The orphanage-college in Dehradun sat at the edge of the city—neither hidden nor famous, but known to those who needed it. Behind its tall black gates and neatly trimmed hedges, it offered both shelter and opportunity to the children who had no one else. Among them was Maya—a girl who never tried to stand out, yet somehow always did. Not by choice. Just by nature.
From the moment she was brought in as a baby—wrapped in an old shawl with a faded photograph clutched in her tiny hand—the warden had known something was different about her. And as she grew, it became impossible to ignore. She healed faster than anyone should. She knew things before they happened. Animals were drawn to her. And sometimes, when she cried, the lights flickered.
The other children whispered. Some were scared. Some admired her. But Warden Chanda, a woman hardened by years of running the orphanage, was simply... worried.
Then came the incident.
It was just another ordinary morning. Everything functioned like the usual — the younger kids in their rooms, the older ones attending classes, and the staff keeping order.
Maya stepped out of the residential wing—what the warden preferred to call the "hostel quarters." Nestled among trees and enclosed within rusting green gates, the building sat across the road from the main academic block of the orphanage-college. A short walk, no more than a few dozen meters—but the two halves of the campus felt different.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on one shoulder and headed toward the academic side. The street was usually quiet at this hour—only the chirping of birds and the distant chatter of other students already walking ahead.
And then—
A speeding car.
A scream.
A young neighbourhood boy—barely nine—stood frozen in the middle of the road, eyes wide, unable to move.
Before anyone could react, Maya moved.
She didn't think.
She didn't hesitate.
Her legs pushed off the ground like a spring. One second she was on the footpath, the next — she was already halfway across the road. It wasn't normal. It wasn't human. She moved with such speed that the minds around her struggled to catch up.
She threw herself toward the boy, snatching him out of the car's path and twisting her body to shield him as they hit the ground. The vehicle screeched past, missing them by inches — but Maya didn't escape unscathed. Her shoulder slammed hard onto the asphalt. Blood pooled under her head. Her body went limp.
For a moment, everyone thought she was dead.
The warden, Chanda Ma'am, came rushing from the academic block. Her face was pale, her steps frantic. The students and faculty gathered, murmurs and gasps echoing in the background.
But then, to everyone's shock — Maya stirred.
She hadn't moved an inch until Warden Chanda knelt beside her. As their eyes met, Maya whispered, "Cover me."
Without hesitation, Chanda draped her shawl around Maya, shielding her from curious eyes. Beneath the fabric, Maya gritted her teeth, grabbed her dislocated shoulder, and forced it back into place with a quiet snap. The wound on her forehead had already begun sealing itself — blood drying fast, skin knitting together in seconds.
Within moments, the worst of it was gone. She was alive — and healing fast.
Gasps spread through the small crowd. Some called it a miracle. Others, something unexplainable.
But for Maya and Chanda, it was neither. It was just... controlled damage.
Maya being a quiet girl with a habit of staying out of sight, had no idea how this seemingly small moment of suspicion was just the beginning of something far more dangerous than she could imagine.
By nightfall, the rumours had spread beyond the orphanage walls. The journalists came first—hovering outside the gates like vultures with cameras. Then the officials. Some posed as social workers. Others weren't pretending.
Inside, Maya sat silently on her cot, her head down, heart pounding.
That evening, Warden Chanda entered her room with something clenched tightly in her hand. Her lips were thin, her face pale.
"Told you to never let anyone suspect about your powers. You've no idea what people can do to you if they come to know about these mystical powers.
Maya, startled says "But I was just-"
Chanda interrupts her. "We don't have time. The reporters are already in the building. You need to leave. Tonight. Right now."
Maya looked up, shocked. "What? Why?"
Chanda pulled a small envelope from her cardigan. Inside was a worn photograph—creased at the corners and faded from age. It showed three women standing on a hillside, arms linked. They seem like friends. On the back, scribbled in old ink, was a single word:
"Mussoorie."
"This was with you when I found you," the warden said. "No documents. No name. Just this."
Maya took the photo with trembling fingers. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I thought... you said I was abandoned."
"I said I didn't know who your family was. That wasn't a lie." She paused. "But I always hoped this would help you find them someday. And I think now is the time."
Maya looked at the photo again. Something about the eyes of the woman on the left tugged at her. "You think... one of them is my mother?"
Chanda nodded. "And they are in Mussoorie. That's where you're going."
Maya wrapped her arms around Chanda in a brief, tight hug — the kind that said everything words couldn't. Then, without a word, she turned toward the window.
Amidst the rising noise outside — the angry crowd shouting, fists pounding against the locked door, ready to break it down — Maya leapt.
Two storeys meant nothing to her. She landed in a perfect crouch, barely making a sound.
A second later, she was on her bicycle — the worn frame groaning under her power — and then she was gone.
Pedalling with a speed no ordinary human could ever match, Maya vanished into the distance, the town shrinking behind her as she rode toward the only lead they had: a faded old photograph — a glimpse of an unknown woman in some distant city who might finally hold the truth within her.
By midnight, the bicycle had climbed through winding roads, deeper into the mist-drenched mountains. Rain kissed the atmosphere. Mussoorie looked like a dream half-frozen in time—vintage homes, shuttered stores, and dense woods watching from the hills like silent guardians.
Maya pedalled in silence, her thoughts heavier than the weight of her small bag. As she passed through the edges of the town, she turned off onto a narrow, secluded path—away from the world, away from curious eyes. She needed quiet. The road ahead was carpeted in dead leaves, and the trees here felt different—sickly and twisted, their bare branches reaching out like skeletal fingers beneath a lifeless grey sky.
Finally, Maya stopped.
Before her stood a secluded, dilapidated house, veiled in shadows and draped in ivy. Its once-white walls had faded to bone grey. The windows stared blankly, dark and cold. A pale moon hung low behind the clouds, casting a sickly glow over the scene. Crows—dozens of them—perched on the gnarled trees nearby, their cries slicing through the silence like knives.
Something about the place made Maya's skin crawl. But she walked toward it anyway, drawn like a thread being pulled.
The soft patter of rain mingled with the rustle of ivy in the wind, and above, a pale, heavy moon broke through the thinning clouds.
Then—movement.
Her eyes flicked upward.
There, on the terrace, stood a figure. Tall. Male.
The moonlight, diffused through drifting mist and falling rain, spilled over his form just enough for Maya to see he wore only dark pants, his bare torso pale and sculpted, catching the light like stone.
His skin nearly glowed in the twilight, made clearer by Maya's unusual sight—eyes that could pierce through dimness and storm alike, a gift of her strange, altered build.
His black hair whipped wildly in the wind, yet he stood perfectly still, as though even time dared not disturb him.
And then—he moved.
Not down. Up.
As if gravity bent for him, he leapt into the air and, with inhuman grace, snatched a crow mid-flight in his bare hands.
He didn't hesitate.
He bit into it—with fangs, not quite human, sharp and unnatural.
Blood sprayed across the fog like spilled ink, the crimson stark against the pale rain.
Maya froze.
And then—he turned. Slowly. His eyes, silver and haunting, locked with hers.
Her breath caught in her throat. The wind went silent.
He had seen her.