Delhi—India's capital, a city that thrives on its contradictions. Known for its rich history and bustling streets, it's a magnet for dreamers and opportunists. Yet, Delhi has a darker side, hidden in its shadows. As a center for politics and power, it has always been a prime target for threats—be it terrorism or espionage. But the city fights back, fortified by an intricate web of security, intelligence agencies, and an unyielding spirit.
In this city of relentless ambition and latent danger, a quiet story was beginning to unfold—one that would soon shake its foundations.
In the middle of this vibrant chaos was Aarvansh, a 19-year-old IIT Delhi student. Reserved by nature, Aarvansh spoke little but carried himself with an unspoken strength. He believed in actions more than words, a quality that often drew people to him without him even trying.
His friends, however, were quite the opposite. Aarav Dabral, Shaurya Narang, and Prakash were a trio of chatterboxes, each with their own quirks. Aarav was the clown of the group, constantly finding new ways to embarrass himself. Shaurya, dependable and slightly egoistic, often acted as the voice of reason. And Prakash, clever and competitive, loved a good debate, though he wasn't always the easiest to trust. Together, they made an unlikely but inseparable group.
The four of them were sitting at a small café in 32nd Avenue, a popular hangout spot. Aarav, as always, was holding court, dramatically reenacting a cricket shot that, according to him, had almost won his college team a match.
"I swear, it was a perfect cover drive," Aarav said, mimicking the motion with a spoon. "If that fielder hadn't dived, it would've been a boundary!"
Prakash smirked, sipping his coffee.
"Or if you hadn't edged it straight to the slips, maybe."
Aarav glared at him. "You weren't even there, Prakash!"
Shaurya chuckled. "Honestly, Aarav, if we start fact-checking your stories, we'll be here all day."
Aarvansh, sitting quietly, glanced up from his cup of tea, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let him dream," he said softly.
Aarav shot him a grateful look. "Finally, someone with sense! Thank you, Aarvansh."
Prakash rolled his eyes. "He's being polite, Aarav. Don't get your hopes up."
Their laughter filled the air, blending with the hum of conversations around them. But as the jokes continued, Aarvansh's attention was drawn to a janitor in the corner of the café, struggling to balance a trash bag that had torn open.
Without a word, Aarvansh stood up, leaving his tea untouched. His friends paused, watching him in confusion.
"What's he up to now?" Aarav asked, leaning forward.
"Maybe he spotted a damsel in distress," Shaurya said with a grin.
"More likely a trash can in distress," Prakash added dryly.
Sure enough, Aarvansh walked over to the janitor. The older man looked up, startled, as Aarvansh bent down and helped gather the spilled trash. The two exchanged a few quiet words before Aarvansh slipped a ₹200 note into the man's pocket.
"Take care," Aarvansh said softly before walking back to the table.
As he sat down, Aarav couldn't hold back. "Seriously, man? A random act of kindness in the middle of my story? Now you're making me look bad!"
Aarvansh shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. "It's not about looking good, Aarav. Sometimes you just do what feels right."
The group fell silent for a moment before Shaurya spoke. "You really need to teach Aarav that."
Prakash smirked. "Even if he takes lessons, it's a lost cause."
Aarav groaned. "Why do I even hang out with you people?"
Their laughter resumed, as loud and carefree as ever.
But beyond the chatter and camaraderie, Delhi's ever-watchful eyes never rested. In the shadows of its vibrant streets, an unseen force observed the city's every move. It wasn't just a bystander—it was an organization built for times of chaos, a guardian for a city that needed it more than ever.
And though Aarvansh and his friends remained blissfully unaware of its existence, their lives were already being drawn into its orbit.