The week after Diwali passed faster than anyone expected. The air had turned cooler, mornings wrapped in fog that drifted across the Nandanpur fields. Every day, the group rode their scooters from Nandanpur to Devgarh, the six engines humming together on the narrow road lined with sugarcane.
Ishanvi often glanced at the horizon during those rides — the same Sudarshini River shining faintly in the distance. Something about it felt alive now, like it was calling out.
At school, everything seemed normal — classes, homework, jokes in the canteen — yet strange little things started happening.
In Biology, when Meera accidentally cut her finger, Abhay rushed to hand her a tissue… but before he could, the bleeding stopped almost instantly, as if water droplets on her skin sealed the wound.
In Chemistry, when the bunsen flame flickered out, it relit by itself the moment Ishanvi leaned closer.
They didn't say anything. Not yet. But both noticed.
One afternoon, as they were about to leave for home, dark clouds gathered suddenly. Everyone ran for cover, but Abhay stood near his scooter, staring up. The wind bent strangely around him — the first drops of rain seemed to avoid his shoulders.
Ishanvi caught the moment from a distance, her eyes widening.
When he finally looked at her, she whispered, "Abhay… the rain—"
"I know," he cut her off softly, a mix of confusion and fear in his voice.
That night in Nandanpur, as diyas from Diwali still floated on the Sudarshini, the water glowed faintly golden — the same color that had flashed in their eyes.
And somewhere deep beneath the river, something ancient stirred — waiting, watching, whispering their names.