The morning light was faint, creeping through a thin gap in the curtains like it was too polite to intrude. Rohit stirred under his blanket, blinking against the dim haze of sleep. His eyes felt heavy, his limbs heavier. But the call of his bladder was louder than his desire to stay curled up.
With a groggy grunt, he pushed the blanket aside and shuffled to the bathroom, bare feet brushing against the cold floor. He didn't bother turning on the light. The muscle memory of routine guided him.
A few minutes later, Rohit stepped back into his room, scratching the back of his head, hair sticking up in all the wrong places. He glanced at the clock.
11:52 AM.
His stomach growled. Loudly.
"Crap… missed breakfast and lunch," he muttered, rubbing his belly.
Still scratching his head, he wandered over to the fridge and pulled open the freezer with a sigh that carried the weight of neglect. Inside, wedged behind a half-used ice tray and an empty pack of instant noodles, sat a single banana.
He held it up like an archaeologist discovering a forgotten relic. "Well… better than starving."
Peeling it in two quick motions, he munched absentmindedly while drifting over to his chair, plopping down with the grace of a sack of potatoes. The seat creaked under him. With a flick of his fingers, he opened his laptop and began his ritual scroll—YouTube, Reddit, headlines, the same digital wasteland.
But something caught his eye. A video titled: "The Rise of Mana: Scientific Perspectives on the Gifted Phenomenon"
Curious, he clicked.
A suited professor appeared onscreen, standing before a lecture hall, gesturing toward a 3D model of Earth surrounded by fluctuating waves of energy.
"In recent years, we've recorded a steady increase in the environmental levels of mana. This change, we believe, is behind the growing number of awakened individuals…"
Rohit leaned back, chewing slowly on the last bite of banana, eyes fixed on the screen. His fingers twitched beside the touchpad.
"…And as mana density rises, the potential for more humans to develop supernatural abilities—what we term as Gifted traits—also increases."
The anchor beside the professor chimed in, "And what about the capacity of an individual to store mana? Is there a limit?"
But Rohit was already gone—mentally drifting. The professor's voice became static in the background. His thoughts had taken a different path.
"What's the one thing I want to do today?"
He tilted his head back, eyes scanning the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. That's when he noticed it—a spider web stretched lazily between two corners. Dust clung to it like forgotten time.
His gaze dropped, taking in the rest of the room.
Discarded wrappers littered the floor like fallen leaves. Clothes—both clean and dirty—were scattered across the bed, the chair, even the lamp. An empty cup sat on the window sill, fuzzy with neglect. The air smelled faintly of stale snacks and missed showers.
He let out a breath.
"This is a mess."
"Maybe… I should clean it up."
The idea felt ridiculous at first, almost laughable.
Rohit stood slowly, his back cracking . He gathered the wrappers first, stuffing them into a plastic bag with mechanical rhythm. Then the clothes—shirts balled up, socks hiding under the bed, jeans hanging like corpses off the chair back.
He swept, he wiped, he decluttered.
There was no music, no podcast, no cinematic montage. Just the quiet sound of movement. Of effort.
Then, under a pile of old notebooks, he found it: a photo frame.
A class photo from his graduation day.
He froze, holding it in both hands like it was made of glass. Dozens of faces smiled back at him—some goofy, some serene, some forever etched in time.
He could feel the weight of that day in his chest. The laughter. The nerves. The pride. The people who once filled his life.
Tears threatened. His grip tightened.
"No… not now," he whispered.
With deliberate care, he walked over to the cupboard and placed the frame inside, closing the door on it gently.
When he turned back around, the room felt different.
Lighter.
Brighter.
Alive.
Rohit stood in the center of the now-clean space, wiping sweat from his brow, chest rising with measured breath. A small, rare smile curled at the edge of his lips.
"This is… good," he said to himself.
"Maybe I should study today?"
A pause.
"No… I did something good today. Let's do that tomorrow."
"One thing a day."
He sat down again, but this time the chair didn't groan under despair—it held him in quiet support.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence didn't feel like loneliness.
It felt like peace.