As I finished the last note, I expected the usual—shouts, clapping, maybe a few whistles from the crowd. But instead, an eerie silence hung in the air. Confused, I opened my eyes and looked at the people standing in front of me. They were all just… staring. Their faces were frozen in place, eyes wide as if they couldn't quite process what had just happened. Even Yash, who usually had something sarcastic to say about everything, was standing still, his mouth slightly open, eyes locked onto me in complete shock.
I scanned the crowd, my heart pounding with a mix of confusion and curiosity. It wasn't just the people. The birds perched on the nearby trees had stopped chirping, their little heads tilted in my direction. Even a stray dog that had been wandering by was now seated on the grass, looking right at me with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. The entire garden, humans and animals alike, seemed to be under some sort of spell, their gazes fixed on me as if hypnotized by my voice.
A slow smile crept onto my face. I didn't quite know what had just happened, but it was powerful, otherworldly even. Making my way toward the mic, I extended my hand in front of it, and with a quick flick of my fingers, I snapped.
The sharp sound of my fingers breaking the silence snapped everyone out of their trance. There was a collective gasp as people blinked, shaking their heads slightly, as if waking from a deep dream. Then, suddenly, the silence was shattered by the roar of applause. Shouts and cheers erupted from the crowd as people started clapping, their faces now lighting up with excitement and awe.
Yash, however, hadn't moved. He was still standing there, staring at me like I'd just performed some kind of miracle. His eyes were wide with disbelief, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Yash was at a complete loss for words.
As the applause settled down, people began to gather around me, their faces lit with curiosity and admiration. The energy in the air was electrifying, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, I felt strangely calm—like I had just stepped into a moment that was waiting for me.
A guy from the crowd spoke up first. "I've never heard that song before. Where did you get it?" His question hung in the air, and before I could answer, another girl chimed in, "Yeah, it's amazing. Did you write it yourself?"
I smiled, a little surprised but also amused by how quickly things were escalating. "Yeah, it's my own song. It's called Kaun Tujhe," I said, nodding.
They all seemed to nod in unison, impressed. A few more voices joined in, asking all kinds of questions, the excitement buzzing through them. "Are you a professional singer?" one guy asked, his eyes wide. Before I could reply, a girl next to him sighed and said, "Your voice is so beautiful… for a moment, I felt like I was somewhere else. I lost myself in it."
Hearing that, my heart swelled a little. It wasn't just flattery—there was genuine emotion in her voice, like the song had touched something deep within her. I opened my mouth to respond, but someone else shouted from the back, "I'm your biggest fan now! Seriously!"
Before I knew it, another girl giggled from the side. "And you're pretty cute too. What's your name?"
That question hit me like a jolt. My mind started racing. My name? What was I supposed to say? My mind scrambled for an answer. Should I just tell them the truth? No, I couldn't—not after all this. It had to be something more than just 'Hari.' Something that matched the magic of the moment.
More people started chiming in now, their voices eager, pressing me for an answer. "Yeah, what's your name? Tell us!"
I glanced around at all the expectant faces, each one waiting for me to give them something. My thoughts raced, but then, almost instinctively, I smiled. I felt like I had stepped into a new persona, something larger than myself, something that suited this strange and surreal situation.
With a slight grin, I leaned into the mic and said softly, "My name? My name is… Shri."
As soon as my name left my lips, the crowd erupted again, even louder this time. People began shouting my name—"Shri! Shri!"—their voices echoing through the park. Some of them started asking eagerly, "Are you going to sing another song?" Another voice from the back chimed in, "Are you on YouTube? How can we follow you?"
Their excitement was overwhelming. I raised my hand, trying to signal for them to calm down. "Please, everyone," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. To my surprise, the entire crowd hushed almost instantly. It was like my words had some unseen power, bringing an eerie calm over the sea of faces in front of me.
I smiled, feeling both amused and humbled by their reaction. "It's already getting late," I continued, glancing at the darkening sky. "I should take my leave now. But I promise, if destiny wills it, you'll hear my songs again."
As soon as I said that, the crowd erupted once more, shouting, clapping, and cheering. It was almost surreal—the kind of moment you'd only imagine happening in stories, not real life. I took a deep breath, the weight of the moment sinking in. I gave a final wave, feeling the warmth of their excitement wash over me.
With a smile still playing on my lips, I turned and made my way toward the college students who had been performing earlier. The one who had been singing when we first arrived—the same guy who had handed Yash the guitar—approached me with a wide, genuine smile.
"I've never heard anything like that before," he said, his voice full of admiration. "That song… it's incredible. For a moment, I felt like I was standing in front of legends like Kishore Kumar. Your voice, your presence—it's just… unbelievable. I can't believe a guy your age can sing with such depth. I really hope we can hear more of your songs in the future, Shri."
His words hit me like a sudden gust of wind. Kishore Kumar? I hadn't even thought about comparisons like that. I was just… singing. But the awe in his eyes was unmistakable. It wasn't just flattery; it was genuine admiration, the kind that could lift someone's spirit in ways words rarely do.
I nodded at him, still smiling, and said, "Of course, maybe in the future." Handing back the guitar, I turned to walk toward Yash. Just as I took a few steps, I heard that same voice call out, "Hey Shri, stop for a sec!"
Curious, I stopped and turned around. He was standing there, grinning, exchanging looks with his friends. They all smiled at each other, nodding as if sharing some unspoken decision. I watched as they walked over to a small pile of instruments they had placed under a tree earlier. For a moment, I wasn't sure what was happening, but then, after a minute or so, he came back, holding something in his hands. A flute. But it wasn't just any flute—it was beautifully crafted, with intricate carvings along its length, gleaming softly in the dimming light of the evening.
As he approached, he extended his hand, offering me the flute. "This is our little gift for you," he said with a warm smile.
I looked at the flute, then at him, speechless for a moment. My heart skipped a beat. A gift? I hadn't expected anything like this. For a second, the world seemed to blur, and all I could focus on was the flute in his hand, glowing with a quiet beauty.
I quickly shook my head, smiling nervously. "No, no, bro, thank you, but it looks expensive. I can't take it," I said, my hands instinctively retreating.
The student, still smiling, stepped forward. "Don't worry about it," he said with a warm sincerity in his voice. "Because of your song, we raised so much in donations today. This is just our way of saying thanks. Please, take it."
I hesitated, glancing at him, then his friends, all of whom were nodding in agreement. Their smiles were genuine, full of appreciation, and that eased my doubt. A part of me felt like this wasn't just a gift—it was a sign of something bigger. Something I hadn't quite grasped yet.
With a soft sigh, I smiled back. "Alright then, thank you. I really appreciate it," I said, finally accepting the flute. The moment it touched my hands, it felt light yet solid, like it was meant for me. I turned it over, admiring the craftsmanship. The intricate carvings danced in the fading light, making it look even more precious. I could feel the smooth wood under my fingers, cool yet warm in the strange way only something truly special can feel.
After saying our goodbyes, I walked over to Yash, who was still standing there, staring at me with wide eyes, completely frozen. I couldn't help but laugh softly at his expression. As I reached him, I placed my hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle tug. "Come on, bro, stop staring. Let's go," I said, pulling him away.
As we stepped out of the garden, the peaceful atmosphere faded, and Yash suddenly stopped, his expression a mix of shock and frustration. He moved a few steps away, running his hands through his hair, his disbelief clear. "What the hell just happened?" he demanded, his voice rising in pitch. "When did you become this good at singing? This is just... incredible. Tell me, when did you become this good?"
I twirled the flute between my fingers, smiling softly, knowing this was bound to happen. "I've always been this good," I said, my tone calm and playful. "It's just... I never showed it to anyone before."
Yash raised an eyebrow, his face full of suspicion. "You're telling me you've been hiding this level of talent all this time? Seriously?" He crossed his arms, trying to make sense of everything. "And what about the guitar? When did you learn that? I've known you for years and I've never seen you play."
I chuckled, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I learned by watching TV," I said casually, like it was no big deal.
Yash's eyes widened, and he practically exploded. "What?! Did you think I'm some kind of idiot or what? I've been learning guitar for two years, and I'm nowhere near that good. And you're telling me you mastered it just by watching TV?! Come on, bro!"
His outburst made me laugh. I couldn't help it. Yash was always the dramatic one, and seeing him like this made the whole situation even more surreal. I looked at him, my smile never fading. "Believe it or not, it's up to you," I said with a grin.
Yash narrowed his eyes and leaned in, determined not to let this go. "Okay, even if I somehow believe that you learned the guitar just by watching TV, what about that song? When did you write it? And more importantly—do you even know how to write songs?"
I couldn't help but smirk. I could see how all of this was blowing his mind. "I'm born talented," I replied, keeping my voice playful.
Yash glared at me, clearly unimpressed by my answer. "Fuck you," he spat, though there was a hint of exasperated humor in his voice.
"Fuck you too, you fucker," I shot back, grinning. Despite his frustration, I could tell Yash was starting to calm down, processing everything that had just happened.
As we continued walking, Yash suddenly frowned, as if a new thought had struck him. "By the way, what was that thing shining near your neck while you were singing?"
I instinctively reached up and touched the small peacock feather locket hanging around my neck, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingers. "Oh, this?" I said casually. "It's my new locket."
Yash leaned closer to get a better look, eyes widening slightly. "It's beautiful... Where did you get it? I don't think I've ever seen you wear it before. If it hadn't shone like that while you were singing, I would've completely missed it."
I forced a smile, not ready to dive into the real story behind the locket. "Ajoba gave it to me," I lied smoothly, hoping to shift the conversation away from the mysterious glow he noticed. Yash didn't need to know anything.
He nodded, still eyeing the locket with curiosity, but thankfully, he didn't press any further. "Hari," he began again after a pause, "I still don't understand... Why did you give them a fake name? Why didn't you just tell them your real one?"
I smiled at Yash, leaning in just a little as I spoke. "Because the one singing wasn't Hari," I said, my voice softer, more serious than before. "It was Shri. From now on, Shri is the one who sings. Not Hari. Remember that."
Yash looked at me, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "So... you're trying to hide your identity?" he asked, still trying to piece it all together. "But didn't some of them record a video? Won't people know it's you?"
I couldn't help but smile again, a playful glint in my eyes. "Even if they were recording," I said, "they didn't get my face. I made sure of that."
Yash's confusion deepened, and he tilted his head slightly. "How?" he asked, clearly puzzled.
I tapped the side of my head, smiling slyly. "Because I was standing under the tree, remember? It was already dark by the time I sang. There were no lights where we were standing, no streetlamps, nothing. It's hard to see my face clearly in those videos."
Yash paused, thinking back to the scene, and finally nodded. "Yeah, you've got a point," he admitted, sounding a bit more convinced. "The light was pretty bad. Maybe they didn't catch your face after all."
I looked at him more seriously now, my voice low and firm. "But Yash," I began, "I need you to remember something. You can't tell anyone what you saw today. Not a soul. As far as you're concerned, you didn't see anything. If you open your mouth..." I let the sentence hang in the air, letting Yash imagine what might happen.
He swallowed hard, the weight of my words sinking in. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded quickly. "Okay, okay. I won't tell anyone," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I promise."
I smiled, satisfied. "Good," I said, my tone lightening again. "Now, let's head home. It's getting late."
Yash nodded, still a little shaken, and we both turned to start walking back. The path was quiet now, the echoes of the performance fading behind us as we left the garden. The night air felt cool, and the distant hum of the city was the only sound that filled the silence between us.
As we walked, I glanced at Yash out of the corner of my eye. His mind was clearly racing, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. But he kept his promise, staying silent as we made our way through the streets.
The stars began to peek out from the sky, and for a brief moment, I felt the weight of everything settle over me. And Shri... well, Shri had only just begun.
As I said goodbye to Yash, a mix of excitement and nerves coursed through me. I walked toward my apartment, the weight of the flute in my hand both grounding and exhilarating. When I reached the entrance, I slipped off my shoes, taking a moment to compose myself before pressing the bell.
After a moment, the door swung open, and my mom stood there, her expression shifting from casual curiosity to surprise as her eyes landed on the beautiful flute cradled in my hands. "Where did you get that flute?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I smiled, trying to keep my tone light. "I helped some people out, and they gave it to me as a thank-you," I replied, hoping she would take my word for it.
Her gaze narrowed slightly, skepticism flickering in her eyes. "You can ask Yash; he was with me," I added, offering a hint of reassurance.
"Okay, come inside," she said, stepping aside to let me in. I nodded, stepping into the familiar warmth of our home.
As I entered, I noticed everyone seated on the sofa, engrossed in the TV. The episode of Mahabharat was playing, the familiar sounds of the theme music filling the room. My heart sank a little as I glanced at the clock on the wall—8:30 PM. I was late.
"Where were you wandering off to? Why are you late?" my father's voice cut through the ambient noise, pulling my attention away from the screen. His tone was teasing yet laced with genuine curiosity.
Hearing this, I smiled and said, "I helped some people; look, they gave me this flute." My father looked at the flute, nodding his head thoughtfully before returning his gaze to the TV. The Mahabharat episode unfolded, but Kartik, ever the inquisitive one, jumped up from his spot on the floor and made a beeline for me.
He approached, eyes wide with excitement. His eagerness was infectious, but I wasn't ready to let him touch it.
I quickly stepped back, a playful grin on my face. "No way!" I said, my tone teasing. "This is mine!"
"I want to take a look! I also want a flute!" he insisted, his voice rising with that familiar whine.
"No way," I said, grinning as I quickly moved to sit beside my father, feeling a bit like I was protecting a precious artifact.
Kartik's expression shifted from eager to pouty. "But I also want one, Mom! I want a flute!" His pleas echoed in the room, almost comical in their desperation.
My mother glanced over, her patience evident as she replied, "We'll buy one later, Kartik. First, you need to finish your homework."
With a huff, Kartik turned away, his shoulders slumping as he plopped down on the floor. He glanced at me, shooting a glare that was all too familiar—a mix of annoyance and sibling rivalry.
I couldn't help but chuckle softly as I watched him start on his homework, his concentration clearly compromised by his desire for the flute. The atmosphere in the room felt cozy, filled with the low hum of the TV and the occasional laugh from my family.
Grandma's smile was gentle as she carefully turned the flute over in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship. "Mauli, this flute is beautiful," she said softly, her eyes twinkling with affection. "But do you even know how to play it?"
I couldn't help but grin. "Of course, Aaji! Let me show you," I said, reaching for the flute again, eager to demonstrate.
Just as I was about to bring the flute to my lips, she gently placed her hand on my arm. "Not now, Mauli. Later. The serial's about to start," she said, her tone warm but firm, and I sighed in defeat. The Mahabharat was clearly the priority right now, and who was I to argue? I leaned back, my fingers idly tracing the flute's cool surface, as I joined my family in watching the show.
When the commercial break finally came, I saw my moment. Glancing at my father, I took a deep breath, preparing for what I was about to ask. "Papa," I started cautiously, "I want to buy something."
He tore his gaze away from the TV and gave me a curious look. "What is it?" he asked.
'Here it goes,' I thought, mentally bracing myself. "An Apple MacBook Pro," I said, my voice steady but unsure of his reaction.
Dad nodded slowly, his face unreadable. "Okay…"
But before he could ask for more details, I quickly added, "The price is... between ₹95,000 and ₹1,20,000."
As soon as the words left my mouth, the room fell into a thick silence. The only sound left was the TV, but even that seemed distant against the tension that now filled the air. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, but I kept my gaze on my dad, trying my best to make the puppy-dog look convincing.
It was Mom who finally broke the silence, her voice sharp with disbelief. "Are you an idiot, Hari? Do you even realize how much ₹95,000 - ₹1,20,000 is? What are you talking about, asking for something that expensive?" Her words were laced with frustration, and I knew she wasn't just going to let this slide.
I winced, but I wasn't giving up that easily. Turning my attention to my father, I gave him my best pleading look, my hands folded in front of me like I was begging for something truly vital. "Please, Papa, buy it for me. I swear, you won't regret it!" My voice was soft, almost too sincere, trying to coax him into seeing things my way.
For a moment, Dad just stared at me, his expression unreadable. I held my breath, hoping he would say yes. Then, to my surprise, he nodded slightly. "Okay, we'll buy it after two days."
A wide smile spread across my face, relief and excitement bubbling up all at once. "Thank you, Papa!" I exclaimed.
But my celebration was cut short when Mom shot a sharp look at Dad. "What do you mean we're going to buy it?" she asked, her voice rising with each word. "Where are we going to get that much of money?" She folded her arms, clearly not on board with this decision.
Dad's voice was calm as he replied to Mom, "We can use our savings, and we'll buy it on EMI. It won't be too heavy on us, spread out over time."
Mom still looked unconvinced, her brows furrowed as she considered his words. "Is it really necessary?" she asked, her tone softer now, but still filled with concern.
I knew this was my chance to convince her. "Mom, it's really needed," I said earnestly, leaning forward. "The world is changing, and having a MacBook will help me with school, work, everything. I promise you won't regret it." My voice was full of reassurance, and I tried to put as much sincerity as I could into my eyes.
Mom sighed, clearly torn, but she nodded slowly. "Okay," she said finally, "but if I see it affecting your studies, you know what will happen."
I smiled, nodding quickly. "I know, Mom. I won't let it interfere, I promise."
Just when I thought the conversation was over, Kartik, who had been quietly listening, suddenly piped up. "Why does Dada get everything? I want one too!" His voice had a whiny edge to it, and I could see him pouting, his small fists clenched.
I couldn't help but laugh softly at his outburst. "Do you even know what a laptop is?" I teased, ruffling his hair playfully.
Kartik scrunched up his face, thinking for a moment before he replied, "It's like a TV, right?"
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. "No, little dude, it's not like a TV. It's way more than that. Tell you what—finish your homework, and when you actually understand what a laptop is, maybe we'll talk about getting you one too."
Kartik shot me an angry look, his lips pouting as he glared at me. But instead of arguing, he turned his attention back to his homework, muttering something under his breath. I smiled, feeling a strange sense of peace settle in the room.