Eira sat cross-legged on the floor, tugging absently at the hem of her borrowed T-shirt, watching me fiddle with the remains of my broken monitor.

  I was trying to see if anything was salvageable — maybe the RAM sticks, maybe the SSD if I was lucky.

  She cocked her head. "You have been... tweaking this thing for some time now. What is it?"

  I grinned, brushing dust off the casing. "Ah, this? This, my friend, is the altar of my lost dreams."

  She blinked slowly.

  I coughed and started again, properly this time."I'm an IT guy. Information Technology. Computers, networks, troubleshooting, coding, hacking together st-minute solutions before a project deadline."

  She frowned slightly. "This is your weapon?"

  "In a way," I chuckled. "I fight bugs, errors, server crashes. Invisible enemies."

  "And this device..." she tapped the dead monitor lightly, "is part of your... magic?"

  I ughed."Yeah, you could call it that. It's what connects me to the world. Work, games, friends, movies, memes... everything."

  She nodded slowly, like she was mentally filing this under "Earth Essentials."

  "And..." she said, looking thoughtful, "the thing you keep muttering under your breath? Bajrangbali?"

  I blinked.

  She pointed toward my room, where the poster of Hanumanji — mace in hand, radiating strength — was pinned above my bed.

  "The monkey-faced warrior," she said.

  I smiled automatically."That's Hanumanji. Bajrang Bali. Lord Hanuman. He's... kinda like my personal superhero."

  She tilted her head, intrigued.

  "Strongest warrior. Loyal to the end. Pure heart, pure devotion. In our epics, he fights demons, crosses oceans, lifts mountains — all because of his love and loyalty toward his lord and his people."

  I looked up at the poster, feeling the old familiar warmth in my chest.

  "When everything goes to hell," I said softly, "we call him. Bajrang Bali gives strength when you're scared. Courage when you’re ready to break."

  Eira was silent, studying my face.

  "You believe he protects you," she said, not judging — just stating.

  "Yeah," I said simply. "I mean, he’s been doing a good job so far. I'm still breathing, aren't I?"

  A small ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

  "Your gods are... fierce."

  "And loyal," I said. "Loyalty’s rare. Even rarer than strength."

  She looked away then, gaze distant.Her hands clenched loosely in her p.

  Something in her posture changed — tightened — like a wire pulled too taut.

  I watched her for a second, then decided to ask the question sitting heavy on my chest.

  "So..." I said carefully, "what about you? Your world? What's it like?"

  She was silent.

  The air seemed to thicken between us.The cheap fan whirred overhead, stirring the heavy warmth of the room, but Eira didn’t move.

  I waited.

  Finally, she spoke — voice softer than before.

  "My world is a battlefield," she said. "Always was. Always will be."

  I didn’t push. Just let her words hang there, letting her choose how much to share.

  "I was born in a house of bdes," she continued, eyes dark. "Trained before I could even read. Missions. Targets. Survival. That is all."

  There was no self-pity in her voice. Just fact.Like someone describing the weather.

  I wanted to say something — something comforting, something not stupid —but before I could, a loud, violent grrrrrRRRRRRL ripped through the air.

  We both froze.

  Another rumble.

  This time unmistakably coming from Eira’s stomach.

  Her cheeks flushed, just a little, the first real crack in her perfect composure.

  I burst out ughing — loud, genuine belly ughter that felt so good I thought I might keel over.

  Eira scowled, crossing her arms defensively."I am... operationally compromised."

  "You’re HUNGRY," I grinned. "Welcome to Earth, where your stomach betrays you first."

  Still ughing, I got to my feet and headed for the kitchen.

  "Come on, warrior princess," I called over my shoulder. "Time for your first Earth meal."

  She followed — cautious, curious — as I rummaged through my pathetic pantry.

  Half a packet of atta, three onions that looked suicidal, a bottle of ketchup... and salvation itself:

  Masa Maggi.

  I held it up triumphantly.

  "This," I said, "is the food of gods. And broke IT guys."

  Eira eyed the packet suspiciously."It looks... insubstantial."

  "Prepare to be amazed," I said, grabbing a saucepan and filling it with water.

  She stood near the counter, watching my every move like it was a live bomb diffusal.

  I tore open the Maggi packet with ceremonial reverence, poured the contents into the boiling water, and stirred in the magical masa powder.

  The spicy, salty aroma filled the cramped kitchen instantly.

  Eira leaned closer, nose twitching.

  "Smells... potent," she said.

  "Yeah," I chuckled. "It’s got like five spices and two life regrets in every bite."

  She tilted her head. "You enjoy this... creation?"

  "I survive on it," I said proudly. "Especially during project deadlines and existential crises."

  After a few minutes, I spooned the steaming noodles into two mismatched bowls.

  "Here," I said, handing one to her.

  She took it, careful, studying it like a treasure.

  Tentatively, she brought a forkful to her mouth.

  I watched, holding my breath.

  She chewed slowly.

  Paused.

  Chewed again.

  Then..."Acceptable," she said, nodding seriously.

  I ughed again, feeling lighter than I had in days.

  We sat side-by-side on the couch, slurping cheap noodles in silence, steam rising from the bowls, the smell of masa filling the air.

  No grand battle pns.No secret missions.Just two lost people, eating instant noodles, trying to stitch together a new life from the broken pieces.

  And honestly?For the first time since the portal shattered my wall and my life...It didn’t feel so impossible.

  It just felt...Right.