Chapter 2: Rocket, Velocity, Socks?
The walk home was unexpectedly pleasant. The fresh air and unexpected freedom worked wonders for his scrambled mind. No looming tests, no judgmental beetle posters, just the rhythmic crunch of his sneakers on the sidewalk and the calming chirping of unseen birds. He let his mind wander, picturing himself sprawled on his bed, a cold glass of lemonade sweating beside him, a trashy sci-fi novel the only companion he needed. Maybe a nap too, a long one that would wash away the residue of the day's weirdness.
A nagging thought wormed its way into his peaceful reverie. His parents. They weren't the most understanding bunch when it came to school absences, especially not ones procured through dramatic exits and unconvincing coughs.
The school, more likely than not, would send a text message home about his early dismissal, prompting an interrogation that could rival a police detective's. He winced, picturing his mom's worried frown and his dad's raised eyebrow that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. They'd want details, explanations, and most importantly, proof of his sudden illness. He didn't have any of those.
But then he dismissed the thought with a dismissive snort. St. Stephen's wasn't exactly known for its lightning-fast communication with parents. They were probably swamped with more important things than a random student leaving early with a dubious cough. Besides, a little rest and a tall glass of lemonade could work wonders. He could concoct some elaborate story about a sudden stomach ache later, if needed. Surely, a fake tummy ache was a small price to pay for an afternoon of blissful escape.With renewed optimism, Ved quickened his pace, his earlier thoughtd forgotten. Home, his haven of messy comfort and questionable snacks, awaited.
Ved's optimism, however, proved sadly misguided. The walk home, rather than the sleep-inducing exercise he'd imagined, had left him with about as much energy as a hamster hopped up on double espressos. Sure, his legs felt a little wobbly, but his brain, apparently, had decided to throw a rave while the rest of him was on vacation. Instead of the sweet oblivion he so desperately craved, his brain was a hamster on a wheel, desperately running in place but getting nowhere fast. It ping-ponged between the beetle, Mr. Kumar's droning voice about velocity (seriously, who even cared?), and the looming trip to Uttarakhand, which promised to be a delightful cocktail of bad weather, questionable hygiene, and his classmates' questionable taste in music.
His body, however, buzzed with a restless energy like a toddler hopped up on a double espresso and a pack of Sour Patch Kids. Football practice every morning had conditioned him for this kind of physical exertion, but mental marathons were a different beast altogether. He felt like he could run a marathon, climb Mount Everest, and then juggle flaming chainsaws – all before devouring a plate of steaming pasta. Unfortunately, his brain was on permanent siesta, the mental equivalent of a sloth taking a nap after a particularly heavy brunch of leaves.
Reaching his room, he flung open the door, ready to sacrifice his shoes for the comfort of his bed. He didn't care about the mess, the laundry pile that resembled a disgruntled Mount Everest, or even the rogue sock that had somehow migrated halfway across the room and now resided precariously close to the doorway. He just wanted to shut everything down for a few hours.With a dramatic flourish, Ved kicked off his shoes without even bothering to untie the laces. They sailed through the air, one landing precariously close to the neon beetle poster and the other disappearing beneath his dresser like they'd never existed.
He crashed onto the bed, face-first into his pillow, hoping to smother his brain into submission. The mattress sagged under his weight, creaking in protest like an old man with a grumpy back. Even in his exhaustion, he winced at the thought of the dust mites probably celebrating his arrival. A quick mental inventory revealed his body felt like someone had used him as a punching bag, and his mind… well, his mind was still working on his acceptance speech for the "Worst Day Ever" awards..
Normally, tinkering with his rocket model soothed his frazzled nerves. tuning engines, the wiring, the tiny nose cone – it was a balm to his chaos-loving soul, usually triggered a sense of accomplishment and a surge of dopamine and serotonin – the feel-good chemicals his brain desperately craved right now.
It was a distraction, a task that required concentration and kept his mind off… well, giant beetles and existential dread. But what on earth could possibly compete with a giant, possibly-hallucinatory beetle?With the final assault on his damp socks (a strategic toss that narrowly missed a framed picture of some long-forgotten family gathering), a wave of deep satisfaction washed over Ved. The act had been purely symbolic, a tiny rebellion against the chaotic day. It was as if, by shedding his clothes, he was sloughing off the madness along with them. His grin, emerging from beneath a tangle of hair, was more wolfish than victorious. It was a smirk that acknowledged the absurdity of his situation, a goofy, crooked smile for a goofy, crooked day. His muscles, finally beginning to relax, seemed to appreciate the break.
"Well played, socks," he muttered out loud, addressing the discarded footwear with mock reverence.
"You put up a valiant fight, but in the end, chaos reigned supreme." His voice was thick with sleep, words slurring together as his eyelids grew heavy.
"Laundry Mountain... you win this time..." he mumbled, a drowsy salute to the ever-growing pile of neglected clothing now crowned by a pair of suspiciously crusty socks. "But... tomorrow... tomorrow we battle anew."
For a moment, he considered getting up, grabbing a blanket. But the effort seemed Everest-like, a task his battered brain refused to contemplate. His body, in a rare instance of cooperation, sank deeper into the mattress. It cradled him, a soft, yielding cradle after a day of war with his own mind. A blanket? Well, that was a matter for 'Future Ved' to deal with, 'Present Ved' was just grateful for the silence.
His thoughts, usually a whirlwind of half-formed ideas and forgotten homework assignments, slowed to a gentle crawl. The beetle, its buzzing finally fading, seemed to retreat to a dark corner of his consciousness. Physics, velocity, and the neon glow of his poster were mere whispers now, distant annoyances instead of full-blown panic attacks.
Even the thought of the Uttarakhand trip - with its promised horrors of questionable bathroom facilities and Rehan's out-of-tune campfire sing-alongs - faded into the distance. This was a problem for Future Ved to stress about. Right before sleep completely KO'd him, a random thought punched through the haze: should he hide the beetle poster? Maybe chuck it in the attic until he could look at it without freaking out? Or, should he rock the crazy, and let the beetle be his weird spirit animal, a reminder of the day his brain went haywire?With that ridiculous question rattling around his head, he finally drifted off.
His grin, hidden under the covers, was less victorious hero and more exhausted lunatic. Tomorrow, he'd probably be sore, confused, and late for something important. But tonight, despite the chaos, he felt like he'd survived a bizarre battle. And for now, sleep was the ultimate reward.
Ved woke up, not with a start, but rather a slow-motion zombie emergence. Sunlight streamed through his window, a stark reminder that the day hadn't ended... and he was alive, Groaning, he rolled over, and a crumpled mass of neon green fabric caught his eye.
The beetle poster.
He stared at it for a solid minute, memories trickling back. Had he really collapsed on the bed like an overworked superhero and just…passed out? With questionable socks nearby? Oh, the cringe was real. And that poster... he didn't even remember buying it. Had someone played a prank on him? It must have been there when he came back from summer holidays with his granny in Mumbai. But... had he even noticed it then? The whole thing had a "Twilight Zone" vibe that was thoroughly messing with his head.
A whiff of something delicious drifted from downstairs. Okay, so he was definitely not possessed, because nobody controlled by evil insects could appreciate the smell of his mom's rajma chawal. With a renewed sense of purpose, he lurched out of bed. This day required further investigation. Also, food.
Operation Room-Renoval began with an energy surge fueled entirely by leftover beetle-induced fright and hunger. Clothes that had been engaged in epic floor battles were rounded up. His sock of shame ended up strategically hidden beneath a pile of less-embarrassing items in the laundry basket. Ved shuddered at the thought of anyone, especially his mom, discovering its crusty, abandoned state.
Next up: the poster.
It stared at him, neon green and strangely menacing, even folded up in the corner. Was he being paranoid? Was it watching him? He imagined a tiny, six-legged leg twitching somewhere within its folds, and a shiver went down his spine."Nope, not today, Satan-beetle," he muttered, snatching the poster and making a beeline for the attic. This was a job his future self could deal with. The dusty attic, with its lingering smell of old wooden chests and abandoned tennis rackets, seemed like the perfect quarantine zone for the cursed piece of decor.
By the time the room resembled an actual human dwelling, Ved was sweating and grinning, a mixture of disgust at the state of his pre-crisis room and satisfaction at his newfound productivity. Emerging from his room, he felt almost smug. Take that, giant beetle! His brain was back in charge... mostly.
He padded downstairs, the delicious scent of rajma chawal drawing him closer. His parents were already seated at the kitchen table, the news murmuring quietly on the radio."There you are," his mom said with a smile, "I thought you'd sleep through dinner."Ved grinned sheepishly, suddenly struck by the normalcy of it all. Giant beetles, potential hallucinations, poster-induced nightmares? Nope, nothing to see here. He slid into his chair, reaching for a heaping serving of rajma.
"Crazy day at school?" his dad asked, a knowing gleam in his eye.He trailed off dramatically, hoping the mix of vague honesty and mysterious intrigue would be enough to derail his dad's focus from his dubious early dismissal.
His dad, however, was not one to be easily fooled. He raised an eyebrow, the smirk firmly established on his face. "Oh? A crisis of epic proportions, you say? This sounds intriguing…"Ved could practically see the gears turning in his dad's head. His father was an engineer, a man who thrived on solving problems and analyzing situations. This crisis, whatever it was, had piqued Dad's interest, and that could only mean one thing – he was in for a full-blown interrogation.
Scrambling, Ved decided to lean into the drama. "Seriously, Dad, you wouldn't believe it. It was like something out of a sci-fi movie!" He paused, widening his eyes for full effect. "Existential threats, battles against unseen foes...it was the stuff of legends."His dad leaned forward, the laughter lines around his eyes crinkling. "Unseen foes? Did someone finally steal your lunch money?"
Ved huffed in mock offense. "Dad! This was serious. It wasn't about lunch money," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "it was about... laundry."A moment of silence hung in the air. His dad blinked.
"Laundry?"
Ved couldn't help but chuckle. It was ridiculous, but somehow, explaining the existential threat of the neon beetle poster seemed less daunting than admitting to faking sick and bailing on school.
"Well, not exactly," he began, fidgeting with a loose thread on his jeans. "But you wouldn't believe the state of my room. It was a disaster zone – clothes everywhere, abandoned projects, maybe even a rogue colony of beetles or two..."
He trailed off, the image of his crusty, mismatched sock flashing before his eyes. His dad, ever the pragmatist, nodded. "Ah, the classic teenage bedroom biohazard. I'm surprised it didn't spontaneously combust.""Exactly!" Ved exclaimed, feeling validated.
"It was a war zone, and something had to be done."He took a deep breath, preparing for the grand reveal. "So, I confronted the chaos head-on. Cleaned everything up, conquered Mount Laundry, the whole shebang. It was brutal, but I survived. And now,"
he paused for dramatic effect, "order has been restored."
His dad burst into laughter, a full-out belly laugh that filled the kitchen. "Ved, you have a gift for making the mundane sound absolutely epic. Mount Laundry... unseen foes..."Ved grinned, relieved the interrogation was taking a lighter turn. "Hey, you gotta dramatize the boring stuff sometimes," he said with a shrug.
"Besides, cleaning my room did feel like a heroic act."As laughter faded and they dug into their dinner, Ved felt a flicker of pride. He may have had a strange, beetle-filled day, but he'd also turned it into a victory. Laundry might not be the most exciting battle to win, but it was his battle, and he'd emerged triumphant... or at least, with a slightly tidier room and a whole new appreciation for dramatic exaggeration.
The evening stretched out before him, a blank canvas waiting to be filled with mindless distractions. After his dad's teasing comments about epic laundry battles, Ved found himself seeking solace in his freshly cleaned room and the flickering screen of his laptop.
A random mix of space videos and some overdue math homework occupied a few hours, but restlessness hummed beneath the surface. The day's weirdness lingered, leaving a strange taste in his mouth, like trying to wash down beetle-induced panic with physics equations.Seeking some kind of resolution to the oddness, he scrolled on. Past viral dance challenges and overly filtered travel photos, something flickered, catching his eye.
A YouTube video thumbnail promised answers - "Your Dreams Are Not What You Think: Lucid Dreaming Explained".Intrigued, Ved clicked play. A young man with earnest eyes and an air of enthusiastic nerdiness launched into an explanation of lucid dreams. Phrases like "altered states of consciousness" and "accessing other dimensions" swirled through the video.
The guy talked about how, in a lucid dream, you become aware that you're dreaming, You could control the narrative, fly, breathe underwater, Apparently, some people experienced this naturally, while others trained their minds to become lucid dreamers.
The video guy's enthusiasm was contagious. He explained techniques, from reality checks throughout the day (like trying to read a clock twice or pinch your nose and still breathe) to keeping a dream journal for spotting recurring themes. It sounded bizarre, and strangely hopeful.
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