Chapter 62: The City That Refused to Forget
He had not seen it in lifetimes.
But it had never truly left him.
Delhi.
Not the city of temples.
Not the city of gods.
The city of smoke and survival.
Where breath was stolen by pollution.
Where stillness was mocked.
Where Aarav once stood beneath a crumbling flyover and whispered to a god he wasn't sure was listening.
Now, he returned.
But he was no longer begging.
He was remembering.
The streets had changed. The skyline sharper. The noise louder.
But the ache?
The same.
He walked past his old apartment—now painted over, forgotten by rent and time. Past the tea stall where he used to watch men preach about nothing. Past the statue of Shiva with one arm broken off.
He stood at that spot.
Closed his eyes.
Breathed.
And the earth beneath his feet... shifted.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
Because the city remembered him, too.
Not the man he had become.
The boy who chose to listen when everyone else was shouting.
Above him, clouds gathered.
Rain began to fall—not hard.
Just cleansing.
And in the rain, strangers stopped. Watched. Listened.
Some sat down on the pavement.
Not to pray.
To pause.
Delhi didn't need gods.
It needed permission to exhale.
And Aarav gave it without a word.