The football match had ended, but Mirshad didn't rush home. He stayed. With the people. With the streets. With those who had once shaped him before the world ever whispered his name. Here, in this corner of the city, no one called him MRD. They just called him Mirshad. He sat with the uncles who once scolded him for chasing the ball past curfew. He laughed with the small shopkeepers who gave him candy for free just to see his smile. The streets had forgotten the god, and remembered the boy. And for the first time in years, so did Mirshad.
As the sun climbed high, Mirshad finally stood and borrowed a bike from his friend — the same kind they used to race around with, barefoot and wild. Helmetless. Shirtless. Free. He rode home as a son, not a god.
Back at the palace, the family was seated around the long wooden breakfast table. Laughter filled the air. Smells of fresh dosa, chutney, and curry danced through the halls. But one face was missing. Sophia paced the hall. "Where is he now?" Baba leaned back with a smile. "He went to see his friends. He'll be back… lighter." Moments later, the door opened. Mirshad walked in — dusty from the bike, smiling like a schoolboy. The entire room turned. His mother rushed to him. "Again you started this? Go shower before touching food!" Sophia narrowed her eyes. "I'm coming with you."
Inside the room, Mirshad pulled off his shirt, laughing. But Sophia blocked the door with her phone. "I saw the live stream from yesterday. Those women at the restaurant?" she said, showing him videos. "They were saying 'I love you', blowing kisses!" He laughed. "So?" "Next time wear a mask or helmet!" "Yes, madam," he saluted jokingly. Before she could step out, he pulled her back into the bathroom. They laughed. Fought. Splashing water. Love written in silence.
Mirshad returned to the dining room in only a loose trouser. No shirt. Just the way he always was at home. Everyone stared. Muscles carved like marble. Scars that whispered wars. A body that once held lightning itself. Sophia frowned and threw a shawl over him. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?!" He shrugged. "Ask maa. I never wear shirts at home." His mother chuckled. "Before he had a belly. Now… something changed, that's all." Everyone burst out laughing.
One of his uncles leaned forward. "So, Mirshad… any date for the wedding yet?" He nodded. "I told maa to decide and invite everyone." His father smiled. "We picked a date already. September 24th — your birthday." Sophia smiled, eyes shining. Mirshad looked at her. "You okay with that?" She nodded. "I'm ready even tomorrow." He smiled. "Then let's do it." Mirshad turned to Jabir and Malik. "No booking halls. We'll build the stage. Massive." Jabir asked, "Where?" Mirshad's voice softened. "The land I bought from our old neighbors. That's where I'll marry. That's where the palace will rise." Baba asked, "But what about security, son? If we do something this big…" Mirshad looked up. "Don't worry, Baba. The ones who dare interfere now… will face the gate of hell." Everyone nodded in silence. A storm had once broken him. Now he was the storm.