Lying on my back on the soft mattress of my own bed, in my own room, my gaze rested on the plain white ceiling above me.

The memories of yesterday still flashed in my mind. When I returned home… my home.

Mom, Dad, and my brother had hugged me the moment I stepped in. That warmth… those smiles… the way their eyes shone. My mind was still stuck there.

Maybe I was never meant to return home again.

But I did.

Because I had to.

My gaze slowly wandered around the room in the dim light. The table, the couch, the lamp—even the bed beneath me. Everything looked exactly the same.

Just the way I had left it.

Then the doorknob turned with a soft click. Without moving, I closed my eyes, still lying in the same position—one hand tucked beneath my head, the other resting over my chest. Footsteps entered the room.

Whoever it was walked toward the curtains and pulled them aside. Morning sunlight streamed through the glass window, spreading warmth across the room. After that, the footsteps approached the bed. My eyes were closed, but I knew who it was.

Mom.

The mattress dipped slightly as she sat beside me. Slowly, I lifted my eyelids as if waking from sleep.

There she was. A warm smile rested on her lips, her gaze soft and affectionate. Her hand gently brushed the hair away from my forehead before she gave my head a light pat.

“Beta… ghar aakar kaisa laga?” (Son… how does it feel to be back home?)

Her voice was soft, her eyes smiling just like her lips. This… wasn’t how my mornings used to begin. This was something new.

Something I wasn’t used to anymore.

That smiling face… those gentle pats… I had left them behind long ago.

And I had hoped never to return to them again. Because I never deserved them.

I closed my eyes once more, and my deep, husky voice slipped out like a quiet whisper.

“Achha laga.”

(It felt good.)

I knew she smiled wider this time. A small chuckle escaped her before she spoke again. “Achha… chalo phir utho aur nashta karo.”

(Alright… now get up and come have breakfast.)

She patted my forehead one last time before standing up. The mattress lifted as she left, and the warmth beside me faded. A soft click echoed as the door closed behind her.

The room returned to its familiar silence. Cold. Empty.

I opened my eyes again and pushed myself up, sitting straight on the bed. With a slow sigh, I stepped down. The cold floor brushed against my bare feet as I walked toward the washroom.

…

When I stepped out , a cold wave from the air conditioner struck the droplets of water clinging to my skin. A towel was wrapped around my waist while another rested in my hands as I dried my hair.

After getting dressed in a white shirt and grey sweatpants, I stepped out of my room. My left hand slipped into my pocket while the other reached up to push the damp strands of black hair away from my forehead.

They were still wet.

I walked down the staircase and reached the dining area. The aroma of tea and coffee lingered warmly in the air. The table was filled with different dishes, and my family sat around it with quiet smiles on their faces.

I paused.

Looking at them.

Looking at my family.

Dad sat at the head of the table while Mom and my brother sat on the sides, chatting about something.

They looked happy.

The way a family should be.

Even without me.

And strangely… I loved that they had learned to live in my absence. I took a step back, thinking of returning to my room. Maybe it was better not to disturb this moment.

But then—

“Bhaiya! Wahan kya kar rahe ho? Idhar aaiye!” (Brother! What are you doing there? Come here!)

Aditya called out, waving his hand excitedly. I paused for a moment, looking at him.

His grin widened as he continued gesturing.

So I walked forward, pulled out the chair beside him, and sat down. Everyone’s attention shifted toward me. The dishes on the table were untouched. As if they had been waiting. Waiting for me.

A maid approached with a tray and placed cups in front of us one by one. A single cup of black coffee was placed in front of me. The rest were filled with tea.

“Shuru karte hain.”

(Let’s begin.)

Dad said calmly. Soft hums of agreement followed. I nodded as well. We began eating. My gaze stayed fixed on my plate as I took slow bites. But I could feel their eyes on me.

Watching.

Observing.

Under my lashes, I noticed their smiles and the way their hands had paused beside their plates. Finally, I spoke. “Kya baat hai? Aap log kyun nahi kha rahe?”

(What’s the matter? Why aren’t you eating?)

Silence filled the table. They simply looked at me. Slowly, I placed my fork down. Then Dad spoke. “Apna beta bada ho gaya hai.”

(Our son has grown up.)

A faint smile rested on his face, but his eyes held something deeper.

Pride.

Something he had been waiting to see for a long time.

I didn’t understand his words.

Was that really something worth saying?

He could already see it. I lowered my gaze again. Then Mom spoke with gentle excitement. “Shaadi karne layak… hai na?”

(Old enough to get married… right?)

I sighed.

I hated this topic.

And she loved bringing it up. Before I could say anything—

“Are Maa! Bhai ki pehle se hi girlfriend hogi… puchho na!” (Mom! Brother must already have a girlfriend… ask him!)

Aditya interrupted eagerly. Mom and Dad immediately looked at me. Now I had enough. I placed my fork down and turned toward the monkey sitting beside me. Crossing my arms, I spoke firmly.

“Main tumhari tarah free nahi rehta in faltu ke kaamon ke liye.”

(I’m not as free as you to waste time on such useless things.)

My voice was calm but sharp. His playful expression disappeared instantly. “Maa! Batao inhe… main free rehta hoon kya?”

(Mom! Tell him… do I stay free all day?)

He frowned dramatically, poking his finger at his chest. “Main bhi din bhar busy rehta hoon.”

(I’m busy all day too!)

But no one responded. Everyone simply continued eating. Ignored. After a moment, his head snapped toward me again.

“Bhai… aapko pata hai woh—”

“Kha lo pehle, phir bolna.”

(Eat first, then talk.)

I interrupted calmly, taking a sip of my coffee. But he was Aditya Singhania. He leaned closer again.

“Vineet bhai ko abhi bhi nahi pata ki aap aa gaye hain.”

(Brother Vineet still doesn’t know that you’re back.)

My hand paused mid-air. I lowered the cup and turned toward him. “Kyun?” (Why?)

“Unhe surprise dene ke liye.”

(To surprise him.)

I sighed. His childish ideas never changed.

But he was the reason I had returned. Vineet’s wedding. That was why I had come back to India.

Still chewing his sandwich, he continued excitedly, “To chalo unke restaurant chalte hain… dhappa karne.”

(So let’s go to his restaurant and surprise him.)

He extended his fist toward me. “To chalein?”

(Shall we go?)

I nodded slightly and bumped my fist against his.

A black, sleek car stopped in front of a flower shop. The soft purring of the engine faded as the car door opened with a slight push, revealing a tall man stepping out.

His muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his white shirt as he closed the door in one steady motion. His sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, revealing the veins running along his forearms.

He slid one hand into the pocket of his blue pants before walking toward the entrance, taking long, calculated strides. His boots clicked against the shiny marble floor as he moved through the shop.

Both of his hands were tucked into his pockets, the white shirt fitting perfectly against his broad chest. With each step, his presence seemed to fill the air around him.

His grey eyes wandered across the beautifully arranged bouquets, searching for a particular one. Then his gaze locked onto it.

A bouquet of red roses, white lilies, and sunflowers—arranged in a way that was both elegant and beautiful. That was the one. A perfect gift for a new, loving, and happy beginning.

He bought it and stepped out of the shop, holding the bouquet of fresh flowers. The soft fragrance of roses spread around him as he walked toward his car.

Then—

His phone buzzed inside his pocket. He stopped beside the car door. One hand held the bouquet while the other pulled the phone out of his pocket.

“Mr. Sandeep.” The name flashed across the screen.

His head lowered slightly as he looked at it, his finger moving to accept the call. But then—

Someone screamed.

He blinked and turned his head toward the sound. A roaring engine echoed in his ears. Before he could even think, process, or understand what was happening—

A biker rushed past him. And in a flash, the phone was snatched straight out of his hand. For a moment, he stood there with his hand still extended forward.

Empty.

The biker disappeared into the crowd at high speed. His gaze snapped toward the receding bike.

A man who was always composed and calculated now stood there silently, watching the chaos unfold. His jaw tightened.

Dark grey eyes scanned the surroundings sharply, searching for anything suspicious. Instinctively, his cold demeanor took over. He stepped forward. A habit. Then—

The sharp roar of another engine tore through the road. The sound grew louder within seconds. Before he could shift his attention fully, a sports bike rushed toward him—two men wearing helmets.

In that split second, he saw the flash of metal moving toward his stomach. A knife.

But his reflexes were faster. He raised his arm to shield himself. The blade sliced across his forearm instead, leaving a long, deep cut. His hand shot forward, trying to grab the biker.

But he stopped. A sharp scream erupted from the crowd again as people began running away in panic.

He wanted to drag those men off their bike and slam their heads into the ground for attacking like cowards in public. But they were already speeding away into the crowd.

The cut itself meant nothing to him. But the sudden push that followed made him lose his balance. The bouquet slipped from his hand and fell beside him. His vision tilted slightly as he almost collapsed—

But then—

A hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him from hitting the ground.

He stumbled slightly before straightening again. Those hands still held him—gripping both of his shoulders, keeping him steady. He blinked at the unexpected touch.

The hands felt small, yet firm against him.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the person beside him. Someone stood there, reaching barely to his shoulder.

Dark brown strands of hair had fallen across her face as she looked down at his injured forearm. And suddenly—

He found himself stuck in that sight.

When everyone else had run away from him…She had come closer.

To help him.

To hold him.

Then a hesitant voice broke the silence. “Aap theek hain?”

(Are you alright?)

She raised her head to look at his face. And he— he was already looking at her.

Their eyes met. His grey eyes—like silver fire—stared into her deep black ones, dark as night.

One burned.

The other shone.

Quickly, she pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped it around his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. As the fabric touched the cut, a low hiss escaped his lips. He looked down at his arm.

Blood.

Dark red drops slid down toward his knuckles. The handkerchief was already soaking through, turning crimson. He lifted his gaze again.

Her eyebrows were furrowed in worry as her hands worked quickly to tie a knot around his forearm.

He could have stopped her.

He could have stepped away.

He wanted to.

But—

He didn’t.

He simply stood there.

“Koi baat nahi… yeh theek ho jayega. Ek clinic paas mein hi hai. ”

(It’s okay… this will be fine. A clinic is nearby.)

Her voice was hurried—slightly panicked, yet controlled.

“Don’t worry… main bhi ek doctor hoon.”

(Don’t worry… I’m a doctor too.)

She nodded once before looking up at him again. Then her gaze dropped back to the arm she was holding. He suddenly moved. His other hand grabbed his wounded forearm as he stepped back slightly.

Then he lowered his head.

A small bow.

Perhaps gratitude.

Or something else.

Even he couldn’t understand that instinctive gesture.

She bent down and picked up the bouquet lying beside them. With a quiet sigh, she tightened her grip on both her bag and the bouquet before stepping closer again. Her eyes drifted toward his hand.

Blood was still running down to his fingertips, staining parts of his white shirt. She nodded slightly, signaling him to move.

He did.

Walking beside her.

She kept her gaze forward, but her mind couldn’t forget the scene she had just witnessed. For a moment she thought about offering him her phone so he could call someone. But she couldn’t. Both of her hands were full.

The subway lights had started glowing, casting their shadows behind them. Now he was walking behind her—more precisely, following her—as she led him toward the clinic.

She could hear murmurs behind them, as if someone had asked him if he was okay—probably the stall owners. Her posture looked composed, but she was far from calm. She held the things in her hands more tightly than necessary.

This wasn’t something that usually happened in public… not in a market.

Her thoughts tangled together. A robbery—perhaps that was normal enough. But that attack… what was that? And why?

Then she noticed his uncertain steps beside her. He was walking, but not normally. Sometimes his strides were long, sometimes short—as if he was trying to match her pace.

Then the realization struck her. She was walking slower than usual, too lost in her thoughts. He was probably struggling… he was wounded.

She cast him a brief glance. He was looking straight ahead at the road, simply walking beside her. She quickened her pace, though beside him it still seemed slow.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon. The sky rested in twilight, shifting from blue into indigo and soft gray—not yet completely black.

And somewhere in that indigo hour, the first star appeared, leaving behind the last trail of fire the sun had set upon the sky.

As they entered the Clinic, Anwita spotted Rajiv uncle standing near the reception hallway. “Uncle! First-aid!” she called out, her voice louder than she had expected.

He looked perplexed for a second before quickly guiding them toward a nearby room. A mix of panic and uneasiness still sat heavily in her chest, making it difficult to breathe normally.

She led the man to the bench and placed the bouquet on the table before he sat down. Only then did she notice her hands.

They were red with blood.

His blood.

Rajiv uncle returned with a large first-aid box and sat across from the man, placing the kit on the table. He moved quickly, setting out the required things with practiced ease. His hand reached for the cloth tied around the wound.

Anwita felt her breath hitch the moment he began loosening the knot. Without wasting a second she said, “Ye mujhe de dijiye.”

(Please give it to me.)

She extended her hand toward the handkerchief. Rajiv uncle glanced briefly between her and the cloth before handing it over.

He began treating the wound. Just then a voice came from the doorway. “Ma’am… the preoperative phase is complete. We have to start the surgery.”

Rashmi stood near the doorframe. Anwita nodded to her before turning back to Rajiv uncle.

He was focused on the wound, but his earlier glance hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. There was a silent question in his eyes. Because he knew. That wasn’t a wound from an animal.

It was a knife cut. And he had recognized it instantly.

Unknowingly, Anwita’s gaze shifted to the man sitting on the bench. He sat straight, his expression neutral—almost indifferent. His eyes were fixed somewhere ahead, perhaps at the wall. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

She sighed softly in disbelief before turning on her heels and walking out of the room.

....

When Anwita stepped out of the operating room, she peeled off the gloves from her hands as she entered the cleaning room. Turning on the tap, she washed her hands slowly. The surgery had been successful.

A small smile appeared on her lips as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. But when she lowered her gaze to turn off the tap, something caught her attention.

Inside a small tub of soapy water lay her handkerchief—now completely soaked. Red. Completely red. She reached down and picked it up. Blood stains covered the delicate hand-embroidered cloth. Near the corner, a name had been stitched beautifully.

Anwita.

Her grandmother had embroidered it herself. It had been her first precious birthday gift.

A quiet regret settled inside her chest as she looked at the stains covering her grandmother’s hard work. But it was alright.

She would keep it anyway. Like this.

For now… Or maybe forever.

Of course.

“Beta…” a voice called from outside. Rajiv uncle. She placed the cloth back in the tub and dried her hands.

“Ji, Uncle.”

(Yes, Uncle.)

When she stepped out, she found him standing near a table, his arms crossed. He turned toward her. Before he could ask anything, she spoke first.

“Uncle… did he file any complaint or call anyone?”

He frowned in confusion before slowly shaking his head. “Complaint? Call? Kaun tha woh? Aur woh cut kisi animal attack ka toh result nahi tha… kaise hua ye sab?”

(Complaint? Call? Who was he? And that cut wasn’t from any animal attack… how did this happen?)

His tone was calm, but serious. Colonel Rajiv Singh. Back in his role again. But what could she say? Even she didn’t know who that man was.

She stood there for a moment, almost dumbfounded. Then she shrugged lightly and shook her head. “Pata nahi, Uncle.”

(I don’t know, Uncle.)

He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as if to say—seriously? Anwita opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her lips pressed into a thin line as the scene flashed through her mind. Then she explained what little she knew.

“Main cafe se wapas aa rahi thi… phir do bikers achanak aa gaye. Robbers maybe… unhone uska phone snatch kiya, phir attack karke bhaag gaye.”

(I was coming back from the cafe when two bikers suddenly appeared. Maybe robbers… they snatched his phone, attacked him, and ran away.)

A few seconds of silence followed as Rajiv uncle processed her words. Finally he nodded and sighed deeply. “Foreigner lag raha tha… ek shabd bhi nahi bola.”

(He looked like a foreigner… didn’t say a single word.)

But then his tone shifted slightly, carrying a hint of amusement. He turned toward the wooden table behind him and picked something up. “Except… thank you.”

He turned back holding the bouquet of flowers. That serious expression on his face softened into a warm smile. The bouquet. That bouquet.

Walking closer, he handed it to her. “Madad tumne ki thi, toh ye tum rakh lo.”

(You were the one who helped him, so you keep this.)

For a moment Anwita simply stared at the fresh petals in her hands. Then she noticed something.

Some flowers were missing.

A sunflower… maybe a lily.

The bruised and damaged flowers had been carefully removed.

Her fingers brushed softly against the velvety petals of the roses. A faint smile formed at the corner of her lips. “Aur main ye rakh leta hoon.” Rajiv uncle said.

She looked up in confusion. Between his fingers was a note.

500 rupees.

“Ye… kya—” she started to ask. But he raised a hand to stop her. “Maine mana kiya tha.”

(I told him not to.)

“Phir bhi hari patti thama di… meri galti nahi hai.”

(But he still forced the money into my hand… not my fault.)

“Par phir bhi—” she tried again.

“Are beta, tum chinta mat karo.”

(Don’t worry about it, child.)

He slipped the note into his shirt pocket and tapped the pocket twice. “Ye main rakh leta hoon.”

(I’ll keep this.)

Then he smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling. “Tum phoolon ko rakh lo.”

(You keep the flowers.)

He nodded once with a blink. “Uncle—” But once again he interrupted. “Achha, main chalta hoon ghar. Mera time ho gaya.”

(Alright, I am leaving for home. My time is up.)

Glancing at his wristwatch, he quickly gathered his things and walked toward the door. Anwita sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment.

Yes.

This was Rajiv Uncle.

Not Colonel Rajiv Singh.

He reached the doorway hurriedly.

“Aapko paise nahi lene chahiye the…” she called after him. (You shouldn’t have taken the money.) But he was already outside.

“Bye bye, beta!”

She shook her head in disbelief. Out of habit, her palm touched her forehead as she muttered to herself, “Uncle bhi na… ye animal clinic hai, human hospital nahi… phir bhi paise le liye.”

(Uncle, honestly… this is an animal clinic, not a human hospital… and he still took the money.)

She huffed lightly. Then she looked down. In her hands rested the beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers.

I was standing outside the restaurant with “Vintage Venue” engraved on its nameplate. For a moment, I stood there, searching… searching for any changes. And yes—this place looked new to my eyes now.

A bouquet rested in my hand. A new one, actually, but the flowers were the same as before —sunflowers, lilies, and roses. This time, it also held a small greeting card.

I buttoned up my coat before walking inside. My left hand slipped into my pocket, and the fabric of my shirt brushed against the bandage wrapped around my forearm, making it prickle slightly.

With steady steps, I climbed the staircase. The door opened slightly as I reached it. When I stepped inside, an atmosphere of elegance and luxury welcomed me all at once—soft lighting, neatly arranged silk-covered tables, and the rich aroma of exquisite cuisine filling the air.

I looked around, searching for any trace of my friend while walking further inside. Then—

“Beta Rakshit!”

A voice called out from a nearby table. My eyes swept in that direction. There sat a middle-aged man—Vishwaraj Uncle—and beside him, Shweta Aunty, both waving their hands at me. I nodded and walked toward them.

They were wearing wide smiles—genuine ones that seemed to brighten the air around them. As I reached them, they stood up from their seats.

“Namaste, Uncle… Namaste, Aunty.”

With a slight smile, I greeted them and extended the bouquet toward Uncle. He accepted it happily. Then I bent down and touched their feet, receiving their blessings.

“Khush raho beta.”

(Stay blessed, son.)

He placed the bouquet on the table and then pulled me into a hug. A warm, fatherly hug.

“Samay kitni jaldi beet jata hai.”

(Time passes so quickly.)

Uncle said, his hand resting on my shoulder as he gave it a light tap. His tone was relaxed—almost lighthearted. We stepped back. With a small smile, I nodded.

“Sahi kaha, Uncle.”

(You’re right, Uncle.)

His eyes were smiling now—maybe shinning. After giving my head one last gentle pat, almost like a silent blessing, he gestured toward the chair across from them. “Chalo, baitho… batao kya khaoge.”

(Come, sit… tell me what you’d like to eat.)

I unbuttoned my coat before sitting down on the plush chair. “Shukriya, Uncle… par mujhe bhookh nahi hai.”

(Thank you, Uncle… but I’m not hungry.)

I replied politely, my eyes wandering around the place. The restaurant I once knew as simple and cozy now looked radiant and lavish. I heard a soft hum. Then, in a gentle voice, Shweta Aunty asked,

“Purani jagah ki yaad aa rahi hai?”

(Missing the old place?)

I turned my attention toward them and nodded with a faint smile. They still knew me so well. They looked at me for a moment before exchanging a glance with each other. Then Uncle spoke.

“Tum yahan aaye ho, ye baat Vineet nahi jaanta.”

(Vineet doesn’t know that you’ve come here.)

Shweta Aunty chuckled softly before adding, “Use abhi bhi lag raha hai ki tum nahi aaoge. Isliye usne kal plan banaya tha ki aaj tumhe abroad lene jayega.”

(He still thinks you won’t come. Yesterday he even planned to fly abroad today to bring you back.)

I chuckled as well, shaking my head slightly. He and his plans.

Still the same idiot.

But where the hell was he right now?

“Par Aunty, woh kahan—”

(But Aunty, where is he—)

I began to ask, but she already knew the question. “Woh dekho.”

(Look over there.)

She pointed toward a door at the end of the corridor. It looked slightly old and brown compared to the rest of the restaurant.“Wahan hai dono. Vineet ko airport jaane se rokne ke liye Aditya aaya hai.”

(They’re there. Aditya came to stop Vineet from going to the airport.)

Her tone carried excitement, as if she was already imagining her son’s reaction. Uncle nodded and added, “Wahi hai tum logon ka café… jahan tumhara bachpan beeta hai. Main use aise hi thodi na badal dunga.”

(That’s still your café… where you boys spent your childhood. I wouldn’t change that so easily.)

My eyes flickered toward that door.

Our café.

Still there.

Unchanged.

“Jao beta, milo jaakar usse.”

(Go, son. Go meet him.)

Uncle said, handing the bouquet back to me. He blinked once and tilted his head toward the door. With a deep smile, he patted my shoulder.

“Ji, hum thodi der mein aate hain.”

(Yes, we’ll be back in a while.)

They both nodded as I turned away. Soon, I was standing outside that door.

My hand rested on the knob. I sighed softly before lifting the bouquet in front of my face, completely covering it. Then I twisted the knob. The door opened with a soft click. As I stepped inside, the chatter in the room instantly stopped. I felt two pairs of eyes shift toward me.

My face was still hidden behind the bouquet, but from the corner of my eyes I could see it—

The walls.

The furniture.

Even the aroma.

Everything was still the same.

With my foot, I pushed the door behind me. It shut with a quiet thud.

A crisp, geometric garden walkway stretched ahead—lined with evenly shaped square tiles, with grass and gravel filling the gaps. Minimal, tidy, yet alive—its edges adorned with lush ferns and vibrant flowers, giving it a fresh, quiet charm.

I walked forward with the family beside me, as the giant, lavish villa slowly unfolded—wrapped in a soft, quiet glow. Golden lights traced its edges—along the roof, around the balconies, down the pillars—like a masterpiece drawn carefully against the darkness.

The air shifted. Voices grew louder, faster—layered with movement and anticipation—telling us we had reached the entrance. Warm lanterns rested gently along the pathway, their soft light welcoming every step with a sense of calm and grace.

Two days.

Two days had passed since I returned here. And today… was the engagement of my friend, Vineet Singh Rajvansh.

They all moved inside, while I remained behind—standing near the fountain. It stood like the heart of the villa’s elegance.

Out of habit, my hands slippked into my pockets, and my gaze settled on the crystal-clear water rising in soft arcs before falling back into the basin. Each movement—calm, rhythmic, endless.

I had one week. And then, I would return to that life. Darkness. Silence. Stillness.

This… was different. Experiencing an Indian wedding for the first time—it wasn’t simple or quiet like the ones I was used to. It was alive. Wrapped in glowing happiness and the soft chaos of endless arrangements.

I stood there—firm, unmoving—watching the droplets turn into tiny sparks, shimmering like liquid stars as they caught the golden light. Gradually, the voices faded into distant murmurs. And I drifted into my thoughts…

Until—

A voice. A child.

Then a soft, hurried impact against my shoulder. Someone had bumped into me. Yet, I remained still—unshaken.

“I’m sorry…”

The voice came again—gentle, but slightly broken. Hesitant. Rushed. She bowed her head softly in apology before looking up.

And then—I saw her eyes. Dark. Deep.

Like the night sky stretched above us.

Her eyes.

Those eyes.

I had seen them before.

Somewhere. I knew I had.

And just as suddenly, the moment broke—she turned away, almost rushing past me.

I stood still for a heartbeat before glancing over my shoulder.

She was walking away—towards someone, perhaps. Her fingers clenched lightly into the fabric of her lehenga, lifting it just enough as she moved. Under the warm lights, she seemed to blend into the glow itself.

Her bangles chimed softly—like wind chimes at a quiet doorway. Soft. Melodic. Lingering.

She barely reached my shoulder—

I blinked. As if pulling myself back to reality. And then I realised—

I had been staring.

Longer than I should have.

I tried to look away. But my eyes resisted.

A slow breath left me as I finally turned forward again—standing still, yet no longer untouched. And then—

“Rakshit.”

This time, Mom.

It was Maa.