"Rumours?" Ananya scoffed, springing upright with a wide grin. "Not anymore, hehe! I overheard Baba talking about it on my way here. And it's official now— they've decided to bring it here, to our village. Can you believe it, Di? The same grand fair people used to travel cities for—the one with circus tents, magic shows, food stalls that never end— it's all coming here. In our own Devghar!"

Ananya's gaze turned to Aarohi, her eyes shinning with bright hope. 

Until— 

A cold and heavy silence answered her back.

Aarohi didn't reply. She could not. Her body had gone still, eyes hollowed like the world had just been stripped of its light. A sharp pain rose in her chest, merciless, clawing its way up until it burned under her ribs.

Memories from that night broke free. Like a swarm of moths tearing loose, frantic, blind, wings battering against the dark—impossible to catch.

The fragments of buried past flashed before her eyes. 

The glittering lights. The hum of voices. The bursts of laughter. The fair... 

The night she had begged her mother to take her—for sweets, for rides, for joy that should have lasted longer. 

And the night she lost her. 

Such was the truth— too sharp. Too cruel. Almost suffocating. One Aarohi could never make peace with. 

How could she? How do you forgive yourself when the price of joy is death itself?

That too—because of you!

Useless. Pointless. And yet, those thoughts always clung at the back of her mind, like questions left unanswered. 

Had things been different today if she hadn't insisted? If she had kept quiet? If she hadn't asked for anything at all?

A fragile girl, that's all she was back then. Barely seven, too sick to even stand. Yet that night, for the first time ever, she asked for something. A yearning to see the outside world.

A world too far from her reach. Too shiny from beyond the heavy windows. Like a bright starry sky—so close yet so far. And that very wish cost her the whole world. Tore everything apart. 

Shattered. 

Scattered.  

With no one left to pick up the shards. 

After that, Aarohi forgot how to ask.

Forgot to step out. 

Forgot how joy looked. 

Forgot how the outside world felt— 

And locked herself away in her room. 

With sickness. With her books. 

But now— after all these years, that same night had come knocking at her door.

The same fair she had tried to bury—shoved deep in the cracks of memory, hidden where even her heart dared not look—had returned.

Uninvited. Unforgiving. 

To others, it was joy. Colour. Laughter. 

But to her, it was the sound of her last goodbye. 

The place where her world had caved in— and never risen again. 

The place where her childhood drew its last breath. 

"I-I... I don't know if I can, Anu..." Aarohi whispered, a half smile feigned across her lips, flimsy as glass, a desparate attempt to hide what churned beneath her ribs. 

Ananya's chest tightened. She clenched her fists. For a heartbeat, she hesitated— and then with trembling resolve, she reached forward and clasped Aarohi's hands. 

"Di..." The word broke out, soft, trembling. 

Aarohi blinked, as if the warmth of Ananya's palms calmed her racing heart. She gave a tiny laugh. One that didn't quite land. 

"Don't—" Ananya whispered, shaking her head. Her throat ached as tears pooled in her eyes. "Don't smile like that. Not at me. Not when I can see..."

Aarohi's lips pressed together, wavering. For a moment, her eyes softened with guilt, then she leaned forward and touched Ananya's forehead with hers—fragile, quiet, surrender. 

"I really can't hide anything from you, huh?"

Ananya let out a shaky laugh, though her eyes burned. "You're terrible at lying, Di. I can read you like one of your books."

That earned the faintest huff of amusement from Aarohi, but it vanished as quickly as it came. 

Ananya sighed, steadying the tremor in her chest. Then she cupped Aarohi's face gently in her palms. As if her love could say the things words could not. 

"Look, Di... I get it. I really do. I know why you always turn away from festivals, why you—why you shut yourself away. But that night..." She swallowed hard, her lips quivering yet her voice firm and steady. "...Di, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't. It was an accident."

"D-do you really think Maa wanted this? For you to chain yourself to that one night forever? She gave everything to protect you, Di—not so you could bury yourself in guilt. Not so a fair could keep you prisoner forever. No. She never wished for that—"

Ananya's hands pressed harder against Aarohi's cheeks, as if she could will her sister to stay anchored in her love, in the truth she was trying to give her. "Maa wanted you to breathe. To laugh. To live. Together with us." 

Aarohi's fingers clasped over hers, a ragged breath stumbling free. "...B-but Anu..." The words trailed into silence, as though she'd meant to say more but the weight in her chest refused to let them out.

Ananya’s heart ached, pain pressing heavy against her ribs. No. She could never fathom the depths of her despair. 

But God, she wished— so desparately—that she could reach her. Bring her out of this darkness, if only for a moment. 

And now… the fair. Back again, right at their doorstep. The very night Aarohi buried in the past, refusing to touch. Wasn’t this a sign? A chance? The chance Ananya had prayed for?

Festivals. Lanterns. Songs. They’d all come before, and every time Ananya had let them pass her by. She never forced Aarohi, never asked her to step into light she didn’t want.

But this time? No. Not anymore. 

This time she wanted more. 

For Aarohi. 

She wanted to take her out, to break the chains of that night, to let her breathe again. To let her see the world—not through borrowed stories, not through the veil of grief—but with her own eyes, the way the world was meant to meet her. 

"Please, Di..." Ananya's voice cracked, but she didn't let go. Her grip only tightened—desparate, trembling. 

"Just once... give me a chance. Let me rewrite those painful memories that still haunt you. Let me walk with you through the fair, let me fill your heart with something new—something untouched by pain, untouched by fear." 

Her breath hitched, but her words pressed forward, fierce and unyielding, 

"I promise, I'll take care of everything. We'll slip out quietly, stay only a little while, and be back before anyone even notices. Nothing will happen to you, I swear."

Aarti' throat tightened. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the tears that burned in her eyes. "Milady... I believe... lady Ananya is right. We all wish for your happiness—just as your mother did."

Ananya squeezed Aarohi's hands, pleading eyes looking into her. "I checked the forecast. No rain, only sunshine. You won't even catch a cold. So please, Di... I-I've never asked you for anything but... this time... I'm begging you—"

Before the words could tumble further, Aarohi's hand flew to cover her sister's mouth. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her voice breaking even as it tried to sound firm. 

"Shhh....  never say that. My little Anu would never beg anyone. Not even me. You got that?"

Ananya hummed stubbornly behind her sister's palm, her wide eyes never leaving Aarohi's. 

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Aarohi sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion yet edged with something softer—something close to surrender. Slowly, she pulled her hand back.

"Di—" Ananya's lips parted the moment she was freed, her voice trembling with both fear and excitement. "Does that mean..." Her words dangled in the air, trembling. She leaned forward, searching her sister's face—her entire world balanced on that unfinished breath.

Aarohi's lips curved faintly. She brushed away the teardrop clinging to the corner of her eye and nodded. "Okay. We'll go to this fair. Together. The four of us."

"Really?! Wait a second—four?!" Ananya squeaked, blinking in confusion.

"Yup, silly!" Aarohi chuckled. "Did you forget about Raghuv already? Without him, do you think the three of us could wander alone in a crowd like that? Someone has to keep an eye, especially on you. Who knows where you'd run off to, or what kind of trouble you'd stir up!"

Ananya puffed her cheeks. "Me?! You're the one everyone worries about, Di."

"Exactly," Aarohi tapped her nose lightly. "And you'll be too busy gawking at magic tricks and sweet stalls to notice a thing. Raghuv's coming, okay?"

"Milady..." Aarti's voice broke through, the concern in her voice softening into hope. 

Aarohi's lips curved faintly. "You two really managed to conspire against me, huh?" She smiled, tender and resigned. "Fine... I'm letting you guys win just once."

"Yayyyy!" Ananya shrieked, flinging herself into her sister's arms. "Thank you. Thank you sooo much! You're the sweetest Di in the whole world!"

Aarohi laughed, the sound muffled against Ananya's hair. "Yeah, yeah... my Queen Massi. With sweet-talking like this, you could rule the whole world."

Ananya pulled back just enough to pout. "It's not sweet-talking, it's the truth!"

Aarohi chuckled, pinching her cheek with mock severity, though her eyes shimmered with fondness. "Sure, sure."

Ananya tipped her chin up, rubbing her nose in triumph. "Hear that, Saraswati Mela? Brace yourself—the queens of Devghar are coming for ya!"

"Wait... isn't it the other way around?" Aarti teased, folding her arms with a playful squint. 

"Oh, yeah—" Ananya slammed her fist into her palm, then broke into giggles. "Fine, fine! The Saraswati Mela is coming for us! But still, they won’t be ready for our secret entrance."

Aarohi shook her head, laughter spilling past her lips despite herself. "Honestly, you two… I don't know if I should be scared or proud."

"Both," Aarti declared smugly.

"Definitely both!" Ananya chirped, looping her arms around Aarohi’s shoulders.

The three of them dissolved into laughter, their voices filling the room—light, unburdened, spilling forward as if to meet the future waiting just beyond their door.