The basement air was thick with dust and stale memories, lit only by the trembling beam of Ayush's flashlight. He moved cautiously, the silence punctuated by each creak beneath his boots. The shadows loomed larger than life, stretching like claws across the cement floor.
Then — movement.
A blur darted across the room.
Ayush's breath caught. Heart pounding, he raised the flashlight swiftly, ready for the worst.
But all it revealed was a frail, malnourished cat, eyes wide, frozen in fear near an overturned bucket. Ayush exhaled hard and let out a quiet, shaky laugh.
"Damn it…" he muttered to himself. "Just a cat. Had me thinking some mutant was living down here."
Behind him, footsteps approached. Kartik entered, gripping a bat, his stance tense until he caught sight of the harmless feline.
"You okay?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
Ayush chuckled again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Our intruder has claws but no rabies."
The tension melted into soft, tired laughter between them. But the unease lingered under the surface — because neither of them noticed the faint scratch marks etched deep into the concrete wall behind the cat.
"We're moving everything down here," Ayush said, stepping further in. "Food, water, supplies — all of it. This place is perfect. No sunlight, thick walls, hidden. Safer."
Kartik nodded. "I'll get the others."
As the two turned and ascended the stairs, the basement fell silent once more. But the camera of fate lingered — on that shadowed wall… on those deep, unnatural claw marks.
Morning sunlight filtered gently through the boarded windows, casting geometric patterns on the floor. The survivors were gathered around the main room, where Tanya had sketched a rough floor plan onto a salvaged chalkboard.
Ayush pointed at the square labeled 'Basement.'
"It's secure," he began. "We'll move all our primary supplies down there. Grains, tins, medkits, water. Anything valuable."
"Smart," Tanya added. "No windows. Better temperature for storage. And it won't attract attention."
"I'll take Shivam and Ishaan," Bhargav offered. "We'll handle the transfers in batches. Keep it quiet."
Mr. Khan cleared his throat. "Let's still keep emergency rations upstairs. Just in case."
Ayush gave a single nod. "Agreed. Enough to last a day or two, no more. The rest goes underground."
The group, tired but focused, dispersed into their roles without needing further instruction.
In the kitchen, Sanaa carefully lifted a sack of rice onto the counter. Her father entered, leaning slightly against the doorway, his breathing heavier than usual.
"Papa?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, son," he replied with a half-hearted smile. "Probably just haven't been sleeping right."
Sanaa stopped, wiping her hands on her scarf. "You haven't taken your heart medicine. Not since we left."
There was a pause. A flicker of something unreadable crossed Mr. Khan's face.
"I left it. Everything happened so fast... the bag with my meds got left behind."
Sanaa's heart dropped. Her throat tightened. "I told myself I packed everything," she whispered.
Her father placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. I feel fine."
She didn't argue, but as she turned back to her task, the weight of guilt anchored deep in her chest.
By late afternoon, Shivam and Tanya had moved the last of the crates to the rooftop for temporary sorting. They stood near the edge, the wind cool against their backs, the horizon burning gold.
"This roof could handle solar panels," Shivam mused aloud. "If we ever find any."
"Let's survive the next week first," Tanya replied quietly, staring at the empty streets below.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
Upstairs, Ayush and the others discussed plans for a makeshift rainwater trap system. Bhargav had drawn early designs in his notebook; Ishaan offered measurements.
Then the silence shattered.
A scream — high, shrill, panicked.
"Papa!!"
Sanaa's voice.
Ayush was the first to move, instincts kicking in before thought. The others followed fast, their feet slamming against the wooden floorboards.
They burst into the first-floor bedroom.
Mr. Khan was slumped against the wall, gasping, clawing at his chest. Sanaa knelt beside him, cradling him desperately.
"Papa? Papa, please — breathe!"
Mrs. Khan rushed in, fell to her knees.
"Sajid! Sajid—look at me!"
Ayush knelt, placing his hands on Mr. Khan's chest. "Kartik, help me. CPR — now!"
Kartik dropped beside him and began counting. Bhargav froze, staring in horror. Shivam gently pulled Sanaa away as she screamed, trying to keep her from collapsing entirely.
Ananya held Sanaa tightly, whispering something neither of them would remember.
Two minutes passed. Three.
Mr. Khan didn't move.
Mrs. Khan let out a strangled sob. "He's gone..."
Sanaa screamed. The grief was raw, primal. "No! No! This is my fault!" she cried. "He needed medicine! I was supposed to bring it!"
Her voice cracked, and her knees buckled. She sank into Ananya's arms.
No one could speak.
Night fell without stars. Only the soft glow of fire lit the rooftop.
Wood had been stacked into a pyre. Mr. Khan's body, wrapped in white, lay atop it.
Ayush lit the fire with trembling hands. No words were spoken. Only the crackling flame, the wind, and the sound of the living breathing in silence.
As the fire rose, Mrs. Khan clutched her daughter.
Ananya stepped forward, gently setting down a clay urn to collect the ashes.
They all stood still. Not in fear.
In mourning.
Sanaa sat in the corner of an unused room, arms wrapped around her knees. Her face was streaked with tears, her breath shallow.
Ayush entered quietly, lowering himself beside her.
"I should've brought his medicine," she whispered without looking up. "I killed him."
"No," Ayush said gently. "You did everything you could. None of us saw this coming. You can't carry this alone."
She shook her head. "I told myself I wouldn't forget it. I knew he needed it."
"You loved him," Ayush replied. "That's what he carried with him. Not a pill bottle. He would be proud of you. And he'd want you to keep going."
She looked at him finally. Eyes red. Lost. But still fighting.
"It just hurts so much," she murmured.
"I know," Ayush said. "I really do."
And for a few minutes, they sat in shared silence.
Morning came, soft and grey.
The group ate breakfast in silence. No one spoke until Bhargav's voice broke the stillness.
"Today… we keep building. We keep surviving. Not because we forget. But because we remember."
Ananya nodded. "He wanted us to be strong. That's what we owe him."
Then Sanaa entered the room.
Her eyes were puffy. Her steps were heavy. But her posture was straight.
"Let's get to work," she said.
And the others followed.
Later that day, on the rooftop beside the side building, a small wooden plaque was fixed near the urn.
"Sajid Khan — Beloved Father. Ashes in the Wind, Strength in Our Hearts."
Tanya sketched it in her notebook as Kartik lit a small diya, placing it gently beside the urn.
The wind carried the smoke into the sky like a prayer.
Down in the basement, Ayush, Kartik, and Bhargav finished stacking the last boxes.
The space now resembled a true stockroom — organized, ready.
"Basement's good," Kartik said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Rainwater setup tomorrow?"
Ayush nodded. His voice was quiet but resolute.
"Tomorrow. Today... we mourn. But we also move forward."
[End of Episode 9]