The morning light slipped through the blinds, cutting the room into golden stripes. Outside, Niraya was already waking — rickshaw horns, temple bells, that same priest's chant from Indrapuri district. Normal sounds. Maybe too normal.
Reyan sipped his coffee and frowned. The air felt off somehow, colder than it should be.
Maybe it's just me, he thought. Maybe I'm overthinking again.
He glanced at the fridge. Crayon drawings still clung to it — stick figures, a sun, something that might've been a purple dog.
Promises made without words.
From the bedroom, he heard Priya's voice, bright and familiar. Video call. Probably Kavya.
"No, no, listen — I'm leaving Pune right after the meeting wraps up. Should reach by five-thirty, maybe six if traffic's bad."
Reyan leaned against the doorframe, watching. Priya sat cross-legged on the bed, phone propped against a pillow. On the screen, Kavya was eating something, probably chips.
"Five-thirty?" Kavya said. "Didi, you know Niraya traffic. You'll be lucky if you make it by seven."
"Don't jinx it."
"I'm not jinxing, I'm being realistic. Also, what's Reyan's big presentation about again?"
Priya glanced toward the door and spotted him. She smiled. "It's for that new client. Marketing strategy for some tech startup. He's been working on it all week."
"Sounds boring."
"Kavya!"
"What? I'm just saying, tech startups all sound the same. 'Disrupting the industry' this, 'synergy' that."
Priya laughed. "You're terrible."
"I'm honest." Kavya paused. "But seriously, is he nervous?"
Priya looked at Reyan again, her smile softening. "A little. But he'll be fine. He always is."
Reyan stepped into the room. "Tell her I'm not nervous."
"He says he's not nervous," Priya repeated.
"That means he's very nervous," Kavya said through the screen.
Reyan shook his head, smiling. "Your sister's a menace."
"She knows." Priya blew a kiss at the phone.
"Okay, I need to finish packing. See you tonight, okay?"Kavya paused, then grinned. "And tell Reyan good luck with the presentation. Don't let him overthink it."
Priya glanced at Reyan and smiled. "I won't."
"Love you. See you soon."
"Love you too."
Priya ended the call and stood, stretching. "She means well."
"She means chaos."
Priya walked over and straightened his collar, even though it didn't need straightening. "You're going to do great today. You know that, right?"
"Yeah."
"Say it like you mean it."
"I'm going to do great today."
"Better." She kissed his cheek. "And after, we'll celebrate. Maybe take her to that ice cream place she keeps asking about."
"The one with the weird flavors?"
"She wants to try the wasabi one."
Reyan grimaced. "That's not ice cream. That's a cry for help."
Priya laughed, and the sound filled the room, warm and easy. For a moment, everything felt right.
"Papa…"
He turned. His daughter stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Reyan crouched. She walked into his arms, warm and half-asleep.
"Don't be late today," she whispered. "You promised."
"I won't," he said, kissing her hair. Strawberry shampoo. Priya's favorite.
"But you have to promise me something too."
"What?"
"Eat your breakfast. All of it."
"Even the crusts?"
"Especially the crusts. That's where the superpowers hide."
She laughed, and for a moment, the morning felt normal again.
Priya stepped out from the room. Seven years together — she could read him without a word.
"If something feels wrong today," she said softly, "call me. Promise?"
He nodded. "Promise."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it go.
Reyan paused at the door, memorizing everything — the sunlight on the wall, the smell of toast, his family framed in gold.
"Papa!" his daughter called. "You'll come back soon, right?"
"Before you even miss me," he said, smiling like it could hold the world together.
STREETS OF NIRAYA
The city smelled like it always did — exhaust, bread, and jasmine from the old flower cart near the statue of that forgotten freedom fighter.
Reyan walked with his hands in his pockets. Paan shop. Electronics store. Chai stall. The same old Niraya loop.
When he pushed open the bakery door, the bell chimed. Warm air hit him — sugar and yeast, like a hug.
"Morning, Reyan!" Arjun grinned from behind the counter, dusting flour off his arms. "The usual?"
"Yeah. And a few extras," Reyan said. "Office morale, you know?"
"Lucky them. You've got good taste." Arjun leaned closer. "Between us, I steal one when you're not looking."
Reyan laughed. "Save me one next time, thief."
Arjun packed the pastries into a bag, then paused. "Big day today, huh?"
Reyan blinked. "How'd you know?"
"You've got that look. The I'm-about-to-do-something-important-and-pretending-I'm-not-stressed look."
Reyan laughed despite himself. "That obvious?"
"Little bit." Arjun slid the bag across the counter. "Presentation?"
"Yeah. New client. Tech startup."
"Fancy. You'll kill it, man. You always do."
"Thanks. I hope you're right.""I'm always right. Except when my wife's involved. Then I'm always wrong." Arjun grinned. "Stay safe out there, Reyan. You never know what the day might bring."
The words stuck for some reason. Reyan nodded, paid, and left.
By the time he reached the office, the unease had crept back in — slow and quiet, like an old injury before rain.
OFFICE
The office smelled of stale coffee and instant noodles. Lights buzzed overhead.
Samir poked an empty noodle cup. "Man, these noodles are my only friends."
Taj didn't look up. "Your friends taste like regret."
"Better than your personality."
"At least I have one."
"Says the guy who cried during a car ad."
"It was emotional. The dad bought the kid the toy car he wanted."
"It was a Hyundai ad, Taj."
"It was touching."
Reyan set down the pastry bag. "Peace offering," he said.
Both looked towards Reyan.
"Boss!" Samir's face lit up. "You brought food. Actual food. Not cup noodles."
Taj leaned over and peered into the bag. "Chocolate croissants? Reyan, you're a saint."
"Don't get used to it," Reyan said, heading toward his cabin.
"Wait, wait." Samir stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "How're you feeling about the presentation?"
Reyan paused. "I'm fine."
"You sure? Because you've got that look."
"What look?"
"The I-haven't-slept-in-three-days-and-I'm-running-on-caffeine-and-anxiety look," Taj said.
"Very specific."
"We know you, boss." Samir grabbed a croissant. "Seriously though, you've been working on this all week. It's going to be great."
"Yeah," Taj added. "And if it's not, we'll just blame the client for having bad taste."
Reyan smirked. "Appreciate the support."
"Anytime." Samir took a bite, then mumbled through pastry, "Oh, by the way, we need to head out for a bit. Office supply run. Printer's out of ink again, and someone—" he shot a look at Taj, "—used all the good pens."
"I needed them for notes," Taj protested.
"You were drawing stick figures."
"Artistic notes."
Reyan waved them off. "Just go. And don't take forever."
"We'll be back before you finish panicking about your slides," Samir called as they headed for the door.
"I'm not panicking."
"Sure you're not."
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled over the office, thick and uncomfortable.
Reyan stood there for a moment, then walked into his cabin. He set his bag down, pulled out his car keys, and placed them on the desk. The metal caught the light — dull silver, worn smooth from years of use.
He sat down, opened his laptop, and stared at the presentation file.
NexGen Marketing Strategy — Final Draft.
He'd been over it a dozen times. Maybe more. Every slide, every transition, every bullet point. It was good. He knew it was good.
So why did his hands feel cold?
Reyan rubbed his face and clicked through the slides again. Market analysis. Competitor breakdown. Proposed campaigns. Budget projections. Clean. Professional. Exactly what they wanted.
His phone buzzed.
Priya:You've got this. I believe in you.
He smiled, typed back a quick Thanks, and set the phone aside.
Outside, the office hummed — fluorescent lights, distant traffic, the faint whir of the air conditioner.
Reyan leaned back in his chair and exhaled.
Just a presentation. Just another day.
But the air still felt wrong.