5:03 AM.
The dorm was silent, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the deep, steady breathing of his roommates still asleep.
Shiva sat at his desk, awake and alert. His movements were quiet, precise.
He had already brushed. Washed his face. Eaten a pinch of dry coffee powder for the kick.
Now, he sat in the early morning stillness, elbows on the desk, gaze distant.
Shiva (thinking):
It's done.
The test. The entry. The approval.
If nothing else—I earned this.
A reward, yeah. Even if the money's not clean. Even if it came from something I'd never admit out loud.
But guilt won't pay rent. And it sure as hell won't undo the past.
I'm rude. Selfish. Greedy on my good days. So what if I use it? At least I'm honest about what I am.
He glanced around the room.
On the shelf—his favorite pair of shoes. Quiet grey, soft-soled, handcrafted. Not cheap. Just… not branded.
His clothes? Tailored for comfort. High-quality. Always were. But never loud. Never built to attract attention.
His phone—powerful, efficient, clean. But not the latest shiny slab everyone else flexed. Just something that worked well.
Shiva (thinking):
I never cared about brands. I care about utility. Fit. Function.
But that won't cut it anymore. This world I'm stepping into? It's not just about competence—it's about presence. Optics. Projection.
I need to match their language. Their image. Their mirror-polished reality.
He reached for his notepad.
Scribbled a small list:
Formal suits
Branded shoes
A good watch
New phone
Laptop upgrade
Grooming essentials
A pause.
Then he added one last line:
Start research. Quietly.
Shiva (aloud, murmuring):
"Let's get to work."
The mall was a labyrinth of glass, marble, and luxury.
Shiva walked through it with silent calculation—bags in hand, eyes sharp.
He picked what he needed with clean precision.
Blazers that fit like they were made for him. Subtle, elegant suits in dark tones. Branded dress shoes with real leather, no noise. Watches that didn't scream wealth—but whispered it.
A phone upgrade—top-tier performance, security included.
A laptop, custom-configured, efficient for both academic use… and much more.
He didn't overspend. He didn't flaunt. He didn't take photos or linger in shop mirrors.
This wasn't about vanity.
It was about adaptation.
Survival in a world where the right label got you in the door before you even spoke.
And for once, he had a free day.
So, he decided to breathe.
A quiet movie. A break. Just two hours where no one needed anything from him.
Shiva took his seat halfway through the row. The theatre was still half-empty. Cold air seeped in from the vents above.
He leaned back into the plush seat, hands folded. Exhaled. Let the dark settle in.
The trailers were rolling.
Then—a shift beside him. A soft shuffle. A quiet "Excuse me."
He moved slightly to make room.
And then—he saw her.
His heart stopped.
For a moment, time didn't move. Nothing did.
She sat down beside him—like it meant nothing. Like the universe hadn't just rearranged itself in a single second.
No recognition. No eye contact.
Just her presence.
But that was enough.
It hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.
Sadness.
Guilt.
Love.
Self-loathing.
All of it exploded behind his ribs like a chain reaction. His breath caught. His pulse spiked. His fingers trembled slightly where they rested on the armrest.
This can't be real.
His body stayed still—trained, calm, unreadable.
But inside… he was falling apart.
Shiva (thinking):
Why here? Why now?
Every part of him screamed to move—to walk out, to vanish, to not deal with this.
But he couldn't.
So he sat there.
Jaw tight. Hands clenched in his lap.
And the worst part?
No tears.
No outburst.
Just pain—pure, suffocating pain pressing into his lungs like a second heartbeat.
The movie began.
But Shiva didn't see a frame.
His vision was on fire. His mind was a hurricane.
And all he could think, over and over, was:
What are the odds…?
Shiva sat still.
Motionless, even as the screen flickered with sound and light.
Beside him sat Arya—his first and only crush. The one person who hadn't just been important—she had defined something in him.
He didn't look at her. Didn't risk a glance.
Shiva (thinking):
Don't look. Don't think. Don't feel.
You can fake calm. You can fake breath. Just not this.
Anyone else would've thought he was wasting a golden opportunity.
But the truth was simple: he couldn't lie to her.
He could lie to the world. He had.
He could manipulate, threaten, charm, convince—he'd done all of it.
But Arya?
She disarmed him.
Turned the cold, strategic mind of Shiva into that of a boy fumbling for words.
She didn't know what he had become, and for some twisted reason, that made it worse.
Because in front of her, he remembered who he was supposed to be.
Not the masked planner. Not the quiet manipulator.
But a boy with nervous hands, honest eyes, and a heart far too open for his own good.
Shiva (thinking):
I can't lie to her. I never could.
And if I talk to her now... all of it will show.
So, he pretended not to notice her.
Focused on the screen. Tried to lose himself in the story.
But every moment, every second next to her—it was electric. Drowning. His thoughts spiralled faster than he could hold them.
Then—
INTERVAL. The lights dimmed up. The theatre softened into motion. People stretched, stood up, shuffled out.
And then—
Her voice.
Soft. Familiar. Surprised.
Arya: "Shiva?"
The world stopped.
For the first time in hours, his mind didn't spiral.
There was no panic. No storm.
Just stillness.
A rare, impossible calm.
He turned slowly to her.
Her eyes locked on his.
Still the same.
That warmth. That spark. That clarity.
He smiled softly. No effort this time.
Shiva: "…Arya?"
She nodded. Her lips curled upward, amused.
Arya: "It is you. Wow."
He laughed quietly—genuine.
Shiva: "Yeah. Wow."
And just like that, years folded in on themselves.
No awkwardness. No tension.
Just two old souls reconnecting in a world neither of them had expected.
They talked the entire interval.
About old friends, places, stupid memories. She told him she'd just moved back to the city. He said he was still studying.
They both left parts out, of course.
He didn't mention the shadows under his life—the crime money, the hidden work.
She didn't bring up whatever storm she'd walked through before this day.
But none of that mattered right now.
He ordered snacks. A bucket of popcorn. Two drinks. Some overpriced nachos they didn't even finish.
They talked, laughed, and leaned into the moment like they had nothing to prove and nowhere else to be.
And when the movie resumed
They watched it together. Shared glances. Quiet chuckles. Little whispers.
For that one hour, there were no masks, no expectations.
Just Shiva and Arya,
two people lost in a dark theatre,
watching a movie,
and forgetting, even if just for a little while, that the world was heavier than it seemed.