Awakening and the Looming Storm

Light stabbed through my eyelids, sharp and unyielding, pulling me from the depths of darkness. I squinted, my mind a quiet pool—calm, clear, unrippled by the chaos of stress or fear. The air carried the scent of earth and straw, a raw, grounding aroma that tugged me awake. I lay in a clay house, its thatched roof weaving sunlight into gentle beams that spilled across the woven mats and simple clay pots.

Where am I? The question floated lazily through my thoughts. Somewhere tropical, likely in Asia, but the details slipped through my grasp. My body felt heavy, as though it had been anchored in sleep for days, yet waking brought a strange, satisfying peace—like the first breath after a long dive.

Before I could stir, a young woman burst through the doorway, her wide eyes locking onto me. Shock flashed across her face, quickly melting into relief. “Pa, he’s awake!” she shouted in Hindi, her voice bright with excitement. India, then, I realized, the pieces clicking into place.