Chapter 3: The Uninvited Shadow
The next morning, the sun crawled over the balcony of Isha's old apartment, casting long, nostalgic shadows across her bedroom floor. Everything was exactly as it had been five years ago: the posters of indie bands on the walls, the stack of unread textbooks, and the lack of a wheelchair in the corner.
Isha stood in front of her full-length mirror, staring at her reflection. She looked younger, her skin glowing with a health she hadn't felt in years. But her eyes—they were the eyes of someone who had lived through a funeral.
"Isha! If you don't leave for college now, you'll miss the bus!" her mother yelled from the kitchen.
College. St. Xavier's.
Isha's heart jolted. She remembered this week. It was the week of Aura, the inter-college cultural festival. And if this was 2021...
"Advait," she whispered.
In the original timeline, Advait hadn't been a superstar yet. He was a rising star, a local legend in the college circuit who had just signed a small record deal. He was scheduled to perform at Aura—his last "normal" performance before his debut single went viral and changed his life forever.
The Lions' Den
The campus was a riot of colors. Banners for Aura hung from every balcony, and the air was thick with the sound of sound-checks and student chatter.
Isha walked through the gates, her legs feeling light but her mind heavy. She needed to see him, but she couldn't just walk up to him again. After the Marine Drive incident, he'd likely have her handed over to campus security.
"Isha! Over here!"
Her best friend, Meera, waved frantically from a registration desk. Meera was wearing an 'Organizer' badge, looking stressed but excited.
"You're late! I need you to help with the green room hospitality. The 'Star Performer' is arriving in an hour and his manager is already complaining about the brand of bottled water we provided."
Isha's pulse quickened. "The star performer? You mean... Advait?"
Meera rolled her eyes. "Who else? He's such a heartthrob, but honestly, his team is a nightmare. Why are you looking at me like you've seen a ghost? Go, take these passes to the backstage entrance."
Isha grabbed the lanyards, her fingers trembling. Fate wasn't just giving her a chance; it was pushing her into the deep end.
Backstage Tension
The backstage area was a labyrinth of black curtains, coiled cables, and shouting technicians. Isha moved like a shadow, her eyes searching for a familiar silhouette.
She found him in a secluded corner behind the main stage.
Advait was sitting on a flight case, his guitar resting against his knee. He wasn't wearing the mask or the hoodie today. In the harsh fluorescent lights, he looked breathtakingly handsome, but also incredibly fragile. He was clutching a bottle of water, his knuckles white.
His left hand was twitching.
"It's the median nerve," Isha said quietly, stepping out from behind a curtain.
Advait jumped, nearly dropping his water. He looked up, and his eyes instantly hardened as he recognized her. "You. The girl from the beach."
He stood up, his height intimidating in the narrow corridor. "Are you following me? How did you get past the gates?"
"I'm a student here," Isha said, holding up her ID card. "And I'm not following you. I'm helping with the festival. But Advait, your hand is worse than it was yesterday. You shouldn't perform tonight."
Advait let out a sharp, cynical laugh. "Do you have any idea what's at stake? There are three major label scouts in that front row. If I don't perform, I don't get a career. I don't get to help my family."
"And if you do perform and permanently damage the nerve, you won't have a career at all," Isha countered, stepping closer.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small tube of cooling gel and a compression bandage. She had bought them on her way to college.
"Let me help. Ten minutes. I can do a myofascial release. It'll stop the twitching long enough for your set."
Advait stared at her, his expression a mix of suspicion and desperation. The sound of the crowd roaring in the auditorium drifted backstage. He looked at his hand, which was now visibly trembling.
"Why do you care?" he asked, his voice low. "Most fans just want a picture. You're acting like... like you're my mother. Or a ghost."
"I'm someone who wants to hear you sing for the next fifty years," Isha said, her voice thick with emotion. "Not just tonight."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Advait sat back down on the crate and extended his left arm.
"Ten minutes," he muttered, looking away. "If you try anything weird, I'm calling security."
The Healing Touch
Isha knelt on the dusty floor, her focus absolute. She applied the gel, her warm fingers moving in precise, circular motions along his forearm. She felt him flinch at first, but as she found the pressure points, his muscles began to relax.
She could feel his pulse under her thumb. It was fast, erratic.
"You're breathing too shallowly," she murmured, not looking up. "Match your breath to mine. In... and out."
Advait watched her. From this close, he could see the sheer sincerity in her eyes. She wasn't looking at him like a superstar. She was looking at him like a person who was hurting.
"Who taught you this?" he asked, his voice softer now.
"I had to learn," Isha said, a sad smile touching her lips. "I spent a lot of time in hospitals once. I learned that the body remembers trauma, but it also remembers how to heal."
As she finished wrapping the bandage, the stage manager stuck his head through the curtains. "Advait! You're up in two! Get to the wings!"
Advait stood up, flexing his fingers. The twitching had stopped. A look of genuine surprise crossed his face.
He looked at Isha, his mouth opening as if to say thank you, but the "Star" persona slammed back into place.
"Don't think this makes us friends," he said, grabbing his guitar. "I still think you're incredibly strange."
"Strange is better than being a stranger," Isha whispered as he walked away.
The First Note of Change
Isha stood in the wings, hidden by the heavy velvet curtains, as Advait stepped onto the stage. The roar of the students was deafening.
He adjusted the mic, his gaze sweeping the crowd. For a second, his eyes flickered toward the wings, landing right where Isha was standing. He gave a microscopic nod.
Then, he began to play.
The music was different from the recordings Isha had memorized. It was rawer, more visceral. But as he reached the bridge of the song—the part where his voice usually strained—Isha saw him wince.
A figure was standing in the shadows of the opposite wing. A man in a sharp suit, watching Advait with a predatory grin.
Isha's blood ran cold. She recognized him. Vikram Khanna. The manager who would eventually sign Advait and trap him in a soul-crushing contract. The man who would push him to the brink of exhaustion.
In the original timeline, Vikram and Advait met tonight.
Not on my watch, Isha thought, her eyes narrowing.
As the song reached its crescendo, Isha noticed something else. A heavy lighting rig above Advait was swaying unnaturally. A bolt, loosened by the vibration of the bass, was slowly turning.
The "System of Fate" was striking back. If she saved his hand, the world would try to take his life.
"Advait! Move!" she screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the music.
The bolt snapped.