
She sniffed, unimpressed, then slipped into the bag like the space had always been hers. Weight settled against my side. Familiar. Necessary.
The door closed behind me. Kādali breathed.
Prāṇa rails hummed overhead, violet lines threading through steel and sky. Vendors coaxed fire into shape with lazy chants. Children practiced verses they barely understood, laughing when sparks jumped the wrong way. The city moved fast, loud, alive — and walking through it felt natural. Not invisible. Not spotlighted. Just present. People glanced. Some nodded. Some stared longer than required. Some frowned. Didn't matter. Let them decide. I already had.
School — Noise and Pattern
Lucky crashed into my side near the gate, breathless, grinning like trouble had followed him all the way there. Words spilled out fast, careless.
"Bro, did you see that guy eat shit during drills?"
"Language!"
The pause was instant. Blink. Then a wider grin.
"Sorry. Ate the ground aggressively."
A nod. "Much better."
Laughter burst out of him, loud enough to pull attention. I noticed who looked. Who didn't. Who pretended not to. The pattern formed automatically, quiet and precise beneath the surface. Classrooms swallowed time. Breath control lessons passed smoothly — too smoothly. Aura stabilization through exhale rhythm came naturally. No struggle. No strain. The instructor paused, eyes lingering, then moved on. Fine. Not here to impress.
Lunch smelled like spice and noise. Lucky talked. I listened. Joked when needed. Let the dumb persona breathe while the other part of me watched everything beneath the table — posture shifts, vocal spikes, the way people leaned in or pulled away. Kaali slept through it all, weight warm and steady. Good. She deserved rest.
Evening — The Pull
The walk back softened as the city dimmed. Streetlights warmed. Wind slipped between buildings. Steps felt lighter than they should have. Almost like the ground was cooperating.
Then the pull hit.
Not fear. Not hunger. Alignment. The scar warmed — subtle, deliberate — and my pace slowed without asking permission. Between a shuttered bookstore and a tea stall that had outlived relevance stood an antique shop.
No sign.
No lights.
Just… there.
Brows knit. Ain't no way.
Inside, the air was old. Metal. Incense. Dust that remembered hands long gone. Shelves crowded with things that didn't belong together — cracked idols, rusted blades, lenses bending light wrong. The chest tightened, pressure blooming without pain. Behind the counter, beneath a cloth that hadn't moved in years, lay a flute.
Steel. Cold. Clean.
A black-to-violet feather tied at its end trembled faintly.
"Been a while since it chose someone."
The shopkeeper didn't look up.
Price slid across the counter. Cheap. Offensively so. Dayumm.
Payment happened without bargaining. Fingers closed around metal and the scar pulsed once — recognition. Kaali stirred sharply inside the bag.
"Heavy."
"Yeah," came the quiet answer. "Feels right."
Stepping outside brought a glance back. A faint smirk. Shutters sliding down. The shop sealing itself like it had finished its part.
Night — What Waits
Home was quiet. The flute rested on the table like it owned the space. Steel reflected nothing. Feather stilled. Kaali climbed onto my shoulder, eyes locked on it.
"Don't blow."
"I wasn't planning to."
Carvings caught the light — thin, deliberate etchings along the metal. Not symbols. Not letters. Notes. Sound frozen mid-thought. Fingers traced one slowly. Nothing happened. Good. Whatever this was, it wasn't meant to be rushed. The notes had to be learned before sound was allowed to exist.
The world shifted.
Not violently. Not loudly. Time simply forgot to continue. Sound dropped away. Breath hung unfinished. A presence settled close — not heavy, not cruel. Absolute.
"You were never meant to be ordinary.I turned the flute slowly in my hands.
Up close, the metal wasn't smooth.
Thin carvings ran along its length — not words, not symbols — notes. Precise. Intentional. Like someone had etched sound itself into steel and dared the future to remember it.
I traced one with my thumb. Nothing happened.
Good.
Whatever this thing was, it wasn't meant to be rushed.
I had to learn the notes first.
Only then would I be allowed to hear how it sounded."
A smile came without effort.
Yeah.
I figured.