At 45%, the internet flickered. "Don't you dare," Rohan hissed.

He had captured a piece of the heart that gave the city its name.

"Patience, beta," the old man chuckled. "Delhi wasn't built in a day, and it won't be downloaded in one either."

"Is this it?" his grandfather asked, leaning in. The old man’s eyes were cloudy with cataracts, but they sparked at the mention of the title. "The one with the song about the Chandni Chowk street lights?"

As the mp4 played on, the room seemed to expand. The modern walls of the apartment faded away, replaced by the spirit of a city that, despite the concrete and the crowds, still had a soul. Rohan looked at his grandfather’s reflection in the screen—a man finally seeing his home again—and realized he hadn't just downloaded a video.

The progress bar was a slow, agonizing crawl. 1%... 4%... 12%.

"I think so, Dadaji," Rohan muttered, clicking the download button. "It's an old indie documentary from the 90s. Hard to find. It’s supposed to have footage of the house you grew up in before the redevelopment."

His grandfather gasped, a shaky hand reaching out to touch the pixels on the screen. "There," he whispered. "That’s where we used to sit. That’s the Delhi I remember."