For thirty years, Amarath lived an ordinary, peaceful life—until three months ago, when everything changed…….
Amarath and Sachet were deep in conversation when Kriti’s voice broke through.
“Focus on the food, you two,” she said with a playful smile.
Amarath grinned. “Okay, Aunty.”
Kriti raised an eyebrow, her smile turning teasing. “Why do you call me ‘Aunty,’ but refer to my husband as Sachet?”
Amarath shrugged. “I’ve always heard my grandmother and father call him Sachet.”
Before Kriti could respond, his grandmother chimed in from across the table. “I don’t call him Sachet. I call him Sachu.”
Kriti’s smirk widened. “Don’t give me lame excuses.”
Amarath stirred the gravy thoughtfully, his voice dropping slightly. “Honestly, he’s more than a father to me—my mentor. He’s everything… He’s, my world.” His words lingered in the air, thick and heavy, like a mountain pressing against his chest, the raw emotion in his voice hanging between them all.
The room grew still. Then, breaking the silence, Sachet quipped, “The gravy’s waiting for us!” His tone sliced through the tension, light and easy, pulling everyone back to the moment.
As they returned to their meal, a sharp ping pierced the air. All eyes turned to Amarath. In his hand, a spoon was bent in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, its shape warped like paper.
“I don’t know,” Amarath murmured, staring at the spoon. “I barely touched it.” He added, “These things have been happening way too often lately.”
Sachet’s gaze flickered to Amarath’s hand, his breath catching for a split second. He shot a quick glance at Kriti and Grandmother before breaking into a loud laugh. “Guess your gym workouts are really paying off!”
Laughter rippled through the room, the tension melting away….except for the knowing look Sachet sent Amarath’s way.
Later that night, Kriti helped Grandmother settle into bed while Amarath and Sachet were shouting and quarrelling at the top of their lungs over the IPL final between CSK and GT. Amarath was supporting CSK, while Sachet backed GT. During the final moments of the match, Amarath shouted, “A six and a four!” Shockingly, the same materialized in the match. Leaning back triumphantly, he grinned at Sachet.
As Kriti walked out of the room, she told Sachet that she was heading home and warned him not to be late. Sachet, still recovering from the loss, nodded silently, too absorbed in the sting of defeat to respond.
While celebrating his victory, Amarath went to get some cold drinks. When he opened the refrigerator, he managed to catch an ice bottle in midair. He appreciated himself and murmured, “Nice reflexes.” Then he paused, the cold air brushing against his hair, as he realized he had predicted not just the fall but also the match. For a brief second, a strange chill ran down his spine But he immediately ignored and didn’t give it a second thought, dismissing it as some kind of good luck.
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As soon as Amarath returned, he froze in shock—Sachet was moving the sofa.
Curiosity got the better of him. “What are you doing?”
Without looking up, Sachet replied, “Your time has come.”
Amarath blinked. “What?”
Sachet’s voice was calm but firm. “Standing there won’t help you.”
Frowning, Amarath set the glasses on the nearby table and hurried toward him. Without hesitation, Sachet yanked the carpet aside. A hidden compartment beneath the floor slowly came into view. Amarath’s breath hitched.
Inside lay an ancient box.
Sachet knelt, handling the box with reverence. As he exhaled across its surface, a fine layer of dust swirled into the air, catching the dim light. The carvings—intricate and unfamiliar—seemed to pulse with secrets long buried.
Amarath’s eyes stayed fixed on it. “What is this?”
Sachet’s voice was quiet yet weighted. “Your hidden past.” His gaze never left the box as he added, “Come with me.”
Amarath hesitated. “Where?”
Before Sachet could answer, Amarath whispered, almost unconsciously, “The temple.”
Sachet’s head snapped up. His jaw slackened. “How do you know?”
Amarath barely had time to register the question before a flicker of light pulsed at his fingertips. A tiny spark, brief yet unmistakable.
His heart pounded. “What was that?” The energy that had coursed through him felt ancient. Unfamiliar. Alive.
Sachet didn’t waver. His tone left no room for argument. “Just come with me.”
He spun on his heels, striding toward the car. Amarath, still in a daze, followed blindly—until a voice cut through the night.
Low. Measured. Unsettling.
"Hello, guys."
Amarath turned, his pulse still settling. “Hi, Krishnam.”
Sachet started the car, eyeing him. “Where are you heading at this hour?”
Krishnam hesitated before rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged pink. “To the Shiva temple.”
Sachet raised an eyebrow. “At midnight?”
Krishnam’s blush deepened.
Amarath smirked. “His girlfriend lives near the temple.”
Sachet let out a quiet chuckle, but Amarath’s gaze flicked to Krishnam’s sweatshirt. It looked unusually soft.
He arched a brow. “Nice fluffy sweatshirt. Gift from her?”
Krishnam’s face turned crimson. He gave a small nod, avoiding Amarath’s gaze.
Sachet smirked. “We’re heading there too. Hop in.”
Before Krishnam could reply, Amarath shot Sachet a warning look. “Leave him alone.”
Krishnam waved them off, still flustered. “Thanks, guys. Catch you later.”
As Krishnam disappeared down the street, Sachet chuckled, shaking his head. “Always a good story with that guy.”
Amarath, still unsettled, turned to him. “Why are we going to the Shiva temple?”
Sachet simply signalled him, “Get in.”
Sachet, with his usual calm, reached over and turned the key into the ignition. The low rumble of the engine came to life, a purr that vibrated through the car’s frame.
“Vroom-vroom…” the father mimicked softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
“I’m loving the story, Father!” the boy exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement. His lips curled into an eager grin as he leaned forward, “What happened next?”
The father chuckled, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
The boy’s face scrunched up in protest. “Noo! Please, Father.”
With a tender smile, the father adjusted the boy's blanket. “Curiosity is the greatest feeling in the world,” he said, his voice warm and wise. “And by the way, tomorrow is just around the corner.”
The boy’s expression faltered for a moment, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Good night, Dad.”
The father’s faint smile lingered as he reached for the light switch, his hand pausing for a moment before turning the room dark. He left quietly, the door creaking shut behind him.
Who really Amarath was and where did his powers come from?
More importantly, how did Sachet know the truth before he did?