Chapter 35 - Day 8

Dawn broke over the Malwa countryside in a pale stretch of blue. Light filtered through the dark timber louvers of the high balcony doors. Cool air drifted past the silk curtains, carrying the scent of morning dew, crushed leaves, and the distant hum of tube-wells across the fields. Birds chirped in steady chorus from the dense guava orchards below.

He opened his eyes to the dim light. Stretching long limbs across the vast teak bed, his joints popped in sequence as a deep breath expanded his chest.

He stepped onto the cool marble floor tiles. Moving through the quiet bedroom, he gathered a black athletic stringer vest, dark grey gym shorts, and a thick cotton parna from the timber wardrobe. He pulled on the shorts and vest, then smoothed his hair into a neat joora over his crown before binding the black parna tight across his brow.

He walked down the marble staircase in the early silence.

Inside the dark kitchen, the refrigerator hummed against the tiled walls. He pulled a glass pitcher of fresh buffalo milk from the shelf and poured it into a tall blender jug. He added scoops of protein powder, crushed almonds, and a thick dollop of raw honey. He whirred the blades into a creamy blend, raised the jug, and drank the cold shake in long, steady gulps before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He grabbed his motorcycle keys off the marble counter and walked out under the concrete shade of the portico.

The black Royal Enfield Bullet 500 sat ready. He swung a leg over the leather saddle and kicked the heavy starter down with practiced force. The modified engine roared into a deep thrum that vibrated through the frame. He guided the machine through the open iron gates onto the paved lane.

The cool morning wind cut past his face, tugging at the black folds of his parna as the motorcycle coasted down the sleeping village street.

At the local exercise hall, he parked the Bullet beneath a neem tree and stepped inside the high-ceilinged room. Heavy iron plates and steel barbells lay arranged along the concrete floor.

The workout was fast and heavy, each set executed with practiced focus. He loaded four iron plates on either side of the Olympic barbell, gripped the starched knurling, and lifted the weight off the rack for deep, explosive squats. Set after set followed in unbroken rhythm. Sweat glistened over his shoulders and chest as he moved to heavy barbell rows and overhead presses, driving his broad frame against the steel until his muscles flushed hot under the skin.

He showered in the hall’s tiled washroom, letting the cold groundwater wash away the salt and exertion. After drying off with a cotton towel, he changed into a fresh white fitted t-shirt, dark athletic shorts, and tied a crisp black parna over his joora.

The Bullet roared back along the dirt tracks, bringing him through the iron gates of the Haveli as the morning sun turned the sky to bright gold.

He parked under the portico and stepped into the cool foyer. Pulling his smartphone from his lower pocket, he checked his notifications. A text from Simran sat unread overnight alongside a PDF confirmation attachment.