The morning sun struggled to pierce through London's perpetual cloud cover as Shreya sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced precariously on her knees. The familiar faces of her family filled her screen during their weekly video call, the nine-hour time difference meaning it was already evening in Patna.
"Di, you won't believe what else I found!" Rohan's excited face dominated the screen, his fifteen-year-old enthusiasm impossible to contain. "Remember that old market I told you about? There's this whole section of ancient books and—"
"Arre, let your sister breathe," their mother's voice came from somewhere off-screen. "First, tell us if you're eating properly, beta. You look tired."
Shreya adjusted her position, the aroma of the masala chai she'd just made filling her small studio apartment. "I'm fine, Maa. Just busy with the project work."
Her father's face appeared in the frame, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. "How is the project coming along? Any breakthrough yet?"
"Actually..." Shreya hesitated, her mind drifting to the mysterious book in the library. "I might have found something interesting. It's related to our old folklore."
"Folklore?" Her mother's face showed concern. "But beta, you're studying in London. Shouldn't you focus on something more... modern?"
"That's exactly what makes it unique, Maa," Shreya explained, taking a sip of her chai. The familiar taste brought back memories of morning rushes and evening stories in their Patna home. "It's about connecting our cultural heritage with contemporary research."
The camera shifted, revealing their modest living room in Patna. Shreya could see the familiar family photos on the wall, the worn but well-maintained sofa, and the small mandir in the corner. The evening aarti's smoke was still visible, curling up towards the ceiling fan.
"Now, Rohan," Shreya redirected the conversation. "What were you saying about the old market?"
Her brother's eyes lit up. "Right! So, there's this really old bookseller. He had all these ancient manuscripts, and when I mentioned your project, he started talking about some demon king legends—"
"Demon kings?" their mother interrupted. "Rohan, beta, stop filling your sister's head with these stories. Shreya, you remember what your Dadi used to say about such things?"
Shreya did remember. Their grandmother, before she passed away two years ago, would often warn them about delving too deep into old legends. "Some stories," she would say, "are better left untold."
"It's just research, Maa," Shreya assured her, but her mind wandered to the illustration she'd seen in the library book. "Actually, did Dadi ever mention something about... Mrit?"
The video call went silent for a moment. Even the usual background noise of their Patna neighborhood seemed to pause.
"Where did you hear that name?" her father asked, his voice unusually serious.
"Just... in my research. Why?"
Her father exchanged a look with her mother. "It's nothing. Just an old story. Better focus on your studies, beta."
The call continued with lighter topics – her mother's new recipe experiments, her father's promotion at the bank, Rohan's upcoming exams. But Shreya could sense an undercurrent of unease that hadn't been there before.
After ending the call, Shreya walked to her small kitchen window. The street below was coming to life with morning commuters, but her mind was back in Patna. She could almost smell her mother's cooking – the aromatic biryani that filled their home every Sunday, the fresh rotis that always seemed to appear just when she was hungry, the special gajar ka halwa that marked every celebration.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Rohan: "Di, I didn't want to say this in front of Maa and Papa, but that bookseller? He mentioned a Professor Shlok too. Said he used to visit the market often, always looking for books about Mrit. Want me to ask around?"
Shreya's hands trembled slightly as she typed back: "Be careful, but yes. And Rohan? Don't mention this to Maa and Papa."
She glanced at her clock – still three hours until her reserved time in the library's special collections. On her desk, her half-finished project proposal glowed on her laptop screen, but her mind was elsewhere. Something about her father's reaction to Mrit's name, combined with Dadi's old warnings and now this connection in Patna...
Another message popped up, this time from James at the library: "Found more Hodgson papers that might interest you. Some mentions of your demon king. Coming in today?"
"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, already gathering her things.
As Shreya prepared to leave her apartment, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Behind her, on the wall, hung the family photo taken during her last visit home. Their smiling faces seemed to watch her with a mixture of love and concern, as if they somehow knew she was about to step into something beyond their ordinary world of morning prayers and evening talks, beyond the comfort of her mother's cooking and her father's practical advice.
She touched the small golden pendant around her neck – her grandmother's last gift. "I'll be careful, Dadi," she whispered, and stepped out into the London morning.