Chapter 0 : The Boy in the Margins
Adarsh was twenty, a college student who preferred silence over speech and solitude over company. He drifted through his days like a shadow—present, but rarely noticed. Reserved to the point of invisibility, he guarded his inner world fiercely, unwilling to let even his talent define him. Few knew of his ability to draw, and none had ever seen the sketchbook he kept hidden—a diary of raw, unfiltered human forms, drawn with aching precision.
He came from a home that echoed with absence more than presence. His parents, locked in quiet conflict or long stretches away at work, left him alone for days at a time. In that emptiness, Adarsh found peace. He came to love the rhythms of isolation—the sound of monsoon rain striking the roof, the chill of the wind curling through half-open windows, the earthy perfume of wet soil. These were his constants.
At college, things were no different. He occupied a kind of social periphery—seen, perhaps, but seldom acknowledged. When classmates had a choice, they sat elsewhere. Only when they needed something—a note, a favor, an answer—did they approach him, feigning friendliness. Adarsh didn’t resent it. He simply accepted it, the way one accepts weather.
He excelled quietly in his studies. Teachers appreciated his focus and precision, and in their rare praise, he found a flicker of encouragement. But beyond that, he lived largely in silence—untouched, unnoticed, and, in some ways, at peace with it.
