Arthur laughed—light, amused, utterly unconcerned.
Not a single follow-up. No pressing questions. No probing stares.
Just a nod.
Arthur (smirking):
"You pass."
Then, casually—
Arthur:
"So, tell me, Shiva. What do you want?"
The question landed like a drop in still water.
But Shiva's thoughts were a hurricane.
What did he want?
Power? No. That came and went.
Fear? No. He'd seen where that road led.
What he needed was control.
Access. Reach. Knowledge. Authority over information, operations, and outcomes.
Something that could protect what mattered—people he hadn't even dared name aloud.
A role with reach into the heart of the system. One that touched everything.
Shiva (calmly):
"Administration."
Silence.
None of the judges reacted.
No approval. No denial.
Only a short command from the woman with the notebook, without looking up:
"Take the car outside. We'll discuss what to do with you."
Shiva didn't argue.
He stepped into the hall, footsteps slow, chest tight.
Outside, a sleek black car waited. Its engine purred softly like a beast in waiting.
The back door opened silently as he approached.
Shiva climbed in.
The driver—a lean man with quiet eyes and a calm voice—glanced at him in the mirror.
Driver:
"This is your bonus. For before you officially start."
Shiva blinked.
Shiva:
"…What about taxes? Paper trails?"
Driver (without missing a beat):
"All legal. On record, you saved a rich man's life. This money is a thank-you gift. Clean. Untouchable."
Shiva didn't speak after that.
Just stared out the window as the world passed him by.
The silence in the car grew thick. Deafening. Like the air had weight.
At last, the dorm appeared in the distance.
The car slid to a stop.
Shiva stepped out, suitcase in hand.
He stood there a moment, staring up at the building, the old familiarity of it all.
He took a breath.
A smile.
Small. Hollow.
But practiced.
Inside, it was just like always. Dim lights. Soft footsteps.
No one noticed the difference. No one asked.
He entered his room, placed the suitcase gently into his cupboard like it was fragile.
Dinner was quick. Cold, even.
Then books. Notes. Pages of theory and equations. A forced routine.
But sleep never came.
Not at midnight. Not at 2 AM.
By 3, the silence inside was louder than anything in the world.
He rose.
Pushed open the stairwell door.
Climbed to the roof.
The city stretched out before him—distant lights, a soft hum in the air. But up here, it felt detached. Empty.
He crossed to the farthest corner. Tucked behind the rooftop water tanks where no one could see.
And sat.
Back to the wall. Arms around his knees.
Alone.
The night was still.
And everything he had been holding in… trembled just beneath the surface.
Up on that rooftop—tucked away from the world
Shiva finally let go.
No one watching. No games. No expectations.
Just the quiet… and the pressure inside him shattering like glass.
His body slumped forward, trembling uncontrollably. Shoulders hunched, fists clenched.
And then—
Nothing.
No tears.
No release.
Just that ache—deep and sharp, buried in his chest like shrapnel.
He wanted to cry. Needed to.
But the tears refused to come.
His breath hitched. Then again. Then again—until each inhale was ragged and painful.
His thoughts spiraled out like broken constellations, crashing into each other.
I let them die.
I should've done more.
I made rules. I promised myself—
And I broke every damn one of them.
What good were morals when they cracked under pressure?
What good was he—when all he ever left behind was pain?
He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, rocking slightly—
Not to calm down, but to survive the weight.
The pain wasn't just emotional anymore.
It grew, knotted, pulsing beneath his ribs like a living thing.
His mind tried to explain it: The shadows. The stabbings. This isn't just grief. It can't be.
But that was a lie.
It was the grief.
It was the guilt.
His entire body shivered with the storm inside him—frustration, anger, helplessness.
And beneath it all, a deep, bottomless self-hatred.
I'm pathetic.
Useless.
A parasite wearing skin.
The world didn't need him.
No one did.
He was just… weight.
Dead weight.
He sat like that for hours. Alone in that corner, curled inwards, unraveling in silence.
The rooftop grew cold. Then warmer.
And then—
The first light touched the horizon.
A smear of gold across the sky.
Shiva slowly lifted his head. His body ached. Eyes dry and burning. Skin cold.
He stood up—mechanical, heavy.
He walked back down.
Washed his face.
Took a long shower—letting the hot water sting his skin, almost like punishment.
When he stepped out and checked the time—it was nearly 7.
An hour to class.
He sat at his desk.
And just sat.
Roommates stirred, yawning. Joking. Arguing over toothpaste or shirts or the day ahead.
He didn't join in.
Didn't eat. Didn't drink.
Just sat there, unmoving, eyes distant.
At 8, they all started to leave.
He stood up.
Reached for the mask.
Slid it on with ease.
A smile—flawless. Familiar.
Shiva (cheerfully):
"Let's go, guys. Don't wanna be late, yeah?"
And just like that—
He walked back into the world.
Like nothing ever happened.
The hours crawled.
Class after class bled into each other—words on boards, voices echoing, slides flickering in darkened rooms.
Shiva sat through it all.
Silent. Still.
But inside… fraying at the edges.
Each second demanded effort. Each breath was an act of will.
By the time the final lecture rolled around, he could feel his hands trembling beneath the desk. His fingers dug into his notebook just to keep still.
His chest ached again—faint but sharp. That same stabbing echo from last night.
He bit the inside of his cheek. Focused on the ticking clock.
Just a little longer. Just a bit more.
He made it.
Somehow.
When the bell rang, and the students began packing up, laughing, stretching—
Shiva exhaled slowly, like letting go of a thousand-ton weight he'd carried all day.
But something had shifted.
Somewhere, deep beneath the exhaustion and noise, a decision had been made.
Enough.
The past wouldn't leave him.
But he could move forward—if only step by step.
He turned to his friends as they stood up.
Shiva (with a gentle grin, softer than usual):
"Hey… you guys up for heading out tonight? Nothing fancy. Just… some time out. Together."
They blinked, surprised.
One of them smiled instantly.
"Yeah. Why not? You good?"
Shiva nodded.
Shiva:
"Yeah. Just thought it'd be nice to do something normal. Something… real."
Another friend clapped his shoulder. "You're finally saying what we were all thinking."
Laughter. Light. The first warmth of the day.
Shiva let it wash over him.
Because now, even with the storm still alive inside him, he wasn't pretending for their sake.
This smile—it wasn't a mask.
It was a choice.