The sun had barely risen, but Parth was already awake.
Not from nerves. Not from excitement. Just habit.
He'd grown used to waking early these past few years, rising with the stillness, the silence before the world remembered it had things to chase.
The light filtering through his window was pale and cold, softened by the city's haze. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the white coat folded neatly on his desk. Next to it lay a stethoscope and an old photo of his grandmother, lips caught mid-chant, hand resting on his head.
He ran his fingers across the frame. It was the same photo he had brought with him to every exam. Every interview. Every failure and every little success.
> "Today's the first step, Dadi. Wherever you are... wish me luck."
He didn't expect an answer. But the silence didn't feel empty.
---
At the breakfast table, the news was playing again.
"Another unexplained animal death reported near the Yamuna. Residents complain of water discoloration and foul smell. Officials are still investigating."
His father sighed and changed the channel. "This city is dying faster than we think."
His mother slid him a plate of paratha and a small box of neatly packed food.
> "Don't skip meals just because you're in a hostel now," she warned.
> "I packed your meds—yes, the immunity ones. And call us when you reach. No excuses."
Parth smiled faintly. "Yes, Ma. I will."
His father came over to fix his collar.
> "A doctor, hmm? Just don't forget who you're doing this for."
> "For both of you," Parth replied. "And for them. The ones I couldn't help."
No one asked who 'they' were.
---
The college was an hour away, nestled in the heart of the city — tall glass buildings surrounded by patches of dying green. Solar panels, automated gates, biometric scans.
The gates of Ayatan Institute of Medical Sciences stood tall and pristine under the pale morning sun. A name carved into granite, walls painted with soft white, and banners fluttering with motivational quotes — "Care. Heal. Serve." It was a place that promised hope.
But Parth had stopped believing in promises long ago.
The future had arrived. And it was... cold.
He stood at the threshold, a messenger of another time wrapped in jeans and a pale-blue shirt, his stethoscope tucked neatly in a new bag, untouched. His parents had dropped him off just ten minutes ago, his mother fussing over his collar, his father giving a firm, proud nod — the silent language of fathers who didn't say "I'm proud" but meant it in full.
Now, Parth just stood still for a moment.
Watching.
Listening.
To the laughter of new students.
To the rhythmic shuffle of ID cards swinging from necks.
To the wind passing through glass buildings like a sigh.
Yet beneath the surface of this bright beginning… something felt off.
Not wrong. Not yet. Just — hollow.
He stepped inside.
---
Inside the Campus
The main hallway smelled of sanitizer and freshly painted walls. His shoes squeaked softly against polished marble as he followed the directions to the orientation hall.
On either side, students chatted, took selfies, bumped elbows — the usual chaos of young adults trying to mask nerves with noise.
Parth walked past them like a ghost.
He could hear everything, but none of it touched him.
> "Do you know there's been another one?" a voice whispered, low and quick.
He slowed just slightly.
> "Same symptoms. Or lack of them. He was healthy yesterday. Gone by dawn."
Parth didn't turn around. He didn't ask questions.
But his hands curled inside his pockets.
---
Orientation Hall
The auditorium was buzzing — students finding their seats, professors shuffling papers, the Dean tapping the mic with the cautious curiosity of someone unsure if it was on.
Parth chose a spot near the back.
He liked seeing everything. It made him feel prepared, even when he wasn't.
The lights dimmed. A welcome video played. Words like compassion, integrity, duty floated across the screen.
He stared at them without blinking.
> "You alright, bro?" someone whispered from the seat next to him.
Parth turned slightly. A boy with spiked hair, big glasses, and an energy drink in hand offered him a grin.
> "First day jitters or just naturally intense?"
Parth blinked once. Then smiled faintly.
> "Little bit of both, I think."
> "Same," the guy chuckled. "I'm Aarav. From Pune."
> "Parth."
> "Nice. From where?"
> "…Somewhere old," Parth said.
Aarav laughed like it was a joke. Parth didn't correct him.
---
His first class was human anatomy. The professor spoke in clipped English, fingers swiping across a digital board.
Parth took notes quietly, neatly. His handwriting hadn't changed since high school.
Halfway through the lecture, a light above flickered.
Once. Then twice.
The ceiling fan slowed for a moment. The hum in the room deepened, like something low and growling just beneath audible range.
Parth's pen froze.
No one else reacted.
He looked up, staring at the ceiling, at the weak light.
> "It's begun again," he thought. "I don't know how or why… but something is watching."
---
The Canteen, Later
He skipped lunch.
Not because he wasn't hungry. But because the moment he walked in, the scent of masala and overcooked rice made something twist in his stomach.
Something… out of place.
Instead, he walked to the old peepal tree behind the pathology lab.
It stood crooked, its roots breaking through concrete as if time couldn't hold it.
He sat under it, pulling out the journal he carried everywhere now. The same one he'd started after returning from Asirgarh.
He turned to a blank page.
And wrote slowly:
> "The world hasn't ended. Not yet. But it's coughing now. Its breath is short. Its dreams — thinning."
---
A Sudden Wind
Just as he closed the book, a gust of wind blew through the courtyard.
Dry leaves swirled. The peepal tree groaned.
And in that moment, Parth looked up.
Past the tall windows.
Past the glinting solar panels.
And into the sky.
The clouds had shifted.
A shadow passed over the sun.
It wasn't an eclipse. Just a strange, quiet moment of dark.
But Parth had learned to listen to such moments.
He stared.
And whispered,
> "I don't know who you are yet. But I know you're watching."
---
From a distant rooftop, a crow cawed once and took flight.
Below, the medical campus returned to its routine.
But not for long.
Not for long at all.