⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

Morning arrived softly, like it was afraid of starting her.

Sunlight slipped through the narrow window in pale ribbons, touching the walls, the floor, the edge of Aira's blanket. She opened her eyes slowly, heart racing before her mind fully woke.

For a second, she forgot.

Then she swallowed.

Nothing.

No sound. No scratch of breath turning into a word. Just air moving in and out, useless and silent.

Her fingers clenched the sheet.

Before, she had chosen silence.
Now, silence had chosen her.

The door creaked open.

"Utho, bachcho," a familiar voice called, gentle but firm. "Subah ho gayi."

Kamala Kaki stood in the doorway, cotton sari neat, hair tied back, eyes already scanning the room the way mothers do. She paused when she saw Aira sitting up, too still, too alert.

Kamala Kaki walked in quietly and crouched beside the bed.

"Good morning," she said, slower this time. "Sab theek hai?"

Aira tried.

Her lips parted. Her chest moved.

Nothing came out.

Her eyes widened, panic flickering like a trapped bird.

Kamala Kaki understood immediately.

"Oh," she murmured, not shocked, not loud. Just soft. "Aaj pehla din hai."

She placed a warm hand over Aira's cold fingers.

"Koi baat nahi," she said. "Bilkul koi baat nahi. Yeh darne wali baat nahi hai."

Aira nodded, too fast.

Kamala Kaki smiled gently. "Hum isko dheere dheere theek hone denge, haan?"

From the other bed, someone sat up.

Riya.

Her hair was messy, sleep still clinging to her face, but her eyes were sharp, curious, kind. She looked at Aira, then at Kamala Kaki.

"Woh bol nahi paa rahi?" Riya asked quietly.

Kamala Kaki shook her head once. "Abhi nahi."

Riya slid off her bed and came closer, squatting in front of Aira like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"That's okay," she said instantly. "Main bhi subah bolna pasand nahi karti."

Aira looked at her.

Riya grinned. "Sach mein. Dimaag hi band rehta hai."

Aira's shoulders loosened a little.

Kamala Kaki watched them, relief softening her eyes. "Riya ," she said, "aaj tum Aira ke saath rehna. Naya din hai uska."

Riya nodded seriously, like she'd been given a mission.

"Yes, Kaki."

Breakfast was quieter than usual.

Aira sat beside Riya at the long table. Plates clinked. Children talked over each other. Someone laughed too loud. Someone spilled milk.

Riya leaned closer and whispered, "If you want more roti, just tap twice on the table."

Aira tried it.

Riya noticed immediately. "Kaki! Aira ko aur roti chahiye."

Kamala Kaki smiled from the stove. "Aa rahi hai."

Aira stared at Riya, something fragile and unfamiliar warming her chest.

After breakfast, when the others ran out to play, Aira hesitated at the doorway.

Riya stopped too.

"You don't have to come," she said quickly. "Or you can just sit. Or we can walk. Or... we can do nothing."

She shrugged. "First day rules. Sab allowed hai."

Aira lifted her hand and pointed to the bench under the neem tree.

Riya's eyes lit up. "Perfect choice."

They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, watching dust float in the sunlight. Riya talked, filling the silence without making it heavy.

She talked about the cat that stole food from the kitchen. About how Kamala Kaki pretended not to see it. About how this bench was the best place when the world felt too loud.

Aira listened.

For the first time since waking up, she didn't feel broken.

Just quiet.

And in that quiet, with the morning still new and Riya sitting beside her like she had always belonged there, Aira realized something small but important.

This was the first day of her not speaking.

But it was also the first day of being seen. 

The day did not rush her.

After the neem tree, after the dust and the sunlight and Riya's quiet chatter, Kamala Kaki rang the small brass bell near the courtyard. Not loud. Not sharp. Just enough to let the air know that something was changing.

"Bas thoda kaam hai," she said gently, noticing how Aira stiffened at the sound. "Zyada nahi."

Working here was not a punishment.

It was folding clothes together. Watering plants. Sorting books that smelled faintly of old paper and soap. Riya showed her where everything went, not with instructions, but with demonstration, like it was a game only the two of them were playing.

"If you mix these notebooks, Kaki will pretend to scold," Riya whispered, eyes bright. "But she never actually does."

Aira watched. Learned. Followed.

No one yelled when her hands slowed.
No one grabbed her wrist when she hesitated.
No one punished her for being quiet.

That alone felt unreal.

At one point, herself Kamala Kaki handed her a stack of clothes to fold. Their fingers brushed accidentally. Aira flinched before she could stop.

Kamala Kaki noticed.

She did not comment.
She did not apologize.

She simply placed the clothes down and stepped back half a pace, giving space without making it obvious.

Trust, Aira realized dimly, lived in moments like that.

By afternoon, the orphanage settled into its own rhythm. Some children studied. Some napped. Some played carrom under the shade, arguing softly about rules they all knew by heart.

Riya pulled Aira toward the window in their room.

"Yahan se sunset acha dikhta hai," she said. "Kal main tumhein terrace bhi dikhaungi. Wahan hawa aur tez hoti hai."

Aira leaned closer to the window.

The sky was beginning to soften, blue turning warmer, slower. She pressed her fingers lightly against the glass, grounding herself in the coolness.

For a moment, the silence inside her felt heavy again.

She tried to swallow it down.

Riya noticed the change immediately.

Without saying anything, she reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook. The cover was bent, corners soft from use. She slid it toward Aira along with a pencil.

"You can draw," she said. "Or write. Or just... hold it."

Aira stared at the blank page.

Then, very slowly, she wrote one word.

Thank you.

Riya read it, blinked, and smiled like she'd been handed something precious.

"Anytime," she said simply.

That evening, Kamala Kaki lit the diya again near the courtyard. Some children joined. Some didn't. No one was forced.

Aira stood at the edge, watching the flame flicker.

The pendant at her neck warmed, faint but present.

Not a warning.
Not a fear.

Just awareness.

Night came gently.

Dinner passed without incident. Laughter drifted through the halls, softer now, tired and content. When it was time to sleep, Riya climbed into bed and immediately began telling a story that went nowhere and everywhere at once.

Aira listened, eyes on the ceiling.

For the first time since the accident, sleep did not feel like falling.

It felt like it was resting.

Outside, the neem leaves whispered to each other.

And far away, in a house that did not yet belong in her thoughts, a pair of blue eyes stared at the dark, unaware that the girl he had carried out of wreckage had just learned what safety felt like.

Not forever.

But for tonight.

                                                       𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

RADHE KRISHNA🌷**