The guards are easy to find — two of them near the main Diwali stage, keeping an eye on the crowd. Shaanti explains fast, voice deeper than usual because of the potion: "Found her in the side lane. Two men, then five. Claimed she was their niece. She's not."
The older guard's face goes hard. "Traffickers. We've had reports." He looks at Meena, gentler now. "What's your name, beta?"
"Meena," she whispers, still holding Shaanti's sleeve.
"Do you know your parents' names? Where you live?"
Meena nods but doesn't speak. She's exhausted. The guard says, "We'll take her to the watch post. We'll send word to every district. Someone's looking for her."
Shaanti starts to let go of Meena's hand. "You'll be safe now—"
"No!" Meena clutches tighter, panicking. "Don't leave! Please!"
The guard softens. "You can stay till she calms down. We'll need your statement anyway. What's your name, daughter?"
Shaanti's in male form — broader shoulders, taller, voice dropped from the potion. Can't say 'Shaanti'. "Uh… Shaan," she says. First thing that comes to mind. "And that's Naveen."
Naveen glances at her at the fake name but says nothing.
So they stay. But Meena won't go to the post. Won't leave Shaanti's side. Eventually the guard sighs. "Fine. Walk the market with her. Stay where people are. We'll have men nearby. If her family's here for Diwali, they'll hear soon enough."
That's how they end up "shopping." Or trying to.
Shaanti tugs the torn kurta straight. Male persona or not, the rip's annoying. "Alright, market round two. Naveen, you're on Meena duty if anything happens."
Naveen just nods, still quiet since the fight. But he's watching everything now — stalls, alleys, people. Like he's actually present.
They move stall to stall. Shaanti buys Meena a clay diya with her silver points — "So you can light something that's yours." Meena holds it like treasure. Shaanti grabs a bundle of marigold for the shopkeeper from before — "Payment with interest."
Then it happens.
They're near the bangle stall when a woman pushes through the crowd. Silk saree, gold at her wrists and throat, hair pinned up neat despite the chaos. Noble. You can tell from the way people part for her.
Her eyes are wild, scanning every face. And then they land on Meena.
"MEENA!"
The woman's voice cracks. She shoves forward, guards behind her suddenly on alert. Meena gasps and drops the diya. It doesn't break — Naveen catches it, fast — but Meena's already running.
"Maa!"
They crash together in the middle of the lane. The noble woman drops to her knees, grabbing Meena's face, arms, checking her over like she'll disappear. "Meena, my child, my Meena—" She's sobbing now.
The guards with the woman draw their sticks and point them straight at Shaanti. "Step away from the girl. Now."
Shaanti puts her hands up, torn sleeve flapping. Her voice is still deep from the potion. "Whoa, easy. We're the ones who found her."
The noble mother looks up, tears still running, and her expression twists. "You— you had my daughter? You—" She looks at Shaanti's ripped kurta, the red streaks, Naveen's blank stare behind her. "Were you the ones who took her?"
"No!" Meena scrambles up, throwing herself between her mother and Shaanti. "No, Maa, listen! They saved me!"
The mother freezes.
Meena talks fast, words tripping over each other. "Two months ago, bad men took me. I don't remember everything. Today they tried to sell me. Shaan-bhaiya and Naveen-bhaiya found me."
She points at Shaanti, then Naveen. "They fought. Five men, Maa. Shaan-bhaiya beat them all. He looked so strong — he protected me. Naveen-bhaiya too. They were taking me to the guards. I didn't want to let go because I was scared they'd come back."
The noble woman's eyes go from Meena to Shaanti's torn kurta. To the dried red that isn't hers. To Naveen, who finally nods once. "It's true."
The guards lower their sticks slowly.
The mother covers her mouth. Then she stands on shaking legs and does something no one expects — she bows. Deep. To Shaanti. "Forgive me. I… I've been searching two months. Every market, every festival. I thought… I assumed…" She can't finish.
Shaanti scratches the back of her neck, awkward. Her voice is still 'Shaan's' voice. "Uh. Don't bow. I'm not… I mean, your daughter's safe. That's what matters."
The woman straightens, wiping her face. "I am Lady Revati of House Varma. Meena is my only child. They took her from our garden. We've had half the district looking." She looks at Shaanti again, really looks. "You're injured."
"Not my blood," Shaanti says. "Long story. Don't worry about it."
Lady Revati doesn't understand, but she nods anyway. Then she turns to the guards. "Give them whatever they want. From my personal funds." To Shaanti: "Name your reward. Anything."
Shaanti blinks. "I… uh." She glances at Naveen. He's just watching Meena hug her mother again. "We were just… walking. Taking him out." She thumbs at Naveen. "Didn't do it for reward."
Lady Revati frowns, confused, but Meena tugs her saree. "Maa, Shaan-bhaiya's clothes are ripped because of me. And he's hungry. And Naveen-bhaiya hasn't eaten either. Can they come home? Please? Just for tonight?"
The noble lady immediately nods. "Yes. Both of you. My house is yours tonight. Bathe, eat, rest. I owe you my daughter's life."
Shaanti steps back. "Can't." She keeps her voice firm, still using the deeper tone. "We have to go. Got our own place to be. Our own work." She glances at Naveen.
This whole 'quest' from Shishta Nand wasn't supposed to involve noble mansions and political mess. And the potion's gonna wear off.
Meena's face falls. "But Shaan-bhaiya—"
"No 'buts'," Shaanti says, softer now. She ruffles Meena's hair. "You're with your Maa now. That's the whole point. You're safe. We did our job."
Lady Revati looks stricken. "Please. At least let me—" She cuts herself off, then pulls a heavy pouch from her waist. Gold coins. A lot of them. She pushes it into Shaanti's hands before she can refuse. "
Shaanti tries to shove it back. "We don't need—"
"You will take it," Lady Revati says, and for the first time her noble tone comes through. No room for argument. "If you won't come home with us, you will at least let me repay you. I won't sleep otherwise."
Shaanti looks at the pouch, then at Meena's teary eyes, then at Naveen. Naveen just shrugs slightly. 'Helpful,' that shrug says.
"…Fine," Shaanti mutters, tying the pouch to her belt. "But we're leaving. Now."
Lady Revati nods, tears still in her eyes. She pulls Meena close. "Thank you. Both of you. House Varma will not forget this. If you ever need anything, anything at all, send word."
Meena waves, small and sad. "Bye, Shaan-bhaiya… Naveen-bhaiya…"
Shaanti lifts a hand. Still in male form, still using the fake name for everyone. "Take care of your Maa, kid. And light that diya tonight, yeah?"
Meena nods hard.
Then Shaanti turns and walks, Naveen falling in beside her without a word. They didn't look back.
The Diwali crowd swallows them again the second they leave Lady Revati and Meena behind. Noise, light, smoke from sparklers. Normal chaos. Safe chaos.
Shaanti checks the pouch. Heavy. Real gold, not points. "We're rich," she mutters, still in that deeper voice. "Temporarily. Don't get used to it."
Naveen doesn't answer. He's holding Meena's clay diya — she forgot it when she ran to her mom. He caught it, never gave it back. Now he's just… carrying it. Careful.
"Gonna keep that?" Shaanti asks.
Naveen looks down at it like he forgot it was in his hands. "She'll want it back."
"She doesn't know where we are."
"Then I'll hold it."
Shaanti snorts. "Fine.
Innocent protagonist." She jerks her chin toward a side stall.
"Food. You promised me proper poori-sabzi if I didn't drag you to a noble mansion. I didn't. You owe me."
"I never promised."
"You implied."
They find a spot — not the same one from before. That shopkeeper's probably still telling people about the "two boys who beat up traffickers."
This one's quieter.
Old man, big kadhai, stacks of puris puffing up golden. Smells like heaven and cumin.
"Two plates," Shaanti says, dropping two gold coins on the wood counter. Overkill. The old woman's eyes go wide.
"Too much, beta."
"Keep it. It's Diwali." Shaanti sits on the low bench, pats the spot next to her. Naveen sits. Not touching, but there.
The food comes fast. Hot. Real sabzi, not watery gurukul sadness. Shaanti tears into it. Male persona means bigger appetite too, apparently. Or maybe she's just starving.
Naveen eats slower. One bite. Then another. He doesn't say it's good. He doesn't have to. The way his shoulders drop half an inch says it.
Shaanti watches him between bites. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing."
"That 'thinking' thing. Loud. I can hear it from here."
Naveen doesn't look up. "You lied to them."
"About what?"
"Your name."
"Oh." Shaanti shrugs, tears another poori. "Yeah. Shaan. That's me. You got a problem with it?" She keeps her tone light, but her eyes are sharp. Can't let him dig.
Naveen studies her. Then shakes his head once. "No."
"Good. Doesn't matter what they call me. Meena's safe. That's the quest."
Naveen goes quiet. Then "How long does it last?"
Shaanti pauses mid-chew. He means the build. The muscles. The voice He thinks it's training or something. Not a potion. Good. "Long enough," she says. "Why? You gonna miss 'Shaan' when he's gone?"
Naveen doesn't answer. He just sets Meena's diya down on the bench between them. Careful. Like it's the important part of this conversation.
Shaanti sighs and wipes her mouth on her torn sleeve. "Look. I'm not gonna disappear. I'll still be me. Just… maybe different later. Same person who beat up five guys for you."
"For Meena," Naveen corrects.
"Yeah. For Meena." She grins, sharp. "But you benefited.
The corner of his mouth twitches. Again. That not-quite-smile. It's becoming a thing.
A crackle pops in the air. Distant fireworks. Kids shriek. Shaanti feels it — that little flicker under her skin. Potion warning. Maybe 30 minutes. Maybe less.
She stands up fast. "We should move. Finish the walk. Shishta Nand said 'take him for a walk,' not 'sit and get philosophical over poori.'"
Naveen stands too. Take the diya. Did not ask why the rush.
They walk. Past lanterns, past kids, past a group singing off-key bhajans. Shaanti's counting down in her head. Thirty minutes. Twenty-five. The pouch is heavy at her hip. Real gold. Real points. Real mess if the potion wears off in the middle of the market.
"Hey," she says suddenly. "If I, uh, have to duck into an alley real quick later, don't follow me."
Naveen looks at her. "Why."
"Private stuff. Personal. Don't worry about it."
He stares another second, then nods. "Okay."
The potion flickers again. Closer now. Ten minutes. Maybe five.
"Come on," she says, walking faster. "Let's get to the edge of the market. Less people."
Naveen follows. Still holding the diya. Still quiet. He doesn't look at her like he knows anything. He just walks beside her.
And for the first time all night, Shaanti's cover holds.
The edge of the market isn't quiet, but it's quieter. Stalls thin out, lanterns get sparse, and the Diwali crowd turns into scattered groups heading home.
Shaanti's skin prickles again. Stronger this time. The potion's not warning anymore — it's ending. Five minutes. Maybe three.
"There," she says, nodding at a narrow gap between a closed grain shop and a stack of empty oil drums. Dark. No people. "I gotta handle something. Wait here."
Naveen stops walking. Looks at the alley. Then at her. "What thing."
"Personal," Shaanti says, keeping her voice steady. Deep, still, but she can feel it loosening at the edges. "Gives me a headache if I don't. Five minutes. Don't follow."
Naveen doesn't move. He's still holding Meena's diya, thumb running over the clay rim. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Shaanti lies. "Just… need air." She backs toward the alley. "Watch the pouch. If anyone tries to steal it, hit them with the diya."
That gets a twitch. Almost a smile. He nods once and stays put.
Shaanti ducks into the dark.
The second she's out of sight, it hits. Not painful, but fast. Like clothes three sizes too big suddenly shrinking back down. Shoulders pull in. Height drops. Chest tightens — thank the system the torn kurta was loose, and the undershirt's still there. Voice crawls back up her throat, higher, hers again.
She leans against the wall, breathing hard. The pouch thumps against her hip — still there, still heavy. Her hands are smaller. Her boots feel loose now.
"System," she mutters, voice back to normal. "You couldn't give a guy version with pockets that don't vanish?"
She checks herself over. Torn kurta hangs worse now — it was sized for 'Shaan'. The sleeve's basically gone. Red streaks still there. Not her blood. Still gross. She knots the fabric tighter, yanks the hem down. Decent. Not great, but decent.
Footsteps. Light. At the mouth of the alley.
"Shaan?" Naveen's voice. He didn't come in. Just said "You good?"
Shaanti freezes. Right. He thinks she's 'Shaan'. A guy. And now she's very much not.
She glances around. Empty crates. Old tarp. Perfect.
"Yeah!" she calls back, grabbing the tarp and wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. Hides the shape, hides the torn sleeve. She hunches a bit, stays in the shadows. "Just… sick. Must've been the poori."
Silence. Then: "…Need help?"
"No!" Too fast. She coughs, tries to rough up her voice again. "I mean— no. I'm fine. Just cold now. Gonna… gonna keep this on." She tugs the tarp tighter.
Naveen doesn't come closer. "We can go back. Tell Shishta Nand."
"No," Shaanti says.
We finish the walk. I'm just… walking slow now." She steps out, keeping to the darkest parts of the lane. Tarp over her head, face down, shoulders hunched. She looks smaller. Sick. Not like 'Shaan' from before, but not obviously a girl either. Just… someone under a blanket.
Naveen looks at her. Really looks. Then he just nods. "Okay."
He doesn't ask why 'Shaan' suddenly shrank a foot. Doesn't ask why his voice is off. He just falls in step beside her, same pace. Slow. Like he said.
They walk. Past the last stalls. Past the temple gate. The Diwali noise gets distant.
Shaanti keeps the tarp up. Keeps her head down. Every step she's thinking: "He's gonna ask. He's gonna ask. System, please let him not ask."
But He didn't ask anything.
After ten minutes, he says, "You fight better when you're not sick."
Shaanti almost trips. "Yeah. Well. Off day."
"You still saved Meena."
"Yeah."
"Then it's fine."
They reach the road that leads back to the gurukul. It's empty. Only a few lanterns left, guttering in the wind.
"You cold?" Naveen asks suddenly. He's looking at the tarp.
"I'm fine," Shaanti says. Her real voice slips out, but she covers it with a cough. "Dust, In my throat."
Naveen nods. He doesn't offer the diya. He just walks. Guarding her side like he did with Meena. Like nothing changed.
Because for him, nothing did. 'Shaan' is sick. That's all.
Shaanti lets out a breath. Cover held. Barely.
She thinks: "System, log this as 'mission complete' and 'zero identity breaches'. And maybe 'bluffed a noble, a guard, and a teammate in one night'. That's gotta be bonus points."
Out loud she says, rasping a bit to sell it, "We still walking, or what?"
Naveen glances at her. "You said finish the walk."
"Yeah. I did." Shaanti adjusts the tarp, keeps her face hidden. "Then let's finish it."
They keep going. Shaanti, under a tarp, voice hoarse, looking nothing like 'Shaan' from before. Naveen, still quiet, still walking beside her because she told him to wait and he did.
And he doesn't know.
[End of Chapter]