Kiran sat on a bench, exhausted, his electricity flickering out. "What am I?" he whispered.

The monsoon had returned to Kurukkanmoola, washing away the last traces of that terrible night two years ago. The scorch marks on the church wall were gone. The crater where the lightning struck Jaison’s scrapyard had been filled and paved over. But the people remembered.

He stood up. The rain washed over him, and for the first time in two years, he didn't feel empty. He felt like a beginning.

Siby put a hand on Jaison's shoulder. "There's a second cast now, Jaison. A team."