📅 October 22 – Nandanpur
Morning Calm
After a night of fireworks and endless laughter, Nandanpur finally rested. The streets were scattered with petals and ash, and the faint scent of burnt wicks still lingered in the breeze.
Ishanvi stepped out into the courtyard, her hair loose, her dupatta brushing the floor as she swept away leftover marigolds. From the gate, a familiar voice called, "You missed a spot."
She turned — Abhay stood there with a small smile, holding two cups of chai.
"Morning visit?" she teased. "Didn't expect Lord of the River to wake up so early." Abhay chuckled. "Can't sleep when the river keeps whispering your name."
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed anyway.
By the River
They walked toward the Sudarshini together. The village was still asleep; only the sound of water filled the air. The diyas from the night before were gone—except two faint burn marks on the stones near the bank.
"Proof we didn't imagine it," Abhay murmured. Ishanvi knelt beside him, brushing her fingers across the mark. The stone felt warm, as if the flame had just been there.
"Do you ever think," she said quietly, "that maybe this river knows us better than we know ourselves?"
Abhay looked at her, then at the water. "Maybe. Maybe it's trying to tell us something."
A gentle ripple touched the shore — and a soft blue light shimmered beneath the surface. The wind stirred, and for a brief moment, the sunlight hit her face in a way that made it glow.
Neither spoke. The silence said enough.
The Moment
A leaf drifted between them, carried by the water. Abhay reached for it, his fingers brushing hers. The touch was small, barely a second — but something passed through them. Warmth and calm. The air thickened slightly, as if time itself slowed.
Ishanvi's lips curved into a faint smile. "Every time this happens, it feels like the world forgets to breathe."
Abhay replied softly, "Maybe it does… when you're near."
Her eyes met his, bright and unsure. "You're impossible." "And you," he said, "are fire pretending to be sunlight."
She laughed — quiet, unguarded — and that sound felt more sacred than any prayer offered last night.
Evening Glow
By dusk, the festival lamps were cold, but the Sudarshini gleamed under the orange sky. The others—Vaidehi, Aariv, Raghav, Vrinda, Vivaan, Meera, Simran—played near the fields, shouting and teasing from afar.
When they spotted Ishanvi and Abhay sitting together on the river steps, Vaidehi called out, "Oye! Don't tell me you're both waiting for the diyas again!"
Ishanvi turned scarlet. Abhay only smiled, tossing a pebble into the water. The ripple glowed faintly blue before fading — unseen by anyone else.
Fire and water had met again—quietly, naturally, like they'd always belonged to the same sky. The world called it Diwali's afterglow. But for them, it was something far deeper waking up.