°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The night did not arrive quietly.

Rain tore the sky open, thunder cracking like something breaking its own bones. Wind chased the streets, wild and merciless, swallowing footsteps, erasing directions. Udaipur had never looked so unforgiving.

A woman ran.

Her breath came sharp, uneven, each step heavier than the last. In her arms, wrapped tight against her chest, was a child. Too small to understand fear. Too young to know why the world was suddenly running from her.

Behind them, shadows moved. Not close enough to be seen. Close enough to be felt.

The woman turned once. Just once.
That was enough.

She ran again.

The orphanage gate appeared like a mistake. Old. Rusted. Half-hidden behind rain and darkness. The kind of place no one noticed unless they were desperate enough to look for mercy.

She knocked.

Not loud. Not long.
Just enough.

The baby stirred. A soft sound escaped her lips. Not a cry. Almost like she was holding herself back.

The woman froze.

Her hands trembled as she lowered herself, shielding the child from the rain one last time. Around the baby's neck, a small pendant rested against fragile skin, catching the lightning for a second. A single name was etched there.

Aira.

The woman's fingers brushed it, lingering.

She lifted the child again, pressing her close, forehead against the baby's hair. The hug was not hurried. It was desperate. As if she were trying to memorize the weight of her. The warmth. The fact that she was alive.

Leaving her felt like betrayal.
Keeping her felt like a death sentence.

The woman kissed the child's temple.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking into the storm.

Then she stepped back.

The gate creaked open. Hands reached out. Voices murmured in shock. The child was taken inside, wrapped in unfamiliar arms.

Aira cried then.
Still softly.
As if even at one year old, she knew silence was safer.

The gate closed.

The rain swallowed everything.

⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛ ·🎀𓂃⋆ ⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛

Years later, sound disappeared again.

This time, it began with leaving.

A woman helped her. Late fifties. Kind eyes. Hands that shook while breaking rules no one was meant to bend. No papers. No permission. Only a whisper telling her to run.

She took the wrong bus.
Or maybe the right one meant for someone else.

She didn't know the city she entered. Only fear. Only movement. A small poly bag in her hand. A few fruits. An apology packed in haste.

Ten years old. Old enough to speak. Too young to understand why life kept abandoning her.

The accident came suddenly.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The world flipped.

A small body lay still.

Someone reached her first.

Blue eyes. Sharp. Watching her like she mattered for reasons he didn't yet know.

"She's alive," someone said. Almost afraid to believe it.

White lights. A hospital. A world moving without sound.

When she woke, silence had settled in.

Not peace.
Absence.

She tried to speak. Nothing came.
She tried to write. 

The doctors exchanged looks.

She was moved again.

Another orphanage. Another waiting room disguised as safety.

No answers stayed with her.

Only the pendant did.

And somewhere far away, a family known for power was already familiar with blue eyes, even if the child he had found remained unnamed to them.

⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛ ·🎀𓂃⋆ ⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛⁛

Somewhere between Jaipur and Udaipur, a truth refused to stay buried.

It surfaced first as a question. Then as a pattern. A child recorded and removed. A legacy left unfinished.

The families did not speak loudly when they understood. They never did. They only agreed on what must remain unspoken.

She was alive.
And she must stay unknown.

Others searched too, but for the wrong reasons. They followed objects, symbols, stories half-remembered. They did not know what truly mattered. They never looked closely enough at the girl herself.

Far away, a child learned how to live without answers. The world had taken her voice, but left her something quieter and sharper in its place.

Around her neck, a pendant rested against her skin.

It waited.

And so did everything else.

  𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡

RADHE KRISHNA🌷**