There's something strange about sitting at a table with ghosts.
Ghosts of people who are still breathing in this version of reality. Ghosts of a time I thought was lost forever. And yet, here they were right in front of me - alive, laughing, clueless about the storms ahead.
I chewed slowly, not because the food wasn't good, but because I wanted it to last.
The crunch of the dosa, the warm taste of chutney, the tang of the sambar, I hadn't realized how much I missed these. These flavors were once background noise to my teenage tantrums. But now they felt sacred.
Mom looked at me between bites. "What? You're eating like a poet today."
I smiled. She always said things like that.
---
My schoolbag sat on the corner of the sofa. I picked it up slowly, half-expecting it to feel foreign in my hands. But no — the straps still had the same twist, the zipper still stuck a little near the bottom, and inside, the same blue pen I had once scribbled dreams with.
I checked my phone - a chunky keypad one, with no notifications, no apps screaming for attention. Just a wallpaper of my dog, Bruno, who was still here in this timeline, probably barking at the newspaper guy by now.
I stepped outside, and there he was.
He saw me, tilted his head, and ran straight into my arms.
My eyes burned again.
---
The school bus honked from down the road, same old yellow metal beast with peeling paint and voices spilling out of every open window.
As I climbed in, I saw them - the friends I'd left behind.
Karthik, the class clown with eyes too sharp for his age.
Anjali, with her math books and soft voice.
And Hari… my best friend.
He looked at me, grinned, and patted the seat beside him.
Like nothing had gone wrong. Because nothing had, not yet.
I took the seat. My hand trembled just a little as I sat down. I looked at him, really looked at him - the way his smile didn't reach one side, the scar on his eyebrow from falling off his bike, the notebook he carried with lyrics he never shared.
We had fought the next day. A stupid, ego-fueled clash that I never tried to fix. And he never gave me a second chance.
But now…
"Hey," I said, my voice quiet.
He looked up. "Yeah?"
"I... missed this," I said before I could stop myself.
He blinked, laughed. "You okay, man? You sound like we're graduating today."
I forced a laugh. "Maybe I'm just... grateful."
He nodded slowly, probably thinking I hadn't slept well. Maybe I hadn't. Maybe I was too awake now.
---
That day passed like a movie I'd once watched but forgotten the dialogue to.
I answered questions in class I once ignored. I helped a junior who had dropped his papers in the hallway. I didn't snap at the teacher who embarrassed me in front of everyone — I smiled, took the hit, and sat back down.
Every little decision — each smile, each choice to stay calm — felt like placing bricks where cracks used to be.
I didn't know if it would be enough.
But I knew this: for the first time, I was choosing differently.
---
That night, lying on the same old bed, Bruno curled up near my feet, I stared at the ceiling.
I wasn't here to rewrite everything.
I was here to remember what truly mattered and hold onto it like my life depended on it.
Because maybe it did...