[Time: 7:46 AM]
[Location: Ujjain Railway station | Plateform 4]
The train didn't just arrive at the station.
It crashed into existence like it was trying to escape its own criminal record.
Brakes screamed like tortured banshees.
Passengers flew out like popcorn from a haunted microwave.
And in the middle of this symphony of doom?
Nanu.
Unmoved. Unbothered. Un-blinked.
Sipping his masala chai with such divine menace, the chai started steeping itself harder out of fear.
He rose.
The platform shuddered.
Three babies cried.
Two men fainted.
One pigeon caught fire and ascended to a higher spiritual tax bracket.
Somewhere in the background, a dog barked, paused, and began chanting in Sanskrit.
Then… his sandal touched Ujjaini soil.
Time stopped.
A coconut cracked by itself.
The sky darkened slightly.
A nearby saint exploded into glitter.
Behind him:
Mr. & Mrs. Verma, deep in a WWE-level marital smackdown about whether the suitcase was "champagne beige" or "divorce tan."
Edward Malone, looking like a Victorian vampire who'd accidentally booked an Airbnb in hell.
Eloise, documenting everything like she was filming Paranormal Activity: Gajak Edition.
Mr. Damoun, breathing so heavily even the wind tried to socially distance.
They approached the taxi stand.
The drivers scoffed.
"We don't take bookings from circus rejects," one said.
Then Nanu looked at him.
Not angrily. Just… looked.
The driver began to cry blood, whispering, "My sins… they see me…"
And handed over his taxi, keys, house deed, and possibly a kidney.
---
Ten Minutes Later
Mr. Damoun vanished to see his cousin, a local spiritual-baker with a temple made entirely of meringue. He said, "I must explain why the croissant is a sacred spiral of the soul," and evaporated in a cloud of icing sugar.
The rest? They pulled up at:
Hotel Bliss Divine Heritage Palace Luxury Lodge & Gajak Emporium.
A name so long even Google Maps just gave up and redirected them to "good luck."
The bellboy opened the door… and instantly aged five years.
Receptionist: "Sir, do you have a reservation?"
Nanu (stone-cold): "No. I have… a mission."
Receptionist: "…Rooms 301, 302 and 303. Please don't kill me."
They stormed in like it was a raid.
---
Room 301: Verma Warzone
The Vermas entered.
Two seconds later, all-out nuclear argument.
She wanted to freshen up.
He wanted to eat the hand towel.
She searched for her skincare.
He pulled out a mango.
She shrieked.
He bit into it like a rabid raccoon.
"WHERE'S MY TONER?" she yelled.
"IT'S ORGANIC MANGO," he declared.
"YOU'RE ADOPTED!"
"GOOD!"
The lamp committed suicide.
---
Room 302: Malone Mausoleum
Edward floated in, ghost-style, unpacked his noise-canceling teabags (yes, they exist), and arranged them by mood.
Eloise lit a candle and immediately sensed death.
Eloise: "This room has haunted Aura. A miserly monk died here I've read accross 39 Articles to confirm it… he was in toilet."
Edward (hisitated): "Should we.. change the room??"
Eloise: "No. I want horror experience."
Edward nodded. Respectfully.
---
Room 303: The Nanu Lair
Nanu entered.
Instantly—
Electricity flickered.
Wi-Fi tried to escape.
A painting fell.
The AC whispered, "forgive me, father…" in Latin.
Nanu looked around.
Too soft. Too... pleasant. Suspicious.
He flipped the bed upside down, like a criminal flipping a witness.
He sat on the ceiling fan in lotus pose and meditated so hard the minibar started confessing secrets.
He whispered to the cockroach:
"Your time will come, brother. Wait for the 4th moon."
Then opened his laptop.
A laptop so hacked, it once infiltrated the Vatican and made the Pope install chess.com.
As he brewed tea using rage and a pinch of black pepper, he muttered:
"This hotel has 13.6 hours before it collapses… under the weight of its own secrets."
Outside, thunder roared.
Inside, destiny sharpened its fangs.
And in Room 301, a mango hit the window like a final warning shot.
---
After the hotel absorbed enough emotional damage to apply for trauma compensation, the squad emerged.
Refreshed. Re-clothed. Rebooted.
Except Mr. Verma, who came out wearing a bathrobe and a tie.
Mrs. Verma: "You look like a spiritual stripper."
Mr. Verma: "It's called fusion fashion. Karl Lagerfeld would've cried."
Eloise wore a scarf so aesthetic even pigeons nodded in appreciation.
Edward still looked like he haunted Victorian closets for a hobby.
Nanu? Oh, he wore the same outfit. Time doesn't change Nanu. Nanu changes time.
---
The Taxi Ride
They all clambered into a battered Ambassador taxi that moaned like it remembered British rule.
The driver was 112 years old. Or 12. No one could tell.
He spoke only in quotes from old Bollywood movies and had a Shivling sticker on the steering wheel that glowed every time someone cursed.
Mr. Verma (on phone): "Damoun! Reach the temple directly, and DON'T spiritualize the Gajak again!"
Mr. Damoun (somewhere in a bakery-temple hybrid): "The chakras in jaggery must be respected, Verma ji!"
---
On the Streets of Ujjain
Outside?
Stunning.
Streets lined with history, colors popping like Holi had a lovechild with a prism.
Ancient temples peeking through mango trees.
Domes so beautifully carved, even Google Earth blushes when zooming in.
Rickshaws zipped by like caffeinated cockroaches.
Saris shimmered in the golden sun like moving prayer flags.
The air itself felt… ancient. Holy. Slightly spiced with asafoetida.
Nanu looked out the window.
Nanu: "These carvings… each one tells a story. And some of them are staring back."
Edward: "Do temples normally… blink?"
Eloise: "Only when you're being judged."
---
Lunch at Satvik Spoons: Veggie Cuisine So Pure, It Meditated Before Being Cooked
They stopped at a heritage-style restaurant that served only pure vegetarian food—so pure, even the onions were emotionally unavailable.
The waiter greeted them with folded hands and trauma in his eyes.
Nanu: "Bring me food that makes my third eye weep."
Waiter: "So... two thalis and a rebirth?"
Edward ordered "anything with no soul."
Eloise wanted "something that smells like enlightenment."
Mr. Verma asked, "Do you have bhindi fries?"
Mrs. Verma punched him under the table.
The food arrived.
Golden dal.
Fluffy rotis.
Paneer cubes so soft, they apologized when bitten.
And somewhere else with full mouth..
Mr. Damoun (on call with Miss Sylvie): "No spirits here, darling. Only the kind that go, 'Om'."
The group ate like gods after fasting on cheat day.
Even Nanu took a second helping—unheard of. The waiter fainted in joy.
---
Destination: The Mahakaleshwar Temple – Where Architecture Meets Afterlife Admin Office
The taxi rolled into the spiritual epicenter of Ujjain.
And there it stood—the Mahakaleshwar Temple.
Tall. Ancient. Crowned in carvings that whispered stories older than gravity.
Spirals, domes, stairways to the divine.
Monks chanted. Bells rang like celestial drumrolls. Pigeons flew in synchronized Vedic formations.
The scent? A cocktail of sandalwood, incense, marigolds, and mild cosmic anxiety.
They stepped out of the taxi.
Mr. Damoun was already there—wearing a sherwani stitched with mantras and holding a tray of sacred Gajak that shimmered unnaturally.
Damoun: "Brothers… sisters… fellow vibrating beings…"
Mr. Verma: "Don't. You. Dare."
But it was too late.
He began a 3-minute speech about how the temple architecture was designed using sacred geometry, celestial ratios, and mild dessert-based astrology.
While he talked:
A cow joined the group like it had a plotline.
A sadhu walked by, blessed them, then blessed the taxi, then blessed a tree.
Eloise cried tears of aesthetic overwhelm.
Edward tried to tip the deity.
Nanu stared at the temple door like it owed him money in a past life.
---
They entered the temple.
Footsteps echoing in corridors that whispered Vedic wisdom.
Shadows dancing over thousand-year-old walls, still alive with divine intent.
A cool breeze welcomed them—a whisper from history.
Nanu bowed slightly.
Even time paused respectfully.
Eloise's camera shook.
Edward blinked in emotion.
Mr. Verma finally shut up.
And just as they stepped into the heart of the temple, a random mango—probably cursed—rolled past their feet again.
Nanu caught it mid-roll.
Whispered: "The signs begin."
---
---
Veer woke up like he'd just been slapped by God himself.
No alarms, no sounds, just that ancient psychic instinct screaming "RUN, IDIOT". His crusty eyes locked onto the clock.
8:02 AM.
His body acted before his brain caught up. A primal survival instinct kicked in...
He leapt out of bed in sheer primal terror, slipping on his own dignity, nearly dislocated a kneecap, and began a frantic speedrun of the morning routine. One sock on, toothpaste in his eye, shirt backward, bag nowhere in sight.
Why? Because of her.
Miss D'Cruz.
Class teacher.
Certified menace.
Suspected exorcist.
She once made a kid cry just by raising an eyebrow.
As he sprinted around the room with Olympic panic, halfway through shoving a notebook into his bag with a toothbrush still in his mouth, his brain suddenly farted out a reminder:
"Wait. You dumb crust nugget. You're suspended."
He froze mid-motion like someone had just unplugged his soul.
The fear vanished. Replaced by something far more dangerous: pure, undiluted smugness.
A villainous grin creeped across his face like a warlord who just realized all his enemies accidentally drowned in a kiddie pool. He casually moonwalked back to bed like he'd just defeated the education system itself. Collapsed onto his pillow. Closed his eyes. Sweet sleep—
Gone.
Just gone. His body was ready. His mind was buzzing like a mosquito on crack. He stared at the ceiling like it owed him money. The silence screamed. His brain went into a Shakespearean monologue of rage.
"This is betrayal. Divine betrayal. You gave me sleep when I needed speed. And now that I have eternity? You abandon me, like the wi-fi during an exam?"
He cursed everything. God. Karma. Newton. His mattress. The curtains. Even a pillow that looked suspiciously judgmental.
Then another neuron flared up:
"…That weird 'U' thing from last night."
He remembered tossing it somewhere with the grace of a drunk raccoon. Now, he had to find it.
Spy mode: activated.
His entire body shot up again, faster than a caffeinated jackrabbit on roller skates.
He darted toward his drawer, flinging socks, old homework, and some possibly illegal snacks out of the way. His room looked like a crime scene, but he couldn't stop. He had a mission—a stupid mission, but a mission nonetheless.
Nada.
He interrogated his own memory like a drunk detective:
"Where did you throw it, you MADASS?!"
While mid-interrogation with those cursed loves, he got the divine urge to visit the holy place—aka, the washroom. Still narrating his own thoughts like a budget Sherlock Holmes. He did the needful (don't imagine it), walked to the sink to wash his hands…
And froze.
There it was.
In the sink.
Casually chilling.
It stared back at him with the smugness of a USB cable that only fits on the third try.
"Of course," he whispered. "Of course my dumb gremlin brain thought 'yes, the sink is the perfect place to store experimental tech'. Why not put it in the blender next time?"
"You little metallic son of a—" he hissed.
He picked it up with the reluctant shame of a man retrieving underwear from a tree branch. Then—rushed back to his room.
Because now? Now it was science time.
Not the textbook kind.
The mad lad, questionably legal, probably FBI-watching-you kind.
He threw it on the table, pulled out a flashlight, a magnet, a safety pin, and something that may or may not have been stolen from Rohit's "illegal lab kit" (aka Rohit's black-market samosa operation's R&D wing).
Today, Veer was a man with purpose.
A man with suspension.
He didn't know what the thing was.
But he was going to poke it. Zap it. Smell it. Lick it maybe.
And if it opened a portal, even better.
And once he ran all his "Veer-certified idiot diagnostics™",
he was going straight to Ethan's house.
Because if anyone could identify alien mess, build a prototype, and accidentally hack into the Pentagon while sneezing—it was Ethan.
Veer grabbed the thing, a jacket, a half-eaten protein bar, and yelled into the void:
"SCIENCE, BABY! Also sorry if I die!"
And thus began the worst idea he would have all week. Probably.
---
Veer came barreling down the street like a caffeinated squirrel escaping a tax audit. Jacket flapping, hair wild, and a mysterious U-shaped doodad clutched in his hand like it owed him rent.
He skidded to a halt at the gate.
And froze.
There—on the porch—stood a silhouette.
A girl.
Tall. Precise. The air around her colder than an AC in a breakup song.
Hat. Sunglasses. Vibe of a seasoned assassin who moonlights as a cold-blooded calculus tutor. Probably from hell. Probably dangerous. Probably—
And then… she turned.
"It's HER."
AMELIA.
The girl whose brain ran on nuclear-grade superiority. The reason sarcasm cried itself to sleep. The academic grim reaper.
Veer's soul flatlined.
"This can't be real," he whispered. "Why is the sentient syllabus haunting my friend's porch? Is Ethan... dating... Satan?"
Veer's soul left his body. His legs turned 180° and began the ancient ancestral move: the coward's retreat.
But she spotted him.
Sunglasses slid down.
She looked up from her phone.
"VEEER! WHY. RAN. BACK?!"
Like a cursed doll being summoned, Veer slowly turned in dramatic slow motion, pulling out his most shameless, Oscar-worthy expression.
"Who? Called? Me? No no, I'm just a humble… wanderer. In the mist."
He sauntered up like he hadn't just tried to ghost her harder than her last three DMs.
"Oh hey, Amelia," he added, blinking like someone had fried his brain in a toaster oven. "You're, uh... still... existing?"
She removed her glasses. That glare could melt steel and egos.
"By the way, you got suspended right?"
Veer faltered. "I preferred teachers to live Happily for a few days."
She folded her arms. "You're the human version of a 'read more' button. Always annoying. Never needed."
"I see someone's been practicing roast battles in the mirror again," he shot back weakly.
Amelia smirked. "No, I practice on idiots. Live training."
His ego got brutally stabbed. "I would sue you if I wasn't in hurry."
They glared at each other like two anime rivals before the season finale.
"Anyway," Veer said, shifting topics like a squirrel on espresso. "Why are you here? Cyberstalking Ethan for a revenge essay?"
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Why are you here? Running a delivery service for cursed objects again?"
He rolled his eyes. "I'm just here to protect my poor innocent friend from being consumed by academic demons with zero empathy and 300 PDFs."
She scoffed. "I was waiting for him to send the academic profiles for the Math Olympiad. That's all."
"Wait. WHAT? The state board hasn't even released those yet!" Veer said, horrified.
"Exactly. That's why I need them before everyone else. For efficiency."
"Efficiency?! You cruel, power-hungry psychopath! You're using my fragile, tender friend for your academic greed!"
Amelia adjusted her watch like she was scheduling his funeral. "I didn't ask. He offered. And I accepted. I'm a woman of ethics."
Veer blinked. "You're a girl, not Gandalf. Calm down."
Amelia opened her mouth to respond with a kill shot, but—
CREEAAAK.
The front door opened, just enough for Ethan to poke his head out.
Ethan stood there like a traumatized NPC who'd just spawned into a boss battle. Headphones off. Hoodie up. Staring.
He'd been on the other side of the door the entire time, eavesdropping like a squirrel caught between a blender and a toaster.
He looked at both of them with the silent horror of a child watching his divorced parents argue at parent-teacher night.
"…I was just wondering," Ethan said slowly, his voice quiet, like it might break under the weight of social interaction, "how two Pokémon got out of their Pokéballs and found my house."
Veer blinked. "I'm Charizard, she's Gengar."
Amelia scoffed. "More like Slowpoke and Egochu."
Ethan stared. A long, painful blink. Like he was trying to uninstall reality with sheer will.
"…I sent the files, Amelia. Two hours ago. Check your inbox. And please... go... before I replace my walls with soundproof regret."
Amelia checked her phone. "Oh. You did."
She looked mildly impressed. "Thanks. You're efficient. Unlike some others."
Suddenly it clicked..
Veer, "Hey!, why you guys aren't at school?"
Amelia, "Holiday. Yesterday they took students upto class 10th on a tour. For two days."
Veer flatly, "oooh"
She gave Veer a last glare, like she was mentally tasering him, and strutted away with the energy of someone who wins arguments in their sleep.
Veer turned to Ethan.
"Dude. Why would you volunteer for her?"
Ethan shrugged, avoiding eye contact like it was his day job. "She asked once. Politely. Then offered coffee. I panicked."
"Respect. I once cried because she corrected my text emoji placement."
Veer held up the U-shaped device.
> "Anyway—alien tech, suspicious glow, 4% chance of death. Science?"
Ethan stared.
Silence.
Long silence.
He slowly closed the door.
"…Rude," Veer muttered. "It's not like I was gonna poke it that hard—"
CREEEAK.
Door reopened.
Ethan deadpanned. "If this thing screams, explodes, or opens a portal—I'm blaming you in my suicide note."
"Fair."
They stepped inside.
> Veer grinned like a man on the edge of genius and chaos.
Ethan sighed like a man already regretting tomorrow.
Science left the chat. May the neighbours survive.
---