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Night did not come gently for her.

Sleep took Aira the way deep water does, quietly at first, then all at once.

At the beginning, it was only darkness. Familiar. Heavy. The kind she had learned to survive.

Then the sounds crept in.

Not clear voices. Never clear. Just sharp echoes. The scrape of a chair. Footsteps too close. Too loud. The air tightening before something bad happened.

Her body remembered before her mind did.

In the dream, she was small again. Smaller than she should have been. Standing still because moving had never helped. Silence had always been safer.

Hands moved. Shadows leaned in.

She didn't see faces.
She never did.

Only the feeling.

The sudden pressure. The way breath left her chest. The way her arms instinctively crossed over herself, protecting what they could.

She tried to curl inward.

She didn't let her dream go.

Her heart began to race, fast and uneven. Her body reacted as if it were happening again, muscles locking, skin burning, breath turning shallow and useless.

Cold sweat soaked into her clothes.

Her fingers trembled violently now, nails pressing into her own palms as if pain might wake her.

No sound came out.

Not in the dream.
Not now.

Her chest jerked, once, twice, fighting for air that wouldn't settle. The room spun. The darkness pressed in.

Then—

She woke with a sharp gasp that made no noise.

Her eyes widened.

The room was real.
The ceiling was real.
The shadows were soft, not threatening.

But her body didn't know that yet.

She was shaking. Full-body tremors she couldn't control. Sweat clung to her hairline, her neck, her back. Her breath came in broken pulls, too fast, too shallow.

She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly without realizing it.

The nightmare clung to her like a second skin.

The mattress shifted.

"Aira?"

Riya's voice was quiet, instantly awake. No irritation. No fear. Just concern.

She sat up and turned on the small bedside lamp, keeping the light low. When she saw Aira properly, her expression changed.

"Oh," she whispered.

Aira flinched at the sudden sound, shoulders jerking violently.

Riya froze.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, softer now. "Main dheere bolungi."

She moved closer, slowly, giving Aira time to see her coming. When she reached the edge of Aira's bed, she didn't touch her right away.

"It was a bad dream, na?" Riya asked gently.

Aira nodded, tears slipping silently down her face, frustration mixing with fear because even crying felt wrong without sound.

Riya didn't ask any questions.

She simply lifted the blanket and slid in beside her.

"It's okay," she murmured. "Tum akeli nahi ho."

She wrapped an arm around Aira carefully, like she was holding something fragile but precious. Not tight. Just present.

Aira hesitated for a second.

Then she leaned in.

Her shaking slowly began to ease, breath finding a steadier rhythm against Riya's shoulder. The warmth beside her anchored her back to the room. To now.

The nightmare loosened its grip.

Riya rested her chin lightly on Aira's head. "Mujhe bhi kabhi kabhi bura sapna aata hai," she said softly. "Tab main aise hi soti hoon."

She adjusted the blanket around them both.

Aira closed her eyes again.

This time, sleep didn't pull her under.

It waited.

And when it came, it was quieter. Less cruel.

Outside, the orphanage slept on.

Inside one small room, two girls lay side by side, breathing in sync.

One guarding.
One healing.

And though the marks on Aira's body remained hidden beneath long sleeves, the fear had finally been noticed.

That mattered.

Morning came differently this time.

Not softly.

Carefully.

As if the day itself had learned how fragile she was.

Aira woke to warmth at her side first, before light. Riya's arm was still around her, loose but certain, like she hadn't moved all night. For a moment, Aira didn't remember why that mattered.

Then she breathed in.

Silence.

It was still there.

Her chest tightened, but not enough to break her. Not today.

She shifted slightly. Riya stirred immediately, eyes opening like she'd been waiting.

"Morning," Riya whispered, voice low and calm. No sudden sounds. No surprise.

Aira nodded.

Riya smiled, small and sleepy. "Good. That means we survived the night."

She sat up slowly, stretching, then glanced back at Aira. "We'll do today... slowly. Okay?"

Aira nodded again.

That seemed to be enough of an answer these days.

When Kamala Kaki came to wake the children, she didn't call out loudly like usual. She stood at the door and tapped the frame gently, twice.

Riya noticed.

She noticed everything.

Kamala Kaki stepped inside and took one look at Aira's face. The faint shadows under her eyes. The way her shoulders were already drawn in, protective.

"Achha," she said softly. "Aaj hum naya tareeka try karenge."

She held up her hand.

One finger raised.
"Paani chahiye?"

She drank.

Aira hesitated, then copied her. She nodded.

Kamala Kaki's smile didn't widen. It deepened. Like something settling into place.

"Wah," she murmured. "Samajh aa raha hai."

At breakfast, things changed without being announced.

No one stared.

No one whispered.

Instead, Riya sat beside Aira as usual and casually demonstrated things. Tapped her glass twice for water. Lifted her plate slightly for more sabzi. Raised her eyebrows in an exaggerated way to ask a question.

Aira watched.

Then copied.

Once, she tapped the table too hard, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Her body flinched immediately, shoulders tensing, breath catching.

Before the fear could bloom, a boy grinned across the table and said, "Arre, tabla baja rahi hai kya?"

The table laughed.

Not at her.

With her.

Something loosened in her chest.

Later, when the children gathered in the courtyard, a new rhythm formed around her without anyone naming it. Someone handed her chalk and pointed to the ground. Another child sat beside her and began drawing without asking. When the noise grew too loud, someone else wordlessly shifted closer, blocking her from the center.

They didn't pity her.

They adjusted.

That afternoon, Anita Sharma arrived.

She looked younger in daylight. Late twenties, maybe. Hair tied back, eyes sharp but kind, like someone who had learned to balance hope and reality carefully.

She crouched in front of Aira the same way she had the day before.

"Hi," she said gently. "Main Anita hoon. Kal mile the."

Aira nodded.

Anita didn't rush. She placed a notebook and pen on the ground between them.

"You can write," she said. Not a question.

Aira hesitated, then nodded again.

"Good," Anita said, like this was something strong, not small. "Hum dheere dheere baat karenge. Jab tum ready ho."

She tapped the notebook once and slid it closer, then leaned back, giving Aira space to decide.

Aira picked up the pen.

Her hand shook, just a little.

Riya leaned in and whispered, "Galat likhne pe koi jail nahi jaata. Promise."

That earned a ghost of a smile.

Aira wrote slowly.

Okay.

Anita read it and nodded. "Bas. Aaj ke liye itna kaafi hai."

No pressure.
No more questions.

When evening came, Aira realized something without fully understanding how.

No one here was trying to fix her.

They were learning from her.

And for the first time since she could remember, the silence around her didn't feel like punishment.

It felt like a language.

One she was slowly, carefully learning how to speak.

                                    𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

RADHE KRISHNA🌷**