Her presence caught our attention before anything else did, a tall figure with dark brown eyes that didn't just look at us but seemed to recognize us, and for a brief moment it felt like she had been expecting us to be there.
"Are you looking for Dr. Raghav Malhotra?" she asked, her voice calm while we were still catching our breath.
"Y… yeah… yes," I replied, still slightly panting as I tried to steady myself, "do you know him?"
She didn't hesitate.
"Yes, he's my father."
For a second, everything paused.
Anthony straightened beside me, and I felt something shift inside my chest, a mix of questions, relief, and something heavier that I couldn't quite place, because this was the first real lead we had, the first connection to something my father had left behind, and yet I didn't speak, not immediately, because the weight of not having seen my father for fifteen years didn't settle easily, it lingered somewhere deeper, making me hold back instead of rushing forward.
I told myself things would become clear with time.
We followed her without another question, moving through the streets until the structure of the magstation came into view, sleek and modern, its design blending into the city as if it had always been there, and within it ran the mag trains, silent and fast, connecting the city without cost, another reminder that India hadn't collapsed like the rest of the world.
"Where are we going?" I asked as we approached, exchanging a quick glance with Anthony as it became obvious we were heading straight inside.
"My dad is in Madurai these days… because of college vacations, that's our hometown," she said, slipping on her black glasses and adjusting her hair with an ease that suggested this was routine for her, and without waiting for a response, she stepped forward and entered the mag train.
Anthony smirked the moment we stepped inside the mag train, the doors sliding shut behind us with a quiet precision, and without missing a second he leaned slightly forward and asked, "Hah… your dad studies in a college?"
She turned her head toward him slowly, her expression shifting into something that wasn't entirely disgust or shock but carried traces of both, as if she wasn't sure whether to be offended or just confused.
I sighed and pinched Anthony lightly, leaning closer so only he could hear me.
"He must teach there, Anth… basic common sense."
Anthony blinked, then scratched the back of his head awkwardly before looking at her again.
"Hehehe… I was—I was just joking," he said, forcing a small laugh before turning his face away and pretending to look outside, clearly trying to recover from the moment.
There was only one empty seat in the compartment, so we stepped aside and let her sit while we remained standing.
Chivalry, right?
The train began to move almost silently, and within moments the city outside started to blur into motion, yet inside everything felt calm, almost unnaturally so, because no one spoke, no one even seemed interested in speaking, and the entire space carried a kind of quiet discipline that made even Anthony stay silent for once.
There were separate VIP compartments lined along one side, sealed with transparent panels that hinted at soundproof interiors, and the train itself felt unreal in a way that didn't break immersion, because the interior was clearly larger than what the exterior could possibly contain, a refined use of 4D spatial tech that expanded space without distorting perception.
The ceiling rose higher than expected, lights suspended above in a way that made them appear close yet never within reach, and the red carpeting stretched across the floor with a level of cleanliness that rivaled luxury hotels, every detail maintained with precision.
I had never seen anything like it.
After a few minutes, a soft transition occurred as a video began playing across the inner panels, displaying the history of Tamil Nadu, its temples, its culture, its cities, all presented with a calm narration that blended seamlessly with the stillness of the train.
It didn't feel like travel.
It felt like being carried through something curated.
It was, without a doubt, the best experience I had ever had, even better than flying.
When we finally reached Madurai, the transition felt gentle, almost unnoticed, and stepping out into the city revealed something familiar yet different, because while it shared the structure and balance of Chennai, it held more greenery, more open space, and a slightly slower rhythm that made everything feel grounded.
During the earthquake of 2072, even the strongest modern buildings had collapsed, entire cities reduced to fractured remains, yet the temples had stood untouched, their structures unshaken and the statues within them unchanged, as if the force that had torn through the rest of the world had simply passed them by.
People here believed their gods had protected them.
I didn't believe in that.
And yet, I couldn't explain it either.
An earthquake that reached as far as the United States should have reduced everything to dust, and yet these structures remained, not even cracked, and the only explanation that made any sense was that the architecture of older times held something we still didn't understand.
It was… fascinating.
After moving through the streets for a while, we finally reached Dr. Raghav Malhotra's house.
It was a bungalow.
And the moment we saw it, it became clear that this wasn't the residence of a regular college professor, the structure too expansive, the design too refined, and the surrounding space too carefully maintained to belong to someone ordinary.
Anthony and I exchanged a glance before I finally spoke.
"Hey… which college does your dad teach in?" I asked as the gates opened smoothly, allowing us to step inside and walk through the garden that led up to the house.
"IIT Madras."
I knew it.
One of the best institutions in the world, a place where even getting in demanded solving problems taught years ahead of standard education, where at seventeen or eighteen you were expected to handle concepts that most encountered much later, and if that was just the entrance, then the level of knowledge inside those walls must have been something else entirely.
Crunch.
Thud.
The sharp sound of a branch hitting the ground pulled our attention to the side, and when we turned, we saw a young man standing on a ladder, cutting away overgrown branches and bushes with practiced ease, sweat visible on his forehead as he worked under the afternoon sun.
"Salaam madam! (greetings, ma'am)" he said, pausing briefly to look at the girl walking ahead of us, and she responded with nothing more than a slight nod before continuing forward.
And then, in the next moment, everything shifted.
The ladder slipped.
"Aaah!" he shouted as he lost balance and fell to the ground.
Anthony and I ran toward him immediately without thinking, but as I glanced back for a split second, I noticed that she hadn't moved at all, she just stood there, still and unaffected, watching it happen without even a step forward.
Before we could reach him, the door of the house opened abruptly.
A man stepped out.
He moved quickly, almost instinctively, as if the sound alone had been enough for him to understand what had happened, and within seconds he was already beside the fallen gardener.
He was tall, easily taller than both Anthony and me, wearing a simple cyan T-shirt and white pants, his small rectangular glasses resting neatly on his face, and despite his lean, almost fragile-looking frame, there was a certain presence in the way he carried himself.
"Rajesh, kya hua? (what happened, Rajesh?)" he asked, kneeling down and offering his hand.
We slowed as we reached them, watching as he helped the man up without hesitation, his focus entirely on him, and for a brief moment his eyes flicked toward us, just a glance, but not one of surprise or confusion, more like recognition without the need for confirmation.
Anthony leaned slightly toward me and whispered, "That must be Dr. Malhotra."
The man supported Rajesh carefully and guided him inside, moving with calm efficiency, and we followed a few steps behind before stopping near the entrance as he cleaned the wound and applied a bandage, the gardener's knee bleeding where a sharp stone had cut into it during the fall.
"You can take the weekend off, I'll manage the garden myself," Dr. Raghav Malhotra said, his tone gentle as he patted the man's shoulder lightly before helping him toward what seemed like the servant quarters.
I stood there for a moment, watching.
A professor at IIT, living in a bungalow like this, and yet no trace of arrogance, no distance, just quiet responsibility.
What a humble man.
We stepped back out into the garden, standing near the spot where the man had fallen, and after a few minutes Dr. Malhotra walked out again, but before saying anything to us, his attention shifted to his daughter, who was now seated calmly at a table in the garden, almost as if nothing had happened.
He stopped at the doorway and raised his voice.
"Pallavi! What is this? You saw him fall and you didn't even move, go inside the house right now!"
She stood up without reacting, without arguing, and simply walked inside.
She stood up without hesitation and walked inside without offering any explanation, and as I watched her leave I couldn't understand how someone like him could have a daughter like that. Then his gaze shifted toward us, and we straightened almost instantly.
"Hi sir, I'm—"
"I know, Justin," he said, cutting me off calmly, "your dad told me you'd be waiting in Chennai, so I sent my daughter there. I'm sorry for what happened to him."
For a second, I just stood there, trying to process how naturally he had said it.
"How do you know him?" I asked.
He exhaled slightly, not tired but thoughtful.
"Well, that's a long story… you should get some rest for now, we'll talk in about an hour, I have some important work to finish," he said before adding, more gently, "feel free to explore the house, okay beta(son)?"
I nodded.
And without another word, he turned and walked away, heading toward his MV.