"Sometimes, silence says too much."
Exams had begun.
Not just the kind filled with questions and ink — but the kind filled with growing distance.
The laughter between Vikran, Ameira, and Rudren still echoed in corridors, but now it was thinner — stretched between schedules, practicals, and prep books.
Each carried something different in their silence:
• Ameira, the quiet burden of knowing she was leaving soon.
• Rudren, the weight of helping at home while managing study.
• Vikran, the wish that everything would remain the same — even though he knew it wouldn't.
The Last Group Project
A biology presentation became their accidental goodbye.
They were grouped together, as always — fate or habit. The topic: "Adaptation in living beings."
Ameira drew elegant diagrams. Rudren organized every page. Vikran volunteered to speak — though he hated speaking.
That night, as they rehearsed under the school banyan tree, something strange happened.
"I wish people adapted slower," Vikran muttered, eyes on his flashcard.
"Huh?" Rudren asked.
"I mean... if everything could just stop changing for a while," he said. Then smiled. "Never mind."
Ameira didn't speak, but her eyes lingered on the roots of the tree like she wanted to memorize them.
Ameira's Boxes
Her house was filled with open suitcases.
Books. Brushes. A few favorite earrings. Her father's old travel bag.
Her mother tried to hide tears with instructions — "Label this," "Don't forget that."
Ameira watched the clouds roll past the window and whispered to herself:
"Do I really want to leave them?"
From behind her — no sound. No wind.
But something inside her stirred.
Not sadness.
Not excitement.
Something else.
A presence. Silent… but listening.
Rudren's Saturday
He stood behind the billing counter of the supermarket, typing codes into the register. His hands moved automatically — price, beep, bag, nod, done.
But his mind was elsewhere.
"Rudren," his father called, "Take a break."
Instead, he stacked crates in the back.
He wasn't tired.
He just didn't want to be alone with his thoughts.
And yet, behind the noise of crates and cool storage, a feeling pressed in on him. Like electricity waiting for a switch. Like thunder waiting to fall.
He clenched his fist, then let it go.
Vikran's Normal Day
He woke early. Fed the cattle. Helped his mother sort vegetables. Walked his sister halfway to school.
Normal.
But something about the sunrise felt heavier.
Like it was trying too hard to shine through the mist.
At school, he sat beside Ameira and Rudren in silence. He laughed when they laughed. He copied notes. He solved questions. He smiled at the teacher's joke.
And yet, when he walked home, he talked to the calf in the barn about a dream he didn't understand.
"It's weird," he told the animal softly.
"I feel like something's changing. Like the land breathes when I walk… but not because of me."
He stroked the calf's head. "And I don't know if I'm scared."
Above, a soft wind moved the clouds — not random, but with rhythm.
The lion's soul, deep inside him, stirred.
But still — no words.
Just waiting.
Faint Signs
As night fell across all three homes, tiny things began to shift.
• A small lamp flickered for a second in Ameira's room — without electricity cutting off.
• The radio in Rudren's shop picked up static for a moment, then returned.
• A gust of wind circled Vikran's house twice, even when the air outside was still.
They noticed.
But said nothing.
Because what would they say?
"I think the world is changing… when I walk through it."
It was too strange. Too impossible.
So they said nothing.
And went to sleep.
But the souls inside them were no longer fully dormant.
They were beginning to stretch.
To be continued