The words sliced through the gloom in the conference room, the monotony of muffled voices, and the hum of the air conditioner. Tara Vedant, seated at the far end of the long table, froze mid-scribble. Her pen—an ordinary ballpoint she had been chewing absentmindedly—slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the polished wooden surface.
She looked up in sharp expectation of seeing her overbearing boss, Mr. Saxena, reprimanding someone at the far end of her colleague. The words came, or so it appeared to her, from the pit of her stomach. A woman's voice. Yet she had not spoken.
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her, puzzled and disapproving.
"Is everything okay, Tara?" Mr. Saxena's tone was firm, but his eyes told a different story.
Tara blinked, shaking her head. "Sorry, sir. I—I thought I heard something."
Then came a very awkward pause, as after that there was a resumption to business, but Tara couldn't engage again. The weird phrase didn't jettison itself from her brain, stirring something deeply inside her—an uneasiness she could not quite place.
She felt increasingly distracted than usual as the day dragged on. Beyond the glass-paned office building, the city outside hummed alive: a cacophony of cars that honked impatiently on the congested streets below, vendors calling their wares on the crowded sidewalks, the rumble of an impending storm heavy in the air.
Her desk was situated in a corner of the open office space and was cluttered with files and sticky notes; it was the reflection of her life—messy, mundane, and utterly unremarkable.
But the voice—her voice—had been anything but normal.
It was on her way home, amidst the busy streets of Mumbai that evening, that a feeling of being watched began to creep over her. The crowds swarmed around her, but Tara couldn't shake the sensation that someone—or something—was following her.
Her loyal companion, Kaelash, trotted beside her. A scruffy black street dog she had rescued two years ago, he was the only constant in her otherwise uneventful life. His sharp eyes and pricked ears gave the impression of an old soul trapped in a canine body.
Tonight, however, even Kaelash seemed restless. He growled softly, his gaze darting into the shadows between buildings.
"What's wrong, boy?" Tara asked tremulously.
Kaelash didn't respond, of course—he couldn't—but his growls grew deeper.
As they turned a corner into a quieter lane, a man stepped out of the shadows. He was lean and cadaverous with cheekbones sunk in his flesh and eyes that glimmered with an unnatural shine in the dim light. Unremarkable, there was something about him that seemed to ring alarm bells in Tara's mind.
"Ms. Vedant," he said, his voice smooth and unsettling. "We've been waiting for you."
Tara froze, her heart racing. "Excuse me? Do I know you?"
The man chuckled, a hollow sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Not yet. But you will."
Before she could react, he lunged at her. Tara stumbled back, instinctively shielding herself with her arms. The man's strength was inhuman; his fingers closed around her wrist like a vice, and she felt a surge of panic. Kaelash sprang into action. Snarling, he launched himself at the man, and his teeth sank deep into the attacker's arm. The man screamed, his grip momentarily loosening enough for Tara to pull away.
The fight thereafter was one that happened in a haze. The man was abnormally strong and sent Kaelash aside as if he were a rag doll. Tara screamed then, her voice raw with the fear and anger resident within her as she tried to shield her dog.
And then it happened.
A searing heat poured through her chest, like someone had lit the flame of a fire that had sat dormant. Her vision blurred, and it seemed the world around her was slowing. She felt her hands move of their own accord, striking the man with a force that sent him flying across the alley.
The impact propelled him backward, slamming into the brick wall behind him and sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious—or worse.
Tara stared at her shaking hands, quivering. What just happened?
Kaelash limped with her back to his position, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light; momentarily, he did not get across as a hound of any sort—something quintessentially of human origin in his peer—things combined, from millennial wisdom to poignant hurt, sent shivering up and down her spine.
"What… what are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Kaelash leaned his head, and his form shimmered faintly. For a bare instant, Tara could have sworn she saw something—someone—standing where her dog ought to be. The impression of a figure swathed in light, eyes flowing with molten gold.
Then it was gone.
Kaelash's one sharp bark seemed for all the world like an injunction for her to get moving, which snapped her out of the trance; stumbling, she was back on the road. As she lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling of her tiny apartment, her mind replayed every single event. Her hands tingled yet with the strange power she had felt. Who was that man? Why did he attack her? And what was happening with her? She leaned towards Kaelash, curled up at the foot of her bed. "You saved me tonight," she whispered. "Thank you." Kaelash opened one eye, his face expressionless.
Sighing, Tara closed her eyes. She did not know what was going on, but for sure one thing was changing: her life was no longer ordinary. And deep inside, she knew this was just the beginning.