Anika couldn't shake the footage from her mind.
She had taken a bold step, hacking into a military satellite for a clearer view. It was a gamble, but the moment she enhanced the image, her instincts kicked in. The man in the hoodie wasn't just strolling through a Mumbai alley — he was warping reality itself. Each step seemed to slow the wind. Pigeons froze mid-flap, and a neon sign flickered out as he walked by.
"Who are you?" she murmured.
The glow in his throat, the way he moved, the strange static that followed him in digital feeds — it all defied reason. Her hacker mind labeled it impossible. But deep down... her soul recognized something.
Meanwhile, far from her screens, Shiva sipped chai at a roadside stall in Colaba. The vendor gaped, not at his attire, but at the aura he exuded. There was something primal about him that made the vendor's knees quiver, yet he couldn't help but offer the cup with both hands.
"Thank you," Shiva replied softly.
The chai hissed as it touched his lips. Children nearby stared, and strangers offered assistance without understanding why. The divine doesn't need introductions; the energy of truth resonates louder than any name.
A small child approached, tugging at his hoodie.
"Are you a god?" she asked, her eyes wide with innocence.
He met her gaze, and time seemed to freeze. In her eyes, he recognized the same spark he had seen in Parvati's when she first challenged him to a debate on Mount Kailash.
"I am here to remember," he said. "And to help others remember too."
The child beamed and dashed away. Just like that, the moment slipped by.
---
Later that evening, Anika found herself back at Rudra Swami's place.
"I need answers."
He nodded, as if he had been expecting her.
"You found the man, didn't you?"
"Yes. Or at least... something within me recognized him. I don't believe in gods, Rudra. But this..."
"Is not about belief," Rudra replied, handing her a folded parchment. "It is about memory."
She carefully unfolded the parchment. It revealed an ancient sketch — drawn with red pigment on palm leaf. A man, ash-smeared, draped in tiger skin. And a hoodie.*
Anika frowned, shaking her head. "This can't be ancient. Hoodies weren't even a thing back then."
"And yet, here it is. That sketch has been part of my family for over 700 years. Each guru passed it down with one simple message: 'When he returns, he will not wear time.'"
Anika gazed at the drawing, her doubts beginning to fade.
"He walks among us. But why now?" she inquired.
"Because darkness has remembered him too."
---
In a sleek corporate boardroom high above Mumbai, Daman Raut scrutinized the satellite interference footage.
"No facial match. No biometric ID. Every surveillance feed within a five-block radius scrambled for exactly 108 seconds."
He turned to his assistant. "Where did this happen?"
"Near the Gateway of India, sir. At a local chai stall."
Raut raised an eyebrow. "A god strolls into our world and grabs a cup of chai. How delightfully... ordinary."
"Should we initiate Project Narak?"
"Not just yet. Let him wander. Keep an eye on him. But if he disrupts AstraDyne... we'll erase him from the grid."
---
As night descended, Shiva wandered through the narrow streets of old Mumbai, lost in thought.
Fragments of memories flickered back to him. A snow-capped mountain. Parvati's laughter echoing in a cave. Ganesha's innocent curiosity. Kartikeya sparring with celestial beings.
He paused at a dilapidated temple, long forgotten. Inside, rats had made their home among the shattered statues. The air was thick with neglect.
He stepped inside. As his foot crossed the crumbling threshold, a pulse radiated outward.
The rats froze.
The cracked Shivling began to glow softly.
He reached out to touch the stone. It pulsed with a rhythm — slow, like a heart that had been asleep for ages.
"Wake up," he murmured.
Outside, a drunken man stumbled by and suddenly snapped to attention, as if yanked from a dream. He looked around, bewildered, before collapsing to his knees in tears.
Back inside, Shiva sat in quiet contemplation. The city's energies buzzed around him, chaotic and loud. But here, in this forgotten place, tranquility returned.
In Delhi, Anika dozed off at her desk, her dreams vivid and alive.
A man in a hoodie stood in front of her, but the fabric seemed to dissolve into ash. Towering mountains loomed behind him, and the rivers seemed to sing her name.
"I know you," she murmured.
"You always have," he answered.
She jolted awake, breathless, with beads of sweat shimmering on her forehead. For the first time in years, she found herself praying.
---
That same night, hidden in the depths of the digital world, a secretive hacker group released a chilling warning:
> SYSTEMS SPIKED AT 108Hz ACROSS MULTIPLE NETWORKS. SAME PATTERN RECORDED IN 2001 VARANASI INCIDENT. CODE TAG: TANDAVA.
Anika blinked in surprise. The message bore no signature, yet it carried her own encryption fingerprint—one she had never shared with anyone.
Someone had reached out to her.
Or perhaps...
She had sent it to herself. From another time.
The man in the hoodie was more than just an enigma.
He was a reflection.
And what he revealed... was awakening.