Finishing her story, Maya let out a soft sigh and looked at Om.
"That's how, for the first time, a mission that even the army couldn't complete… was finished by Number 0 alone, and with ease. That day, the Numbers stepped into the world for the first time."
Her voice softened slightly.
"Sir… I just want to say this—Numbers aren't bad. It's just… their past isn't good."
She held his gaze.
"You know why I hid this from you. There are too many people in this world who want to either kill the Numbers… or use them."
A pause.
"Sometimes, your abilities become nothing more than a tool for someone else's gain."
Her expression turned serious.
"But because of our leader—Number 0… we've survived till now."
She exhaled slowly.
"This is all you need to know about the Numbers… for now. The rest… you'll find out when the time comes."
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then—
Om suddenly widened his eyes, almost like a kid hearing an unbelievable tale.
"Damn… that was actually a pretty insane story," he said, half-amused, half-shocked. "A soldier who's basically equal to an entire army… and he's around my age?"
He let out a small laugh.
"Hard to believe… but not impossible."
Then, shrugging lightly—
"Alright, for now, I'll assume you guys are the good ones."
He looked at her curiously.
"So… how many people were in your team?"
Maya's face turned serious again.
"When the team was formed… there were 50 of us, including Number 0."
A brief pause.
"But now… I don't even know how many are left."
Om pressed his lips together and nodded slowly.
"Hmm… alright."
He let out a small breath.
"Well… I'll accept your story for now. Honestly… it was a dangerous one."
Then he turned toward the door.
"Okay, I'll head out. You get some rest."
With that, Om walked away.
Maya watched him leave… her expression slowly growing heavier.
I'm sorry, Om…
Her thoughts whispered silently.
I can't tell you everything… not yet.
The only one you need to know about right now… is Number 0.
A faint sadness crossed her eyes.
I'm sorry for leading you away from the truth… and for telling you only what I had to.
A slight, almost invisible smile appeared.
And Number 0… you should thank me. I made you look better than you already are.
For the next few days…
Om's life was calm.
Peaceful, even.
He spent time with his friends… with his siblings… and most of his day went into work or into awakening and understanding his inner powers.
In the middle of all this—
He forgot.
Forgot about that dream.
The one about his grandfather.
But one day—
It came back.
Suddenly.
Sharp.
Clear.
And this time, Om didn't hesitate.
Without wasting a second, he grabbed his car and drove straight toward his old house.
After a long drive—
He arrived.
His old home.
His father's house.
As soon as Om stepped closer to the small, quiet place… something inside him shifted.
Memories.
They came rushing back.
Uncontrollable.
Vivid.
Alive.
His eyes softened as the past unfolded before him—
"Om, son… come on, you've played enough. Come eat your food!"
"No, Mom! I want to play a little more! Haha… it's so fun!"
"Hey champ… look what Dad got for you—new shoes! Now you can run even faster!"
"Thank you, Dad! You're the best!"
"Om, son… we're heading out for work. We'll be back in the evening, okay? Don't cause trouble after school… and don't trouble the house-help!"
"(on call) Mom… Dad… when are you coming back?"
"Son… Mom and Dad are sick… and we don't want you to get sick too. Aunt will take care of you for a few days, okay? Don't be naughty…"
"Mr. Vijay… Mr. Manoj… I'm sorry… Dr. Vipul and Dr. Veena are no longer with us…"
The memories hit harder with each passing second.
And before he could stop himself—
Tears rolled down Om's eyes.
He stood there… frozen in time.
Lost.
Broken.
After a while, he wiped his tears and took a deep breath.
Then slowly—
He unlocked the door.
And stepped inside.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
It had been closed for a long time.
Dust had settled everywhere.
Cobwebs clung to the walls.
It felt less like a home… and more like something forgotten by time itself.
Om walked carefully through the space.
Every step echoing faintly.
He stopped in front of a small room.
The storeroom.
He reached for the lock and tried to open it—
But it wouldn't budge.
He tried again.
And again.
Still nothing.
The lock had rusted… jammed completely.
After struggling for a while, Om stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Seriously… I never even opened this storeroom… and now the lock's completely stuck. Great. What do I do now?"
He stood there, thinking.
Then suddenly—
An idea struck him.
Gripping the lock tightly, he applied force—
Hard.
With a sharp snap—
The lock broke.
A small smile appeared on his face.
"Finally."
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The storeroom was worse.
Much worse.
Thicker dust.
Heavier webs.
Dark.
Quiet.
Om began searching.
Carefully.
Patiently.
He went through everything—boxes, old items, broken furniture—
Looking for anything.
Anything that belonged to his grandfather.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
But—
Nothing.
He had searched almost every corner.
His clothes were now covered in dust.
Sweat trickled down his face.
Exhausted, he finally dropped down onto the floor.
"Seriously, Dad… what kind of son are you?" he muttered, half-annoyed, half-hurt. "Not even a single picture of your own father?"
He shook his head lightly.
"Uncles are one thing… but you? Didn't expect that from you."
He glanced at his clothes.
"Great… found nothing, broke the lock for no reason, and ruined my clothes too."
Sighing, he started brushing the dust off himself.
And then—
Something caught his eye.
In the far corner of the room…
Under a table.
A box.
Hidden.
Almost invisible in the darkness.
Om narrowed his eyes.
That box…
It didn't belong to the rest.
Without wasting a second, he got up and walked toward it.
He pulled it out carefully, dust falling off in layers.
Then slowly—
Very carefully—
Om began to open it.