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He laughed—shaky, relieved—and turned back to wave at Rohan. That’s when he saw it. Not a truck. A bicycle rickshaw, overloaded with gas cylinders, its driver asleep at the handle. It rolled silently down the slope, gaining speed. One cylinder slipped. Then another. The first one hit Arjun in the back of the knees. The second crushed his spine.

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At 6 AM, Rohan stirred. “You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He laughed—shaky, relieved—and turned back to wave at