Outside, the air had cooled.
The sun was low, casting orange streaks across the narrow lanes.
He walked slowly — the café wasn't far.
His footsteps echoed softly on the pavement, the streets not yet busy, not yet quiet.
Every step felt light.
Every step felt wrong.
But he kept walking.
Because staying still was worse.
Stillness made room for thoughts. And Shankar had too many of those lately.
The café glowed like a low-lit memory — walls lined with books, air warm with cinnamon and sugar. The scent felt too sweet. The lights too yellow. Like the world was trying too hard to be comforting.
Outside, the street faded into orange shadows.
Inside, the group had taken over a long table in the corner.
Shankar arrived just as the playlist shifted to a retro classic.
Nikhil grinned. "And the man walks in! Ten bucks says he doesn't talk till dessert."
Shankar gave the kind of smile people mistake for real. Just a stretch of lips.
He sat near Varun, back stiff against the chair.
Savitri was already there — half-listening to Barsha talk about a dream where they all got eaten by a tiger wearing glasses.
She glanced at Shankar. Not sharp. Not soft. Just aware.
The group buzzed with chaos.
Aryan and Vikas were arguing whether Thanos was technically right.
Meena was reading dessert names aloud. "Choco Lava Moonlight Fantasy?"
Barsha: "Sounds like a rejected K-drama."
Savitri chuckled. "Or a very confident cupcake."
It made Meena snort-laugh.
Shankar stayed quiet — sipping something he didn't order.
It was lukewarm. Sticky sweet. Like drinking syrup.
He barely swallowed it. His fingers were tight on the glass.
Inside his head, it wasn't drinks or jokes. It was Devi's face when he left.
That flash of hurt when he said he felt alone.
The moment when she cried for the 1st time.
The fight. The silence after.
His father's name echoed next.
Not a memory. Just a hollow space where answers should have been.
Scientist. Researcher. Gone.
Why had no one told him the full truth?
A laugh burst from the table.
He flinched. It felt too loud.
Too close.
"Shankar?" Savitri's voice cut through the noise.
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"You good?"
He nodded, too fast. "Yeah. Just... zoned out."
Varun raised an eyebrow. "Bro, you've been zoning out all week. You alright?"
"I'm fine," Shankar said quickly.
Smile. Nod. Sip.
Repeat.
Savitri didn't buy it. But she didn't push.
Then Varun started ranting about a sci-fi movie's "time travel nonsense."
Savitri perked up.
"You watched Time Drift and didn't understand it? It literally explains the paradox in the first scene."
"I'm not doing math during a movie," Varun groaned.
"Then don't watch time travel films," she said flatly.
Barsha leaned toward Meena. "She's entered her cinephile arc."
Savitri smiled, brushing her hair back.
"Sorry," she said. "You know how I get when someone butchers a good movie."
But even as she argued, her eyes kept flicking toward Shankar.
Still smiling — but off-tune.
Still nodding — but detached.
Like someone playing a role they'd forgotten the lines to.
She shifted the conversation.
"You remember what you said about film endings?" she asked suddenly.
Shankar blinked. "What?"
"You told me a good ending doesn't fix the story. It just holds it together."
For a moment, something flickered in his face.
He had said that. A lifetime ago. Before temples. Before rings. Before everything got heavy.
"Didn't think you were listening that day," he said quietly.
"I always listen," she replied. Gently.
And for the first time that evening,
Shankar laughed. Just once.
But it cracked something inside him.
Two hours passed like they weren't even there.
Laughter. Snacks. Debates. Stories that made no sense but somehow made memories.
Shankar managed to talk. A little. Smile. A little.
Enough to blend in.
Not enough to feel better.
His chest still felt like something was coiled inside it — tight, waiting to strike.
His mind still flashed back to symbols in stone.
The man with the white eye.
The temple that shouldn't exist.
He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or ask someone why this was happening to him.
Instead, he reached for a second helping of fries.
By 9:15, the café lights had dimmed. The staff were gently herding people toward the door.
Barsha yawned dramatically. "Okay, that's it. I'm officially done being social."
"I need sleep, not people," Aryan groaned, clutching his face.
"Bye, emotional extroverts," Meena waved, dragging Varun toward the exit.
Nikhil looked at Shankar. "You heading my way?"
Before he could reply, Savitri looked at him.
"We share the same route," she said simply. "Let's walk."
Shankar hesitated.
The noise had ended, but the silence felt worse.
He nodded.
The others shouted their goodbyes and vanished into rickshaws, bikes, and sleepy streets.
Now it was just the two of them.
And the weight in his chest didn't leave.
He walked beside her, matching steps. The ring hidden inside his pocket. The smile still on his face.
But inside?
He was choking on truths no one else could see.