Chapter 1: The Weight of the World
The chipped paint on the hostel wall mirrored the cracks in Rohan's resolve. He stared at it, the peeling flakes a visual echo of his own unraveling. The Krishna poster, vibrant blue a cruel taunt against the grey fog in his mind, hung askew. School… it wasn't just a battleground; it was a daily crucifixion. Each bell a hammer blow, each hallway a gauntlet of judging eyes. The pressure wasn't about grades; it was about proving his worth, a worth he couldn't seem to grasp, in a world that felt like it was fracturing.
He wasn't just quiet; he was a void, a black hole absorbing every ounce of joy from his father's already burdened life. He could see the weariness in his father's eyes, the lines etched deeper with each passing day. It wasn't disappointment, not exactly. It was something worse – a quiet resignation, a reflection of Rohan's own perceived failure.
The newsfeeds, usually a background hum, now screamed of a world in chaos. Not just the usual political squabbles, but something far more terrifying. He'd first noticed the subtle shifts – birds flying in erratic patterns, stray dogs acting strangely. Then came the whispers – erratic weather, strange illnesses. Now, the headlines blared of massive sinkholes swallowing buildings, plagues decimating populations, a sun that scorched the earth, and nights that froze the very air. "Great Imbalance," the scientists called it. Rohan felt it too, a cosmic unease mirroring the imbalance within him.
Sleep offered no escape, only a descent into a darker reality. He dreamt of drowning, the murky water filled with leering faces, his father's etched with disappointment, his mother's a fading, hazy memory, now a mask of sorrow. He woke gasping, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, the digital clock flashing 3:00 AM, the cold air clinging to his skin. Another sleepless night. Another day of pretending.
Tonight, the dream was different. He wasn't drowning. He was falling, endlessly falling, the earth cracking and groaning beneath him. He woke with a strangled cry, his body trembling. He stumbled out of bed, the cool tile a shock against his bare feet. He found his father asleep on the sofa, his face etched with exhaustion. Rohan stared at him, at the man who had sacrificed everything. He didn't see love; he saw a trap. He didn't see sacrifice; he saw a life wasted. He didn't see a father; he saw a reflection of his own worthlessness. He had to escape.
The thought wasn't a decision; it was a primal scream from his soul. He had to break free from this suffocating weight, this feeling of being a burden, a failure. He had to set his father free. He had to disappear.
His mother's voice, a faint whisper from the past, echoed in his mind. "Beyond the reach of humans," she'd said, her voice weak but filled with a strange intensity, "there is a place… a place of balance. They call it… Avani."
Avani. The name, a whispered promise on her dying breath, became his obsession. He remembered her stories, tales of a hidden sanctuary, a place untouched by the world's decay, a place where nature and humanity lived in harmony. He had to find it.
He packed a bag, a few clothes, his mother's journal, its pages filled with her cryptic musings about Avani. He left a note for his father, the words a jumble of apologies and explanations that felt pathetically inadequate. He didn't know where Avani was, but he remembered a snippet of conversation overheard in a cafe – whispers of a remote region in Norway, a gateway. It was a long shot, a desperate gamble, but it was all he had left.
He booked a one-way ticket to Oslo. The cold air of the airport mirrored the chill in his heart.