The morning in Uttar Pradesh had a rhythm of its own— cars honking, vendors yelling and scooters buzzing all around.

  But it was all drowned out in a different world— the world of Ronak Chaturvedi.

  He pushed the heavy gates of the orphanage he lived in and stepped out, the bag slung carelessly on one shoulder.

  He slid the headphones onto his ears and in an instant, metal music roared like thunder.

  He walked with the beat no one else could hear, the bass thumping so loud like the earth beneath was shaking.

  Curly, slightly longer hair framed his face. The denim jacket was faded, patched with band logos. The sneakers he wore chewed up over time. The spark in his eyes screamed rebellion and freedom. The dark circles under his eyes formed because of sleepless metal nights.

  He mounted his cycle in a quick motion. But calling it a cycle anymore was an insult. In Ronak's hands, it was not less than a beast.

  Pedals spun like turbines as he moved through the streets. The cycle found its path between moving cars and bikes.

  The city was now in chaos— bike drivers shouting, vendors dropping vegetables and vehicles screeching to a halt.

  To him, the cycle was his band and the streets were his concert.

  Finally, Silver Oak Academy came into sight. He hit the brakes hard and leaped out of his cycle, walking towards the school like nothing happened.

  He strutted inside, like the world was in his hands. The swagger belonged to him and only him.

  "Ronak! Hey, Ronak!"

  The call came from behind.

  Tarun's voice cracked through the air, Kritika waving beside him.

  But Ronak was unfazed. He didn't even flinch.

  The music was too loud— or maybe he didn't care about it.

  "If I scream any louder, you'll pay for my throat surgery, Mr. Rockstar!"

  But just as Tarun was about to lose patience—

  Yug appeared, even his patience was thinning. With a single tug, he pulled the headphones out of Ronak's ears.

  The world turned silent. The concert was over.

  Ronak tilted his head at Yug, a crooked grin spreading across his lips.

  "Yug Verma. You took down… Vijay, right?"

  The words carried gratitude mixed with amusement, and a touch of awkwardness.

  "Uh… thanks. For that. Vijay… he… always called me a freak. Said… metal music isn't real. I thought it was… funny. Got beaten."

  Everyone glanced at each other, surprised by the bluntness of Ronak's words.

  But before the silence could stretch any longer, Rishabh appeared from behind, holding out the extra ticket.

  "Here's one extra. You're coming with us. For the love of metal music?"

  Ronak's grin disappeared. He shook his head in denial, his voice low.

  "I'm… not in mood."

  The words landed heavier than they should have.

  The group startled. Ronak, the guy who breathes music, was not in the mood?

  Without another word, Ronak grabbed his headphones back. The beats returned louder than before, as he turned away.

  "So… yeah. Thanks."

  He raised a hand in a casual farewell, not turning back to see them.

  But behind him, Rishabh raised an eyebrow.

  Suspicion brewed all over, like he read a mystery no one else could.

  ——————————————

  Two weeks later.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The festival ground blazed with neon lights and booming music.

  Stalls were lined in the sideways— sizzling with the smell of kebabs, popcorn and cotton candy.

  Kids screamed on carnival rides and college bands warmed up for side stage performances.

  The four entered inside.

  Kritika walked forward, counting the folded notes she earned from selling the extra ticket.

  "Three. Seven. So, we have One thousand two hundred rupees. If you waste it on balloons or dumb toys, we're doomed."

  She kept the money in her small handbag with military precision.

  Yug and Rishabh moved towards the left.

  Their eyes locked on the ring toss stall.

  "I'm about to own this!"

  He grabbed three rings, squinted at the prize and hurled the first— missed it wide.

  The second ring— better but pointless.

  The last one— completely off target.

  The shopkeeper gave him a pity clap.

  "Hopeless."

  Rishabh muttered, handing the shopkeeper money for the previous and a new chance.

  Rishabh stepped forward, sighed and lined up with a calm stare.

  "That thing's rigged. Don't waste any money!"

  Yug said angrily, gritting his teeth.

  "No, you just threw it like a caveman."

  "Really? Then show me how to do it, Einstein."

  Rishabh adjusted his wrist, lowering and leaning forward with the ring in his hand.

  "Remember Physics class? Here's some basic projectile motion."

  He flicked the wrist and the ring landed clean on the prize. The second one landed perfectly. The third was as better as the other two.

  The shopkeeper, in disbelief, handed over the stack of prizes in a reluctant manner as the bystanders clapped.

  Yug gawked— his arms were full of stuffed toys.

  Nearby, Kritika bargained with the food vendor with trays of food in hand— noodles, momos and cold drinks.

  "The boys blow money on stuffed toys while I prepare for dinner. Typical."

  ——————————————

  Tarun drifted towards the right with his hands in the pockets. The noise of the festival swirled around him— but his eyes landed on the punching machine.

  He just smirked.

  And the rest was a new record.

  BOOM!

  His fists slammed the bag. The scoreboard flared with a high score—

  "998. RECORD BREAK!"

  The crowd around him boomed with excitement and claps. Some phones rose to record.

  Across the lane, a couple shouted, "One more!"

  Tarun was overwhelmed with the appraisal but managed to look like it was not a big deal.

  "You guys want one more!?"

  As Tarun shouted this, the crowd around him burst with cheers like the main show began.

  He moved towards the hammer game, and rolled up his right arm's sleeve just to show off his muscles.

  He lifted the hammer. And then—

  THUNK!

  The puck rocketed straight up, slamming the bell at the top.

  A new record was set. The crowd cheered again.

  For a moment, Tarun was the star— but no one knew that he was Tarun too.

  Tarun began pointing at his biceps and did the unthinkable.

  A bad moonwalk.

  For a moment, it was all fine until a can ruined the perfect Tarun-moment.

  He tripped over, crashing onto his back.

  The crowd burst into laughter, their phones shaking as they recorded it. Not the good kind.

  Tarun slowly got up, staring at the lights.

  "…Idiot…" He muttered to himself as the crowd dispersed away.

  From a distance, Kritika's voice cut through all that laughter.

  "Tarun, food's here! Now stop embarrassing yourself and come on!"

  He turned, brushing off dust from his clothes—

  BUMP!

  A hooded figure crashed into him, almost knocking off balance.

  A large hoodie on. Cap pulled low. Face hidden.

  The stranger didn't stop, weaving a way through the dense crowd.

  For a fraction of a second, Tarun caught a glimpse of the person's hand— a spiral tattoo, curling across the stranger's wrist.

  His eyes narrowed. And just when he was about to utter a word—

  "Tarun!"

  Rishabh shouted from across the street. Annoyed and loud.

  "Stop flexing and come into sight before I finish all your food!"

  Tarun hesitated.

  The figure had vanished into thin air.

  "…Forget it…"

  He shook it off, walking towards the others as neon lights lit the evening overhead.

  ——————————————

  The stalls dimly lit the night with glowing streaks of yellow and red.

  The crowd's noise faded as the group found an empty bench, away from the music.

  Kritika spread the food on the paper plates— the smell of steam already making Tarun drool.

  Tarun wasted no time and stuffed two momos in is mouth, his face puffing up.

  "Eat like a human, for god's sake."

  Rishabh shouted like a concerned father.

  Yug hunched over and munched on the noodles like a hungry wolf, and red chilli sauce spilled all over his shirt.

  "Yug!" Kritika shrieked with alertness.

  He froze, laughing, and wiped it off with his sleeves. "My bad…"

  "Stop spreading it on your sleeves too!"

  Beside them, Rishabh ate slowly, calmly and neatly.

  Still, he was the one who ate the most.

  They laughed, bickered, and their voices tangled in the air. Until—

  A sharp cry split through the chatter.

  A little girl sat on the ground, weeping over her snapped balloon.

  Fries scattered around like dust.

  Her parents crouched, panicked, but the girl's sobs shook harder.

  The group turned their heads, looking at the situation. But when they looked back at each other's faces—

  Yug was gone.

  Not a single sound— he was just there, in front of the crying girl.

  He knelt down, face soft and hands steady.

  From his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled napkin and dabbed her tears.

  The kid hiccupped, eyes wet, and fists clenched around nothing.

  Yug smiled, faint but warm. He reached back and lifted one of the big stuffed toys Rishabh had won earlier.

  He placed it in her small arms gently.

  In an instant, her sobbing cracked into a trembling smile.

  And right at that moment—

  Fireworks tore the sky open.

  A bloom of vibrant colours lit Yug's face.

  His blue eyes reflected the sparks, and his smile was brighter than the noise.

  He didn't look like the weak and bullied anymore.

  He appeared to be the light— the kind found in the darkest nights.

  The crowd had eyes on him.

  The boy was without any spotlight— yet somehow, he glowed the most.

  Tarun's eating slowed to a stop. His stiff face melted to a rare, warm smile.

  Rishabh and Kritika muttered the same thing, almost without thinking,

  "…this fool."

  Suddenly, the announcers voice boomed through the speakers, calling everyone for the main show.

  Yug rose, wiping off dust, patting the girl's head.

  The group drifted towards the sea of people, ready to make the night memorable.

  ——————————————

  Tara D'Souza moved along the edge of the stage, fingers dancing across knobs and sliders.

  "All set? Everyone ready?" she called, her voice steady through the amps.

  Jay Khanna adjusted the drum kit and piano on the stage, handing over the instruments to the band members clumsily.

  "One more look. We good here?"

  One by one, the band members entered onto the stage, all ready to make this the best part of the evening.

  Farhan Qureshi slung his guitar, fingers stretching over the frets, ready to shred.

  Anaya Kapoor sat at the piano, hands hovering over the keys, occassionally tapping a rhythm on the side percussion.

  Harshit Jindal crouched low with the bass, plucking the strings lightly, testing the vibration through the stage floor.

  The announcement boomed through the speakers again:

  "Ladies and gentlemen! Here's the star of the show…"

  A hush fell. The spotlight swerved to the back of the stage.

  "RONAK 'RONNIE' CHATURVEDI"

  Ronnie strode in, mic held low, headbanging slightly and his grin was wide as ever.

  "YEAH! ARE YOU READY?!"

  He shouted, throwing his fists in the air.

  The crowd erupted instantly, cheering, stomping and clapping along.

  The group— Yug, Rishabh, Tarun and Kritika— stared, mouths slightly open. Shock, awe, disbelief.

  Rishabh slightly smirked— he had predicted all of this long back in the first interaction.

  Ronnie didn't waste a second.

  He slid onto the drum stool at the center, his hands gripping the sticks like weapons.

  Jay, Tara, Farhan, Anaya and Harshit took their positions instantly. The band's energy surged, a perfect storm of metal music.

  "Make some noise for MIDNIGHT JAM!"

  Ronnie announced, raising the sticks.

  And just when he was about to strike the first beat of the drum—

  The stage lights flickered once. Twice.

  Then— darkness.

  The music died mid-air, leaving only the faint echo of the crowd's gasp.

  Nothing was visible— the crowd murmured, unsure of what just happened.

  Behind the darkness, there was a hint of mischief— or probably menace.

  It was unnoticed by everyone, except for the sharpest eyes.

  The band couldn't play anymore.

  But the show was still on.