Morning — Breath Before Thought
Woke before the alarm again
Not urgency — habit. The body rising because it always did, even when life gave no reason. Floor cold against bare feet. Air thin but steady. Coffee first. Always coffee. Steam curled upward, soft and forgiving, filling the chest with something close to purpose.
Breakfast stayed simple today. No takeout. No indulgence. Money decided that part. Pan warmed. Oil hissed quietly. Hands moved without thought, practiced, efficient — like they belonged to someone older.
Kaali watched from the counter, tail flicking once.
"Broke," she said.
"Temporary," came the answer. I guess.
City — Moving With It
Kādali breathed around me.
Prāṇa hummed beneath the streets, lamps glowing faint lavender as people passed, chanting small verses to make life easier. Children laughed. Vendors argued. The city felt alive in a way that didn't ask permission.
Walking felt lighter today. Steps smoother. Breath deeper — settling lower in the chest instead of scraping the throat. Something small had shifted. Nothing dramatic. Just… alignment.
School gates swallowed sound.
School — Breath, Language, Time
Breath training came first.
Not forceful. Not loud. From inside. Slow. Instructor spoke, but the body listened better than the mind. Lungs expanded easily. Shoulders loosened. Everything felt natural — like remembering something instead of learning it.
Language followed. History after. Dates, wars, names of gods that felt important but distant. Knowledge passed through without resistance.
Then leisure.
A crooked notice on the board caught the eye.
Music Club — New Members Welcome.
The chest tightened — not anxiety. Recognition.
Strings and Sound
The club room smelled of wood and dust and old echoes. Instruments leaned against walls like forgotten conversations. Ady stood at the front, clipboard resting against her hip.
"Interested?" she asked.
The nod came before thought.
A flute was passed over. Cheap. Warm from other hands. Ordinary. Fingers settled easily. Breath found its place without instruction. Notes came clean — not impressive, not clumsy — just right.
A few glances. Curiosity, not awe.
I was always good at things.
Never the best.
But close enough to never feel surprised.
Lucky muttered "holy shiii..." under his breath.
"Language!" I snapped.
He laughed. "My bad."
Evening — N. M. M.
Shelves. Mops. Quiet transactions.
The convenience store felt different today. Someone asked for help. Someone said thanks. Small things — but noticed.
Wages from last night finally landed in my palm. Light. Necessary. Enough.
Leaving, my gaze drifted instinctively toward the corner.
The antique shop wasn't there.
Not closed. Gone.
Concrete wall. No dust. No sign.
The breath hitched.
The Pull
I should've walked away.
Feet stopped anyway.
Pressure brushed the chest — gentle, insistent — like being remembered by something patient. The shop returned the moment I stepped closer.
Inside, dust floated thick. Shelves cluttered with objects that refused names. The flute rested at the center.
Steel. Cold. Quiet.
Money exchanged hands without bargaining.
"The hasn't chosen it's owner in a long time" he said.
The shopkeeper smirked faintly as I turned to leave.
Outside — the shop vanished again.
Night — First Recognition
Back home, silence waited.
I sat on the bed, flute resting across my palms. Kaali leaned closer, ears twitching.
Carvings ran along the steel — shallow grooves shaped like frozen sound. Notes. Instructions.
I traced them carefully. One by one.
Nothing broke.
Instead — the room lifted.
Lavender prāṇa flowed inward, gentle, deliberate, threading through chest and limbs. The triangle scar warmed — not burning — recognizing.
The air hummed.
A presence acknowledged me.
[ Core Detected: Heart of the Alchemist ]
[ Status: User Verified ]
No pain.
No command.
Just confirmation.
The flute lay warm in my hands.
Before I ever heard it properly, I knew this much:
I would have to learn every note carved into its body
before it decided
what kind of sound I was allowed to make. before the alarm again.