CHAPTER 15 "He Is Happy, Commander"

The rooftop door creaked shut behind them, sealing off the sounds of the wedding below—laughter, music, footsteps—all of it faded, distant, as if belonging to a world they were no longer part of.

The sky above was deep indigo, stars trying to peek through the veil of city lights. The breeze that rolled across the rooftop wasn't cold, but Dhruv shivered. Maybe from fear. Or maybe from the storm that had finally caught up to him.

He stood there for a second, frozen.

Maya didn't say a word. She just waited.

The tension was not awkward—it was dense, like walking into a room filled with smoke. You could almost choke on it.

Then, without a word, Dhruv fell to his knees.

Hard.

No hesitation. No attempt to save face. Just raw, bone-deep emotion. His hands came together in front of him, pressed so tightly they were trembling. His head bowed low, hair falling over his eyes, hiding his shame.

His breath hitched. His shoulders shook.

He couldn't look at her. Not yet.

"I'm sorry."

His voice cracked like glass breaking.

"I'm so… so sorry, Maya…"A pause.

"For leaving. For not saying goodbye. For choosing the coward's path. For breaking everything we promised to hold on to."

Tears poured freely now, soaking his cheeks, dripping from his jaw, hitting the concrete like rain.

Maya stood there, unmoved. But she wasn't cold. She wasn't angry. She was just… still.

Her eyes were locked on him. Not the version of him she remembered—the smiling, reckless, loyal Dhruv—but this broken, grown man in front of her, swallowed in guilt and time.

And inside her? A war.

She had dreamt of this moment.

Rehearsed it. Over and over.

What she would say. How she'd scream. Slap him maybe. Or laugh in his face.

But now that he was here—real, trembling, shattered—she couldn't do any of it.

Because what could words do when the wound was this old, and yet still bleeding?

She blinked.

And yet, her feet didn't move. Not toward him. Not away.

Just there.

Still.

Quiet.

But more thunderous than any outburst.

Dhruv slowly lifted his head. His eyes, swollen and red, looked up at her with nothing but truth. Not for pity. Not for forgiveness. Just to be seen. To be acknowledged.

"I'm not expecting anything," he whispered. "Not even your forgiveness. I don't deserve that. I just… I needed you to know that I've never stopped thinking about what I did. About what I left behind. About you."

Silence.

But Maya didn't walk away.

She didn't utter a single word.

But her eyes glistened. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. She looked at him the way you look at someone who once held your entire world and dropped it like it meant nothing.

Yet she stayed.

And to Dhruv, that was everything.

Because staying… even in silence… meant she hadn't let go completely.

And in that silence, something shifted.

Not healed.

But cracked open.

A place where maybe—just maybe—a second chance could begin to grow.

And Dhruv?

He let his forehead fall to the ground, tears hitting the concrete.

He didn't ask for more.

He just cried.

And Maya just stayed there.

After a brief moment of silence....

She took a step back.

Then another.

And then suddenly… she broke.

"Why…?"

It was barely a whisper.

But Dhruv heard it like thunder.

She covered her face with her hands, her voice trembling, muffled by the storm building in her throat.

"Why did you leave like that?"

Her hands dropped, and her face was flushed with grief and fury and confusion all at once.

"You disappeared, Dhruv! You just… vanished. Not even a call. Not even a message. Not even a 'goodbye'. Do you know how that felt?!"

Her voice cracked on that last word. The strength she had held onto all these years—fake smiles, forced peace—it all unraveled.

"I waited. I waited for months. Every damn day, I thought maybe you'd just show up at my door. With that stupid grin and some half-baked excuse. But you didn't."

She was crying now.

Tears rolled freely, tracing the lines of the pain she had mastered hiding. Her shoulders shook as if her heart was trying to escape her chest.

"You were my best friend, Dhruv! You were supposed to be there! When things went to hell—when life got hard—I looked around and you weren't there!"

He looked up at her, shattered.

"Maya…"

She shook her head.

"No! You don't get to say my name like that. Not after all these years. Not like it still means something to you."

Her words were daggers. But they weren't meant to wound—they were meant to bleed the truth she'd buried for too long.

And then—suddenly—she dropped to the ground too.

Not kneeling. Just sat down. Like her body gave up fighting her heart.

They sat there. Broken mirrors facing each other. Breathing in the same grief, tasting the same pain.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still not looking at him.

"I should hate you." Her voice softer now. Exhausted. "I should hate you for leaving. But the truth is… I missed you so much, it hurt."

Dhruv swallowed hard. His lips trembled.

"I missed you too."

Silence again.

But this time… not empty.

Heavy. Raw. Shared.

And in that silence, maybe they found the first stone in the bridge between them.

Not healed.

Not okay.

But they were no longer strangers not anymore.

Under the pale moonlight and the distant hum of the wedding crowd echoing from below, two old friends stood on the quiet rooftop—both broken in ways only they could understand. The silence between them wasn't just empty space—it was years of pain, absence, unspoken words, and the weight of all that was left behind.

Maya had finally broken, her tears flowing like a dam unleashed. She turned away at first, trying to hide her face, her sobs choking in her throat. But there was no strength left to hold it in anymore.

Dhruv, already on his knees, his forehead nearly touching the cold concrete, felt the tears roll freely down his cheeks. His shoulders trembled with each breath, each memory, each ounce of guilt that gripped his heart like chains.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind carried their pain, their tears glistening under the soft silver light.

Then, slowly… Maya knelt down beside him.

Not to console. Not to forgive.

But because she, too, had broken.

They didn't need to say anything. Words would've only ruined the purity of what this moment held.

Two best friends, shattered by time, crying for everything they were… and everything they could've been—crying for the lost years, for the pain they carried alone, for the promises left hanging in the air, and for that unspoken ache of "You should've been there."

They cried.

And for the first time in years, they weren't alone in their pain.

The night had deepened.

The stars above watched in gentle silence as two once-inseparable souls sat side by side after five long years of silence, absence, and ache. The wind had quieted, the distant sounds of music from the wedding reception below had softened into muffled hums—like the faint memory of a song from another lifetime. Everything around them slowed down, as if time itself had decided to hold its breath for this moment.

Dhruv sat hunched slightly forward, arms resting on his knees, his face still damp with tears. His chest rose and fell, still unsteady, as if his body hadn't caught up with the release of everything he'd just done. He could still feel the wetness of his cheeks, the soreness in his throat from crying, and most of all—the strange sense of both relief and dread that now tangled within his ribs.

Maya sat beside him, her posture tighter, more guarded. Her fingers were knotted together in her lap, and her gaze was locked somewhere far away—perhaps across the sky, or maybe into a memory that only she could see. She hadn't said much after he'd broken down in front of her… and Dhruv hadn't tried to push anything more.

They were both breathing in the stillness. Inhaling it. Trying to understand what had just happened between them.

And then, out of nowhere, Dhruv moved instinctively—his hand rising to his lips, fingers curling, like muscle memory. He mimed flicking a lighter, brought nothing to his mouth, and took in a long breath before exhaling… emptiness.

He blinked, looked at his hand… and felt stupid.

Maya turned her head toward him, brows knitting together as she caught the gesture."Wait… did you just…"

Dhruv glanced at her and gave a half-shrug, half-smile."Yeah… force of habit."

Her eyes narrowed. Not in mockery. Not even in disappointment. It was something softer—something that cut deeper because it came from someone who used to know him better than anyone else. Her voice was fragile when she spoke again."You smoke now?"

He didn't answer.

"You really changed," she said, more to herself than to him. "Did the five years of seclusion

give you this too?"

Dhruv flinched.

There was no malice in her tone—only sadness. Only grief.

He couldn't even look at her. His gaze dropped to the ground in front of him, where the moonlight painted long, stretched shadows of their forms. He suddenly became very aware of how small his shadow looked next to hers.

He swallowed hard."Yeah..." he muttered, barely above a whisper. "seclusion teaches you a lot of things. Most of them you'd rather forget."

Maya didn't respond immediately. Her eyes stayed on him, watching the man who had once been a boy beside her. A boy who used to laugh so loudly it echoed in the park. A boy who swore he'd always be there. A boy who once stood by her like the sky itself wouldn't fall without his permission.

Now he sat beside her, not quite the same.

She asked quietly,"You could've come back, Dhruv. Even once. Even just… for a moment."

His throat tightened. His lips parted, but no words came out for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

"I wanted to," he said. "So many times. You have no idea. I'd reach the train station. I'd write a message and delete it before sending. I'd stand at the edge of the road near the city and just… freeze."

"Then why didn't you?" she asked, voice trembling.

He closed his eyes, and something heavy fell inside his chest.

"Because every day that passed made me feel like I was further away. Like if I came back, everything would be different. Everyone would look at me with questions I couldn't answer. And you…" He looked at her then, eyes shimmering again. "You'd look at me like this. Like I broke something too precious to fix."

Maya bit her bottom lip, trying to hold herself together."You think running made it better?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I think it made everything worse. I just didn't know how to stop. I never did."

"I wanted to… so many times. But the longer I stayed away, the harder it became. And I kept thinking… maybe it's better if I stay gone. Maybe I had ruined things too much to fix them."

Maya shook her head, tears threatening again." Dhruv. Do you have any idea how many times I looked at the door, hoping you'd be standing there?"

He lowered his head, guilt radiating from his body like a second skin."I know… I know. I hated myself for every second of it."

She sniffled but didn't look away."Then why now?"

Dhruv looked up at the stars, a small, bitter smile on his face."Because even cowards get tired of running one day."

A long pause followed.

She looked at him, really looked. Not at the guilt. Not at the brokenness. But at the boy who had once held her hand when her parents yelled. The boy who had given her his only chocolate bar when she was crying on the bench after failing a test. The boy who had once said, "We'll grow old still talking nonsense to each other."

Her voice cracked."You were my best friend, Dhruv."

He let out a small, shattered laugh."I still am… if that counts for anything."

She didn't reply.

He turned to her fully now. His face, worn and raw and vulnerable, carried a truth so human it could break anyone.

"I don't expect anything from you, Maya," he said. "I just wanted to see you… to say I'm sorry. For leaving. For being too scared to come back. For everything I missed. For not being there when you needed me."

Maya wiped a single tear from her cheek.

And then… she said nothing.

But she didn't walk away either.

They sat like that, both holding onto the silence, not because they didn't want to speak—but because, sometimes, silence is the only thing that understands.

The rooftop air had grown quieter, heavier—as if the sky itself leaned in to listen.

Maya's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the city lights blinked like tired stars. Her voice came out softer now, almost hesitant, like she wasn't sure whether she wanted the answer or just needed to ask.

"So... did you find what you were looking for?" she asked.

Her words sliced through the silence gently but deeply, like a thread unraveling something that had been wound tight for too long.

Dhruv didn't respond immediately.

His eyes were still lowered—watching the nothingness below his feet. His hands rested limply on his knees, his fingers twitching slightly as if holding back something he couldn't name.

The question echoed in his head.

Did I?

He thought of the days he wandered aimlessly, pretending to chase purpose. The people he met, the towns he passed through. The sleepless nights. The conversations with strangers. The meals eaten in silence. The thousand little lies he told himself just to get through another day.

And all this time, he kept hoping—somewhere, he would feel whole again.

But here he was… sitting next to the one person who once made the world feel like home, and all he felt was how far he'd drifted.

He breathed in, sharp and shaky, and after a long pause… he whispered:

"No."

The silence that followed wasn't surprised. It was… understanding.

Maya didn't react immediately. She didn't nod, didn't sigh, didn't rush to fill the air with comforting words.

She simply kept looking at the horizon. Still. Present. Listening.

Not everything needed an answer.

And maybe Dhruv didn't need to be fixed. Maybe he just needed someone to stay beside him, quietly, while the pieces shifted inside.

For the first time in five years, he wasn't running.

He let out a quiet, broken chuckle, more breath than sound.

"I still don't know what I'm supposed to be doing," he said, eyes tired but honest.

Maya's lips curved, the smallest of smiles breaking through. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"That makes two of us," she replied.

And for the first time in five years, Dhruv felt something gentle stir inside him.

Not hope, not yet.

But something close.

Something like… the permission to begin again.

And maybe—for now—that was enough.

And then, they looked at each other.

And they laughed.

Not because something was funny.

But because pain makes people laugh sometimes. Because it's easier than breaking down again. Because after everything, laughter is the only way to stop the tears from winning.

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't bright.

But it was real.

The rooftop still held the residue of a storm—not of weather, but of memory. Laughter lingered, faint and brittle, like the final flickers of a candle after a long night. Dhruv and Maya sat there, side by side, facing the world that had changed while they had stayed the same in all the ways that mattered.

Below them, the wedding music echoed faintly—barely audible, like a whisper slipping between buildings. But here, above it all, it was still. The wind brushed past gently, and the sky loomed above in its endless indifference, painted in bruised hues of navy and gray.

And somewhere high above…

A crow cut through the silence.

At first, it was a speck in the sky—nothing more than a shadow skating across the moonlight. But as it descended, the shape became clearer, its flight too controlled, too precise. The wings didn't flap with urgency like most birds. It glided, with a kind of eerie grace, as though gravity had made an exception for it.

Its feathers weren't the dusty black of city crows. No—this one shimmered in shades of deep violet and dark steel, its wings edged in something that seemed to bend light itself. With every shift of wind, its feathers caught the moonlight, glinting with a metallic sheen—as if forged, not grown.

It swooped once around the rooftop where Dhruv and Maya sat—still unnoticed—then made its descent.

The landing was too quiet. A bird of that size should've made a flutter, a scrape of claws on concrete. But instead, the moment it touched down on the neighboring rooftop, it was as though the air held its breath. Time hiccuped.

The crow turned its head toward the two friends, its eyes gleaming—one ink black, the other a faint, glowing silver.It watched. Still as stone.

Then… it began to change.

Its body trembled—not with the chaos of mutation, but with the ritual precision of something ancient. Feathers fell away like burnt paper, disintegrating midair. Its wings folded inward, bending in ways no living thing should, reshaping into arms. The beak cracked open and retracted, softening into a mouth. Skin poured over bone like liquid shadow.

In seconds, what had been a crow was now a man—tall, lean, and dressed in a long, black coat that fluttered slightly though there was no wind now. His hair was a mess of raven strands, tousled but elegant. His eyes retained their unnatural colors: one a void, the other a glow.

He stood there, not in a crouch or crouched transformation pose—no, he stood tall, as though he'd always been that way.As if he hadn't changed, but merely remembered what he was.

From his place on the adjacent rooftop, he looked down at Dhruv and Maya—two souls weighed down by time and wounds. His expression was unreadable: not anger, not pity, not joy. Just… intention.

And yet, Dhruv and Maya remained unaware.

They sat together in the aftershock of shared tears and half-laughter, not knowing that something had just shifted in the world. That a watcher now stood not far from them—silent, still, patient.

He didn't speak.He didn't move closer.But he was here.

And he had been waiting.

For one of them.

As the cold wind curled around the edges of the rooftop, the man who was once a crow stood perfectly still, his coat trailing behind him like smoke caught in a dream.

Then—a ripple.

It shimmered in the air beside him, like a wave of heat rising off stone, but cold, unnaturally so. A circular distortion formed—silvery and translucent, pulsing softly like a heartbeat in the fabric of reality. It wasn't light, nor shadow—it was something in between. Something older.

He raised his hand slowly, two fingers extended. The wave reacted, humming faintly.

Then, from his lips—calm, low, and measured—came a voice that had no echo, as if even sound knew not to follow him:

"Reporting in."

A pause. Then he continued, his tone devoid of emotion, like someone delivering numbers instead of speaking of lives.

"The target is safe and sound."

His glowing eye flicked toward Dhruv on the distant rooftop—still unaware, still human.

"The target has returned from his journey."A faint hint of emphasis, barely there, like the edge of a hidden blade.

He turned his head ever so slightly, as if sensing something else… something unexpected.

"One unknown variable has appeared. Unregistered. Origin unclear."

And for the briefest moment, there was tension in his jaw—a flicker of thought behind the cold perfection.

Then his gaze shifted to the auditorium, where muffled laughter and celebration carried faintly into the sky.

"The target has acquired a new companion."A small beat of silence. Not confusion. Not disapproval. Just... recognition.

He bowed his head slightly.

"Nothing more to report, commander."

The wave pulsed one final time, like a breath being held—and then released.

Then… silence.

The portal-like ripple folded in on itself, collapsing with a faint chime that only the wind seemed to hear.

And once again, the man stood alone.

Waiting for a reply from someone..

As the ripple of magic faded from the air, silence hung for a moment—thick and almost reverent.

Then, without warning, the stillness was broken by a voice. Not loud. Not soft.Just… wrong.

It crawled into the space like a whisper wearing too many layers, distorted and shifting—clearly masked by powerful sound-bending magic.

"Thank you for the report, Korbin."

The crow-man, Korbin, didn't flinch. He stood at ease, arms clasped behind him, facing the moonlit rooftop across from him. His eyes—one human, one glowing like dying embers—remained fixed on Dhruv.

"Do you have any other orders, Commander?" he asked in a low, steady tone. His voice bore no emotion, only discipline—like someone who had served far too long to ask "why" anymore.

There was a pause—long enough for the wind to howl between buildings.

Then came the answer, slow and deliberate:

"Nothing... Just observe him."

And then, the final question fell, laced with something colder than command—curiosity wrapped in calculation:

"What is the current status of the target?"

Korbin did not answer immediately.

His gaze softened just slightly, something unusual flickering behind that emotionless stare. He looked across to Dhruv—now seated beside Maya on the rooftop. The two of them were still, their backs against the iron railing, eyes distant. Dhruv was smiling faintly, not to her, not to anyone—just smiling, as if for the first time in a long time, a small part of him could finally breathe.

Korbin watched this silently for a moment longer. And then, almost reluctantly, he spoke:

"…He is happy, Commander."

That final word lingered.

The reply—if any—never came.

The magical connection dissolved quietly, as if swallowed by the night itself. The ripple faded. The air stilled.

The silence that followed Korbin's words hung heavier than before.

Somewhere, miles away—wherever that cloaked voice had come from—a breath was drawn. Not a sound of rage or suspicion. Not even concern.

Just… a sigh. Long, low, and tired.

"...Good."

A single word. Then the faintest click.

And just like that—the magical link severed, like a thread cut by invisible shears.

A faint shimmer passed through the air around Korbin's ears, and the arcane glow in his iris dimmed to a soft red. The enchantment was gone. The voice was gone.

But Korbin stood still.

He exhaled, slowly—perhaps for the first time since his transformation tonight. His sharp shoulders loosened just a bit, and his cloak rustled gently in the wind that passed over the rooftop.

He looked once more at the boy who had returned.Dhruv.

Still laughing softly with Maya. Still unaware that someone—something—was watching over him.

Korbin whispered to himself, his voice barely louder than the wind:

"Thank you kid for everything you had done to us,now just rest a bit...."

And with that, he turned around slowly, his silhouette swallowed into the shadows of the rooftop behind him—leaving no trace he was ever there.

Except for a single, black feather… gently tumbling in the moonlight.

High above the mortal world, where time moved like whispers and stars shimmered like breath, the skies folded into a realm far removed from earthly sorrow—a place neither divine nor damned, but somewhere in-between.

And there, lounging lazily on a floating silken divan, was him—the one who had handed Dhruv the banana.

Far beyond the mortal realm, in the chillest corner of the cosmos — Vaikuntha, but not the version from scriptures…No, this was his Vaikuntha.

Where clouds were made of cotton candy, the sun clocked out at 3 PM, and the oceans stretched infinitely in every direction — including upwards for some reason.

And there, on the shore of the Endless Ocean of Eternal Meh, stood him.

Our celestial wild card.The Banana Guy.Wielding the Mop of Timeless Maintenance, an ancient relic passed down through... well, mostly himself.

He was scrubbing the same patch of glowing water for the 800th time.

"Man… I swear this ocean gets dirtier every century. Who's throwing cosmic dust in here??"

He wrung out the mop, sighed dramatically, and flopped down into his hammock made of retired rainbows.

Next to him, a divine coconut cracked itself open politely. A banana floated over and peeled itself.

His screen appeared — a floating water mirror tuned in to Earth.

He munched the banana lazily, his eyes half-lidded, muttering,"Lemme see what my boy Dhruv is doing… probably crying or being dramatic as usual."

Then—

Korbin.The black crow in his full cloak, reporting in slick as hell.Flew in. Delivered his message. Flew out.

The Banana Guy squinted, leaned forward.

"Wait a second…"His eyes widened.

He drawled, voice rich with mischief, "This is getting interesting."

He leaned forward now, just a little.

"What else are you doing to keep me entertained, Haydarr?"

He grinned. The kind of grin that could either bless a planet… or erase one.

Then he laughed. Loud. Deep. Completely unhinged.

"MUHAHAHAHAHAHA—"

Gulp.

A loud, unfortunate gulp of wine followed the theatrical villain-laugh. The celestial liquor—divine and stronger than mortal fire—went down the wrong way.

"—HRAAAGHH–koff koff koff—HAAACHHK–"

He thrashed, coughing violently, nearly dropping the glass as stars sparkled (literally) out of his nose.

A couple of divine assistants just stood frozen at the back, unsure whether to help… or run for their immortal lives.

He waved them off, wheezing and clearing his throat.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just… damn this wine…"

He sniffled.

Then, with a soft chuckle and watery eyes, he mumbled:

"You better make this worth it, Haydarr…"

He took another sip, smirked, and muttered,

"Time for some action... Haydarrr"

 -TO BE CONTINUED