The morning air was still damp with dew as Rudra stepped out of the house, the metal gate clanging softly behind him. His backpack felt unusually light today—not because it lacked books, but because his mind was heavier than usual. His father had left early, claiming he had to deal with a sudden "inspection" at the substation. His mother had already packed him tiffin and kissed his forehead like she always did, but there was something different in her eyes this morning—something that looked like cautious pride, as if she was trying not to show that she knew more than she let on.
He didn't ask. Some things were easier to live with if left unexplained.
His college wasn't far. It sat at the edge of the city like a forgotten fort of ambition—Government Science & Arts College. An institution that carried the illusion of excellence behind broken benches, old ceiling fans, and cracked blackboards. He usually walked. But today, with the thoughts in his head swirling like monsoon clouds, he took a bus, sitting silently by the window, watching the peeling paint of old buildings blur by.
The gate of the college was painted bright blue, with white Hindi letters flaking off from the top arch. Students were streaming in—some dragging their feet half-asleep, others chatting with loud laughter, tossing cricket balls, hugging friends. The air carried the same scent it always did—a mix of wet dust, jasmine-scented hair oil, samosas from the canteen, and something undefinably electric. Maybe that electricity was inside him.
He walked across the campus slowly, deliberately, trying not to think about the Zix Core pulsating faintly in his chest like a second heartbeat.
"Rudra!"
A familiar voice called out from under the gulmohar tree. It was Vinay, his closest friend in college.
Vinay had always been the loud, slightly overweight boy who made inappropriate jokes, remembered everyone's birthday, and had an encyclopedic memory of Bollywood fight scenes. He was wearing his signature navy-blue checkered shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-eaten bread pakora in one hand, and a thermos hanging from his side like a warrior's flask.
"Thought you wouldn't show up," Vinay said, his tone half-accusing, half-relieved. "I was about to WhatsApp your ghost."
"I needed some air," Rudra replied, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Vinay raised an eyebrow. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Bad dreams? Or is this about the physics assignment? Because I didn't do it either."
Rudra smiled, genuinely this time. "Something like that."
They walked together towards their classroom in the old science block, their footsteps echoing through narrow halls painted in a dull cream color. The building had seen better decades. Every window had rusting bars, every classroom had graffiti, and every noticeboard was either empty or overcrowded.
First period was Introduction to Quantum Concepts, taught by the ever-peculiar Dr. Meghnad Das.
Das Sir was in his early 50s, always wore a beige safari suit regardless of weather, and carried a wooden pointer stick that he never used but always twirled like a wand. He was considered brilliant, but eccentric. No one ever saw him eat, and no student had ever managed to catch him entering or exiting the building. He was just... always there.
Today, Rudra noticed something else. The moment he entered the classroom, Das Sir turned to look at him before anyone else, eyes narrowing just slightly before returning to normal.
That glance stayed with Rudra longer than the entire lecture.
Vinay scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it to him midway through class.
> "Das Sir is an alien. Confirmed. He just quoted Heisenberg like it was a bedtime story."
Rudra chuckled quietly. But deep inside, something ticked.
After class, they headed to the canteen. The line was long, as usual, but Vinay was always good at sneaking into the front. Rudra waited under the neem tree with a bottle of water, trying not to look obvious as he watched someone across the yard.
Her name was Aanya.
She wasn't the most popular girl in college, but she was the one Rudra noticed the most. She had short, dark hair that curled naturally around her ears, wore a long brown kurti with jeans, and had a voice that carried clarity when she spoke in class, always asking the questions that even the teachers paused before answering.
She wasn't dramatic. She didn't laugh loudly or flaunt herself. But Rudra always felt her presence before he even saw her.
And today, like some miracle orchestrated by fate or perhaps the Zix Core, she was walking toward the neem tree.
He looked down at his water bottle, then straightened his posture, trying to seem casual.
"Hey," she said.
Rudra turned. "Hey."
"I heard you solved that rotational mechanics question in class last week. It wasn't easy," Aanya said, adjusting her bag.
"Oh. Yeah, I just... guessed the trick," Rudra lied, not sure how to explain that the Zix Core had given him a momentary boost in clarity that day.
"I've been struggling with that. Would you mind helping me sometime?" she asked, her voice soft but confident.
Rudra could barely believe it. "Yeah. Sure. Anytime."
A small smile touched her lips. She nodded and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of students like she always did—quietly, gracefully.
Vinay returned seconds later with two plates of oily chowmein.
"You're blushing," he said, smirking. "What did she say? Are you finally going to stop pretending you're a monk?"
Rudra shrugged. "She wants help with physics."
"And you want help with biology, I know," Vinay grinned. "Just don't forget me when you become the hero of her love story."
Rudra laughed again, but deep inside, something stirred.
By afternoon, the sun had dulled behind thick clouds. Their third period was cancelled, which gave them time to wander toward the library—a crumbling two-storey structure with more dust than books. Rudra found a corner near the philosophy section and opened a notebook. But he wasn't writing equations.
He was drawing something.
A circle. With four concentric rings. Symbols started forming inside, almost unconsciously—alien, ancient, something his fingers knew but his mind didn't.
He felt the faint hum in his chest. The Zix Core.
It wasn't calling. It was waiting.
Waiting for him to be ready.
He didn't notice Dr. Das watching him from the doorway, expression unreadable, before disappearing again into the shadows of the corridor.
---
That evening, Rudra returned home late. His mother was already in the kitchen, and his father had not yet returned. The house was quiet, but not tense. Just quiet.
He entered his room, locked the door, and sat on his bed. He stared at the wall for a while, and then, slowly, deliberately, placed his palm on his chest.
"Zix Core," he whispered.
A soft hum. A warm glow.
Then silence.
He was not unlocking anything tonight.
But he was no longer afraid to.
Tomorrow, he would be.