The sun hung higher now, casting sharper shadows across the bustling college campus as I stepped through the rusted gates, my mind still fogged with disbelief. My backpack felt heavier than usual—not because of books, but the burden of memory. The laughter of students, the familiar chatter of friends, the click of sandals on pavement—it was all the same. The world hadn't changed. But I had.
Each brick of this campus held ghosts I'd created. I walked past the main hall and instantly remembered the prank I pulled during the freshman orientation—how Rohit tripped and spilled his project in front of everyone. How I laughed the loudest.
And now, here I was. A sinner in borrowed time.
I had to find him.
But what could I say? "Hey Rohit, sorry for tormenting you and also… sorry I dated your mom, then mocked her death?"
My stomach twisted.
I moved through the crowd with my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who remembered the old me.
"Yo Ravi!" a voice called out.
I froze.
A guy with a cocky grin and sunglasses jogged over, throwing an arm around me.
Arjun.
One of my 'friends'. The kind who laughed at my jokes no matter how cruel. Who pushed people around because it made him feel big.
"Skipped class again yesterday, huh?" Arjun smirked. "Man, you should've seen the look on Rohit's face when you poured water on his notes. Priceless!"
I clenched my jaw.
It had already started. The moments. The traps. The tests.
I looked up slowly and said, "That wasn't cool. We went too far."
Arjun raised an eyebrow. "What? Bro, it was hilarious! The guy's a total loser. Why so serious all of a sudden?"
"Because I was an asshole," I said, my voice low but firm.
Arjun stepped back. "Whoa. Okay, Gandhi. Did you hit your head or something?"
"Yeah," I muttered. "Something like that."
I walked past him, heart pounding, throat dry. Every cell in my body screamed at me to fall back into the rhythm—to pretend nothing happened. But I couldn't.
Not after what I saw.
I found Rohit in the library.
He sat in the far corner, tucked between the shelves, hunched over a thick textbook. His hair was messier than I remembered. His glasses fogged at the edges. There was a nervous twitch in his hand as he took notes. I remembered that twitch. It got worse when he was anxious.
I approached slowly, every step louder in my mind than it really was. I cleared my throat.
He looked up.
Our eyes met.
I saw confusion first.
Then caution.
"…Ravi?"
I opened my mouth—but no words came.
What do you say to someone whose life you destroyed?
"I—uh…" I swallowed. "Can I sit?"
He looked like he wanted to say no. But he nodded.
I pulled out the chair and sat down, eyes on the scratched table between us.
"I know this is weird," I said. "But… I want to talk. Really talk."
Rohit didn't reply. His fingers clutched his pen like a shield.
"I was a jerk to you. Worse than a jerk. I bullied you. Humiliated you. I…" My voice cracked. "I did things I can't take back. But I want to try. To change. To make it right."
Silence.
I dared to look up.
Rohit's expression was unreadable.
"Are you dying or something?" he asked softly.
"No," I said. "But I saw what kind of person I became. And it made me sick."
He stared for a long moment. Then, without a word, he closed his book, stood up, and walked away.
The chair scraped across the floor like thunder.
I sat there, breathless.
This wasn't going to be easy.
But I wasn't giving up.
---
The day dragged on like wet cement. Every interaction was a landmine. Old friends slapped my back, expecting sarcastic quips. Professors eyed me suspiciously, already tired of my history. And worst of all—every hallway I walked through whispered versions of the man I used to be.
I skipped lunch.
Instead, I walked to the temple near the back gate. I'd never even entered it before. But something drew me there.
I stepped inside the cool, dark chamber. The scent of incense curled in the air. A small idol of Lord Shiva stood at the center, wrapped in marigolds.
I folded my hands.
"I don't know if you're real," I whispered. "But someone gave me this chance. Someone heard me. And if that someone is you… thank you."
A soft breeze moved through the temple.
It wasn't an answer. But it was something.
---
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, just like I had the night before.
But now, the ceiling felt different.
It was no longer a cover.
It was a canvas.
And I had one brushstroke already laid down.
The night deepened, and Ravi's room fell silent except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. He lay in his bed, eyes closed, but his mind was far from rest. The weight of the day's events—the confrontation with Rohit, the unexpected encounter with Nithin—swirled in his thoughts, keeping sleep at bay.
Unbeknownst to him, across the room, a presence lingered. Perched on the study bench, Dragon God Nithin observed silently. His form was ethereal, a blend of shadows and starlight, his eyes reflecting the cosmos itself. He watched as Ravi tossed and turned, wrestling with the remnants of his past and the uncertain path ahead.
Nithin's gaze softened. He had given Ravi a second chance, but the journey to redemption was never straightforward. The boy would stumble, doubt, and perhaps even falter. But that was the essence of growth—to rise after each fall, to learn from every misstep.
As Ravi finally succumbed to sleep, his breathing steadying, Nithin whispered softly, "Rest now, young one. Tomorrow is a new day."
With that, he faded into the shadows, leaving behind a promise of guidance and unseen protection.