Chapter 1: A New Beginning

For nearly twenty years, the top drawer of the old teakwood cabinet had remained untouched by everyone except one man. It wasn't because the cabinet contained anything valuable. There was no jewellery hidden inside, no important documents, nor any family heirloom passed down through generations. Yet every morning, before beginning his day, the man would unlock that particular drawer with the same small brass key that never left his pocket. This morning was no different. The first rays of sunlight had just begun filtering through the tall wooden windows of the room, painting the polished floor with long streaks of gold. Outside, Forgotten Lane was slowly waking up. A milkman pushed his bicycle along the stone pathway from the front gate of the society, where a wooden plaque bore the carefully carved words "Forgotten Lane," exchanging cheerful greetings with an elderly gentleman trimming the hedges outside his house. Somewhere farther down the lane, children laughed while chasing each other around an old banyan tree that stood proudly at the centre of the community. Wind chimes hanging from nearby verandas swayed gently in the cool breeze, adding a quiet melody to the peaceful morning. Anyone standing by the window would have admired the beauty outside. The man didn't. He stood there for several moments, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the lane, beyond Delhi itself, as though his eyes were searching for something that no longer existed. A village hidden deep within the forests of Kerala. He could no longer remember the laughter of its people. He could no longer remember the colour of its houses. But one memory had refused to fade with time. Ash. Blackened walls. Silence. An endless, unbearable silence. "...Velanoor," he murmured. His fingers tightened unconsciously before he slowly turned away from the window. The ringing of his mobile phone broke the stillness of the room. He glanced at the screen before answering. "Good morning, sir." The familiar voice of the property broker sounded unusually excited. "I hope I didn't wake you." "You didn't," the man replied calmly. "I've got good news." There was a brief pause before the broker continued. "We finally found someone interested in renting Aashray." For the first time that morning, a faint expression crossed the man's face. Not happiness. Not surprise. Something much quieter. "When is he coming?" "In about an hour." "The boy has been searching for almost a week. I showed him several properties, but none of them worked out. He's starting a software company here in Delhi. Decent family. No bad habits as far as I know." The man listened without interrupting. "I'll show him the house myself," he said after a moment. "Very well, sir." The call ended. The room fell silent once again. The man remained where he was for a few seconds before walking towards the cabinet standing in the corner. Unlike the rest of the furniture, the cabinet showed signs of age. Its dark teakwood had lost some of its shine, and tiny scratches covered its surface, each one marking the passage of time. A small brass lock secured the top drawer. He unlocked it carefully. Inside lay only one thing. A newspaper. Or rather... what had once been a newspaper. Years earlier, it had been laminated with unusual care. The transparent protective sheet had yellowed slightly around the edges, but it had preserved every printed word almost perfectly. It looked less like something meant to be read and more like a memory someone refused to lose. The newspaper wasn't written in Hindi. Nor in English. Every headline was printed in Telugu. At the centre of the front page was the photograph of a young woman. She looked no older than twenty-five. Her smile carried a strange warmth—the kind that made complete strangers feel they had known her for years. The man's fingers slowly moved across the laminated surface until they rested over her photograph. His eyes lingered there. Not for seconds. But for almost an entire minute. The silence inside the room grew heavier. Finally, he exhaled softly and folded the newspaper with the same precision with which he had unfolded it. Before placing it back inside the drawer, he whispered something so quietly that even he barely heard it. "I'm sorry..." Whether he was apologising to the woman... or to himself... only he knew. The drawer closed with a soft click. He locked it once again and slipped the brass key back into his pocket. Walking back to the window, he looked down at Forgotten Lane. The morning had become livelier now. Children were leaving for school. Neighbours stopped to chat with one another. A gardener carefully watered rows of blooming flowers that lined the pathways. The lane looked untouched by the outside world. Safe. Peaceful. Almost timeless. The man rested one hand against the wooden frame of the window and allowed himself a rare smile. "I hope..." he murmured. "...history chooses a different ending this time." --- Nearly fifteen kilometres away, Raghav Verma was beginning to wonder whether Delhi simply didn't want him. Eight days. Eight properties. Eight disappointments. If someone had told him a month ago that finding a decent rental house would prove harder than convincing clients to trust a brand-new startup, he would have laughed. Now... he wasn't laughing anymore. The auto came to a halt outside a modest two-storey house tucked inside a quiet residential colony. Raghav paid the driver, slung his laptop bag over one shoulder, and climbed the familiar staircase leading to the first floor. Before he could ring the bell, the door opened. "There you are." Rakesh smiled knowingly. "Judging by your face... this one wasn't any better either." Raghav stepped inside, dropped his backpack beside the sofa, and let out a tired sigh. "You know what's funny?" he said, sinking into the chair. "The owner called it a luxury apartment." Rakesh raised an eyebrow. "And?" Raghav looked at him with complete seriousness. "The bathroom was bigger than the bedroom." For a second, the room remained silent. Then both men burst into laughter. From the kitchen, Sunita called out, "I knew it! Another disaster?" Raghav shook his head with a helpless smile. "You have no idea, Mami..." Bhawna walked into the living room carrying a tray with three cups of tea and a plate of freshly made onion pakoras. She placed everything on the centre table before taking the armchair opposite Raghav. "I don't understand one thing," she said, handing him a cup. "Every evening you return with a new story. At this rate, you could write a guidebook on How Not to Rent a House in Delhi." Raghav laughed for the first time that day. "I'll dedicate the first copy to all the brokers I've met." Rakesh picked up a pakora and pointed towards him. "No, dedicate it to Delhi. The city deserves the credit." The room filled with laughter once again. For the past eight days, this had almost become a routine. Raghav would leave early every morning with hope in his eyes and return every evening carrying nothing except another disappointing experience. Yet neither Rakesh nor Bhawna had made him feel like an unwanted guest. They never once hinted that he should hurry up or find a place quickly. If anything, they insisted he stay until he found a house he genuinely liked. That was one thing Raghav admired about them. Although the relationship was distant on paper—Rakesh was his mother's tau's(father elder brother) younger son—he had never treated Raghav like a distant relative. Ever since Raghav had arrived in Delhi, their home had felt less like a relative's house and more like an extension of his own. "So," Rakesh asked after taking a sip of tea, "what was wrong with today's apartment apart from the bathroom?" Raghav leaned back and counted on his fingers. "The owner wanted eleven months' security deposit." "Hmm." "There wasn't a proper parking space." "Fair." "And..." He paused dramatically. "The kitchen window opened directly into the neighbour's bathroom." For a moment, Rakesh stared at him. Then he burst into uncontrollable laughter. "You're making this up." "I wish I were." Even bjawna covered her face to hide her laughter. "Delhi really doesn't want you to settle here." Before Raghav could reply, his phone buzzed on the table. The broker. All three looked at the screen. Raghav sighed. "I know exactly what he's going to say." He answered anyway. "Hello?" "Sir!" the broker's energetic voice came through. "Please don't disconnect this time." "I wasn't planning to." "I've found another property." Raghav exchanged a glance with Rakesh. "This is the fourth 'last property' you've found." "I know, sir. But this time I'm serious." There was something different in the broker's voice. Less excitement. More confidence. "I've been trying to convince the owner for the past three days. He finally agreed to rent it out." Raghav sat upright. "What's the catch?" "No catch." "The rent is reasonable." "The neighbourhood is excellent." "And the owner wants to meet the tenant personally." "Where is it?" There was a brief pause. "Forgotten Lane." Raghav frowned. "I've never heard of it." "Most people haven't," the broker replied with a chuckle. "That's why I'm asking you to come and see it first. If you don't like it, I'll never trouble you with another property." Raghav remained silent for a few seconds. Finally, he smiled. "Alright." "I'll be there." As soon as the call ended, Rakesh looked at him curiously. "So?" "Apparently this one's called Forgotten Lane." "Strange name." "Exactly what I thought." bjawna stood up and collected the empty cups. "Go and see it. There's no harm in looking at one more place." Raghav nodded. "At this point, I don't think I have the luxury of being picky." --- The afternoon sun hung high above Delhi when the cab finally slowed down before a massive black granite gateway. Raghav stepped out and instinctively looked around. He checked the map on his phone. The location matched. Yet the place in front of him didn't resemble any residential society he had visited over the past week. Mounted beside the entrance stood a polished stone plaque. The words carved into it caught his attention immediately. FORGOTTEN LANE Private Heritage Residential Community He found himself reading the name twice. "Forgotten Lane..." he murmured. "Who comes up with a name like that?" "A man who didn't want it to be forgotten." The answer came from behind him. Raghav turned around. A man in his early fifties stood a few steps away, dressed simply in a crisp white shirt and charcoal-grey trousers. His posture was straight, his expression calm, and there was an unusual sense of composure about him. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, yet his presence naturally demanded attention. "You must be Mr. Raghav Verma." "Yes." "I'm here to show you the property." There was no unnecessary introduction. No exchange of business cards. No attempt at small talk. The man simply gestured towards the entrance. "If you don't mind..." "We can begin." Raghav nodded and followed him through the gate. The change was immediate. The noise of Delhi seemed to disappear behind them. No impatient horns. No shouting. No endless stream of traffic. Only the soft rustle of leaves moving with the breeze. Raghav slowed down without even realising it. The stone-paved road curved gently through the community, lined with elegant homes that looked unlike anything he had seen before. None of them followed the same architectural style. One carried beautifully carved wooden balconies, another had a wide courtyard shaded by flowering trees, while a third displayed intricate stonework that looked as though it had been crafted decades ago. Despite their differences, every home belonged together. Nothing felt out of place. Nothing felt artificial. The place didn't look rich because people wanted to show off. It looked rich because it had been cared for. "You've gone quiet," the man observed. Raghav smiled awkwardly. "I was just thinking..." "I've lived in India all my life." "I've visited plenty of cities." "But I've never seen a place quite like this." The man looked ahead. "Most people say that." They continued walking. As they passed each house, Raghav noticed something unusual. There were no house numbers. Instead, every entrance had a beautifully crafted wooden nameplate. Some names were written in scripts he immediately recognised. Others weren't. Before he could stop to read one properly, the man had already walked ahead. Raghav decided not to ask. Not yet. A few moments later, they stopped before a beautiful two-storey home surrounded by flowering plants and an old mango tree. Unlike the other houses, this one seemed... welcoming. Almost as though it had been waiting for someone. The wooden nameplate beside the entrance bore a single word. Aashray. Raghav smiled unconsciously. "That's a beautiful name." The man unlocked the front door. "It is." He stepped aside. "Please." "Take your time." Raghav crossed the threshold, unaware that the decision he was about to make would change far more than just his address.