˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

🌷 Hello, Tulips! 🌷

Welcome back to another chapter of The Child They Hid 🤍

This chapter is a little softer and more emotional, with small moments that slowly become important. 🌷

Don't forget to vote, read, follow, and share with your friends! 🤍✨

I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Happy Reading! 🤍🌷

By the time I looked up from my screen, the sky outside had already begun to change.

The bright afternoon light that had filled the city hours ago had softened into shades of gold and amber, spreading across Jaipur like liquid sunlight.

For a few moments, I simply stared through the glass wall of my cabin.

The city looked different in the evening.

Slower.

Quieter.

As if even Jaipur needed a moment to breathe after carrying the weight of an entire day.

Unfortunately, BR Corporations did not share that philosophy.

The executive floor remained busy.

Assistants moved between cabins carrying files.

Phones continued ringing.

Meetings stretched longer than intended.

Emails multiplied when nobody was looking.

In other words... a perfectly normal day.

I glanced back at the screen.

Tomorrow's schedule stared at me.

Still incomplete.

Which meant I still had work to do.

With a small sigh, I returned my attention to the digital planner.

Board review.

Investor briefing.

Project assessment meeting.

Internal strategy session.

Lunch meeting.

Two virtual conferences.

One site review.

Three approvals.

And approximately twenty different opportunities for something to go wrong.

Normal.

Completely normal.

I spent the next several minutes adjusting timings, confirming availability, and coordinating schedules with different departments.

One by one, the remaining tasks disappeared.

Eventually, the final notification vanished from the screen.

Done.

I reviewed everything once more.

Then again.

Habit.

A necessary one.

Only after I was satisfied did I finally gather the required files and stand.

The next day's schedule needed final approval.

Which meant one last stop before I could leave.

Vikram's office.

The corridor outside had become noticeably quieter by now.

Many employees had already left.

Others were preparing to.

The warm evening light stretched across the polished floor as I walked toward the office at the end of the hall.

The door was slightly open.

I knocked once.

"Come in."

The familiar voice carried from inside.

Calm.

Even.

Unhurried.

I stepped inside.

The office looked exactly as it always did.

Organized.

Controlled.

Every object placed with purpose.

The city glowed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, painted in shades of orange and gold.

Vikram sat behind his desk reviewing a document.

He looked up briefly as I approached.

"The schedule for tomorrow," I said, placing the files in front of him.

He nodded once.

I began outlining the changes.

Meeting adjustments.

Time revisions.

Department confirmations.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing complicated.

The discussion lasted only a few minutes.

By the end of it, the final approvals had been completed.

Everything was settled.

Exactly as planned.

I gathered the signed documents.

Prepared to leave.

Then paused.

Only slightly.

Barely noticeable.

But noticeable enough.

Because when I looked up, Vikram was watching me.

Not questioning.

Not studying.

Simply observing.

The way he always did when he had already noticed something.

I immediately pretended not to notice.

A strategy that had never worked particularly well.

Several seconds passed.

Then—

"You're still thinking about it."

I blinked.

Wonderful.

Apparently we were doing this.

My grip tightened slightly around the files.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The response sounded convincing.

If one ignored the fact that neither of us believed it.

Vikram's expression remained unchanged.

Which somehow made everything worse.

His gaze returned briefly to the document on his desk.

Then back to me.

"You've finished every task today."

A pause.

"Twice."

I stared.

He continued calmly.

"That's usually a sign."

The irritating part was that he wasn't wrong.

I looked away.

Toward the window.

Toward the city.

Toward literally anything that wasn't this conversation.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his voice broke the silence again.

"If something keeps returning to your thoughts..."

His attention shifted back to the file.

"...there's usually a reason."

The words settled quietly between us.

Simple.

Matter-of-fact.

The kind of statement that sounded obvious until it refused to leave your mind.

I remained silent.

Mostly because I wasn't entirely sure how to respond.

And partly because a small, annoying part of me suspected he was right.

Again.

Vikram signed the final page.

Closed the file.

And set down his pen.

The conversation should have ended there.

Instead, he added one last thing.

Without looking up.

Without changing his tone.

Without making it sound important.

"Whatever your mind is trying to decide..."

A brief pause.

Then—

"Stop arguing with it."

I frowned.

His gaze finally lifted.

Calm.

Steady.

Certain.

"Do what your heart wants to do."

Silence followed.

For a second, I wasn't sure whether to be grateful or irritated.

Possibly both.

Knowing him, that was probably intentional.

Eventually, I exhaled softly.

A small smile appeared despite my best efforts.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Meera."

I left the office a few moments later.

The corridor felt quieter now.

The building calmer.

The workday finally coming to an end.

Yet strangely...

the longer I walked toward the elevator, the clearer my thoughts became.

By the time the elevator reached the ground floor...

I already knew where I was going.

The evening air felt different once I stepped out of the building.

Cooler.

Lighter.

Perhaps because the workday was finally over.

Or perhaps because I had stopped arguing with myself.

The parking area was noticeably quieter than it had been that morning.

Several rows already stood empty.

The city beyond the gates glowed beneath the fading sunlight, headlights beginning to appear one by one as Jaipur prepared for another evening.

I unlocked my car.

Placed my bag on the passenger seat.

And sat there for a moment.

Just a moment.

My hands rested on the steering wheel.

The engine remained off.

Because now that I was actually here...

now that I had finally made a decision... a small part of me felt slightly ridiculous again.

What exactly was I doing?

Driving across the city to visit an orphanage because I couldn't stop thinking about one child?

Objectively speaking, it sounded absurd.

Unfortunately, the argument had lost most of its strength hours ago.

With a quiet sigh, I started the engine.

The car pulled out of the parking area and merged into the evening traffic.

Jaipur moved around me in shades of gold and amber.

Street vendors arranged their stalls.

Families walked along crowded footpaths.

Scooters wove through traffic with impressive confidence and questionable survival instincts.

The city was alive.

Busy.

Unapologetically itself.

Yet somehow, my thoughts remained fixed elsewhere.

Not on work.

Not on tomorrow's meetings.

Not on the dozen emails waiting for me at home.

Instead...

I found myself wondering whether my angel had eaten properly today.

The realization was embarrassing enough that I actually laughed once.

Softly.

Alone.

Thankfully.

Because if anyone from the office had heard me mentally referring to a child as my angel, I would never hear the end of it.

The traffic signal turned green.

I drove forward.

Twenty minutes later, the familiar gates of Pranay Ashray came into view.

And for reasons I couldn't quite explain...

I felt strangely relieved.

As if I had finally arrived somewhere I had been thinking about all day.

I sat in the car for a second longer.

Just a second.

Then shook my head lightly at myself.

This was getting ridiculous.

A small smile tugged at my lips anyway.

I picked up my bag, stepped out of the car, and closed the door behind me.

The evening air felt noticeably cooler than it had in the city.

A soft breeze moved through the trees surrounding the orphanage grounds.

Children's voices drifted from somewhere inside.

Laughter.

Running footsteps.

The occasional shout that suggested somebody was either winning a game or dramatically accusing someone else of cheating.

Possibly both.

The familiar gates stood open.

Simple.

Unremarkable.

Yet somehow welcoming.

I walked inside.

The courtyard was alive with activity.

Several children were playing near one side of the grounds while a few caretakers attempted to supervise them.

Attempted being the important word.

Whether the children were actually listening remained highly questionable.

A few younger kids ran past carrying what looked suspiciously like a ball made from old cloth.

One nearly crashed into another.

Neither appeared concerned.

I was beginning to suspect this was normal.

Near the building entrance, Kamla Kaki stood speaking to one of the caretakers.

At least, I assumed that's what they were discussing.

The caretaker was holding a large steel utensil while Kamla Kaki pointed toward the kitchen area and said something that immediately sent the woman hurrying off in that direction.

Dinner preparations, probably.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when my attention shifted elsewhere.

Toward the front staircase.

And stopped.

Two familiar figures sat on the lower steps.

One small.

The other somehow even smaller.

Aira.

And the little girl who had barely left her side yesterday.

The younger girl was talking about something.

Quite enthusiastically, judging by the animated movements of her hands.

Aira sat beside her quietly.

Listening.

Or at least pretending to.

Her gaze remained fixed somewhere ahead.

Distant.

Unfocused.

As though her thoughts had wandered somewhere the rest of her couldn't follow.

My chest tightened slightly.

Not enough to hurt.

Just enough to notice.

Because despite the calm expression...

despite the quiet stillness...

she looked sad.

The kind of sad that lingered.

The kind that settled deep and refused to leave.

Almost as though she was carrying something far heavier than a child should.

For a moment, I simply stood there.

Watching.

Neither girl had noticed me yet.

The younger one continued talking.

Aira continued staring into the distance.

Her fingers absentmindedly rested against the pendant hanging around her neck.

The same pendant.

The same habit.

As if touching it brought comfort.

Or perhaps certainty.

Then, as though sensing something, Aira finally looked up.

Our eyes met.

And for a second...

surprise flashed across her face.

Small.

Brief.

But unmistakable.

As if she genuinely hadn't expected to see me again.

And somehow...

that realization hurt a little more than it should have.

For a moment, neither of us looked away.

The courtyard remained filled with noise.

Children laughing.

Someone calling out from across the grounds.

The distant clatter of utensils from the kitchen.

Yet somehow, all of it felt strangely far away.

Aira simply stared at me.

As though trying to decide whether I was actually standing there.

Or if she had imagined me.

The thought made something ache quietly inside my chest.

Because no child should look surprised when someone comes back.

No child should expect people to leave so often that their return becomes unexpected.

Before I could think too much about that, I started walking toward the staircase.

Slowly.

Giving her enough time to get used to the idea.

The younger girl noticed me first.

Her eyes widened immediately.

Then brightened.

"A—"

She caught herself before blurting out whatever she had been about to say.

Though judging by her expression, it had required considerable effort.

I fought back a smile.

By the time I reached the stairs, both girls were looking up at me.

One openly curious.

The other quietly uncertain.

I stopped a few steps away.

"Hello, Angel."

The nickname slipped out naturally.

The same way it had yesterday.

Aira blinked.

Then frowned slightly.

Not an angry frown.

A confused one.

Her eyes moved briefly behind her.

Then toward the younger girl sitting beside her.

Then back to me.

The movement was so subtle that I almost missed it.

Almost.

A laugh escaped before I could stop it.

A small one.

Soft.

"You."

I pointed gently toward her.

"I'm talking to you."

The younger girl immediately covered her mouth.

Failing spectacularly to hide a grin.

Aira looked even more confused.

Which only made the younger girl's amusement worse.

For a second, I caught the faintest glimpse of embarrassment crossing Aira's face.

Tiny.

Barely visible.

But there.

And strangely enough...

it was the most expression I had seen from her so far.

I considered that a victory.

The younger girl finally spoke.

"Why do you call Aru didi that?"

Aru didi.

The name settled instantly.

So that was what she called her.

My gaze shifted briefly between them.

Sisters, perhaps?

No.

Not sisters.

The resemblance wasn't there.

But the affection certainly was.

I looked back at Aira.

Who now seemed very interested in avoiding eye contact.

As if the conversation had somehow become her greatest enemy.

The sight was unexpectedly adorable.

"Because she looks like one."

The answer left before I could overthink it.

Aira immediately looked up.

The younger girl looked delighted.

And I suddenly realized both of them were waiting for an explanation.

Which was unfortunate.

Because I hadn't actually prepared one.

I folded my arms lightly.

Thinking.

Then shrugged.

"Yesterday, when I met her, she looked like a frightened little angel who had accidentally landed in the middle of a road and wasn't sure what to do next."

The younger girl giggled.

Aira looked horrified.

Not genuinely horrified.

Just the deeply embarrassed kind.

The kind that made her lower her gaze almost immediately.

For the first time since arriving...

I felt my smile become genuine.

Not polite.

Not professional.

Real.

And although the sadness in her eyes hadn't disappeared...

for one brief moment...

it wasn't the only thing there anymore.

The moment was small.

Fragile.

Easy to miss.

But it was there.

And somehow, that felt important.

The younger girl seemed to decide introductions were necessary.

Or perhaps she had simply grown tired of waiting for the adults to do it themselves.

"I'm Shona."

The announcement came with surprising confidence.

As though she were introducing herself at an important business meeting rather than from the middle of an orphanage staircase.

I smiled.

"It's nice to meet you properly, Shona."

She looked pleased with herself immediately.

Aira, meanwhile, appeared to be wishing the staircase would open and swallow her whole.

Unfortunately for her, it remained structurally sound.

I sat down on one of the lower steps, leaving enough space that neither girl would feel crowded.

For a few moments, none of us spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

Just quiet.

The kind of silence that settles naturally when nobody feels pressured to fill it.

Children continued running through the courtyard.

The evening breeze drifted through the trees.

Somewhere nearby, a caretaker called several children inside.

Apparently dinner preparations were progressing.

Eventually, my gaze shifted toward Aira again.

She was absentmindedly holding her pendant.

Turning it slightly between her fingers.

The movement seemed automatic.

Unconscious.

As though she didn't even realize she was doing it.

I had noticed the habit yesterday too.

And now again.

The pendant clearly mattered.

A lot.

I didn't ask about it.

Something told me questions would only make her retreat further.

Instead, I found myself asking something much simpler.

"How was school today, Angel?"

The reaction was immediate.

Aira froze.

Completely.

I blinked.

Well.

That apparently hadn't been the right question.

Beside her, Shona looked at me.

Then at Aira.

Then back at me.

And suddenly seemed to understand exactly what had happened.

"Oh."

The little girl winced.

"She misses Riya didi."

The words were spoken quietly.

Without teasing.

Without childish bluntness.

Just simple honesty.

Something inside me sank.

Of course.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Aira's fingers tightened slightly around the pendant.

Her gaze lowered.

And just like that, some of the softness that had appeared moments ago faded again.

Not completely.

But enough.

The sadness was still there.

Waiting beneath everything else.

I looked away from her for a second.

Giving her room.

Giving her dignity.

Sometimes people deserved that much.

The breeze moved through the courtyard again.

A few strands of hair slipped across Aira's face.

She didn't seem to notice.

Or perhaps she simply didn't care.

Shona glanced at her.

Concern flickering briefly across her expression.

Then the younger girl nudged her shoulder gently.

A tiny gesture.

Barely noticeable.

Yet full of affection.

Aira glanced at her.

Shona offered a small smile.

The kind children gave when they didn't know how to fix a problem but wanted to help anyway.

And for the first time since I'd arrived...

I saw the faintest change in Aira's expression.

Not a smile.

Not quite.

Just something softer.

Something warmer.

Small enough that most people would have missed it.

I didn't.

Because I found myself watching her far more closely than I probably should have been.

The realization was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

I liked being here.

Liked sitting on these old stairs.

Liked listening to Shona talk about things that seemed wildly important to her and completely incomprehensible to everyone else.

Liked seeing Aira look a little less alone than she had yesterday.

None of that made much sense.

Yet it was true.

A strange warmth settled quietly inside me.

One I hadn't expected.

One I wasn't entirely prepared for.

And as the evening sun painted the courtyard gold...

I found myself hoping, for the first time all day, that maybe coming here hadn't been a mistake at all.

A few more children began drifting toward the building as the evening grew later.

The games slowly started breaking apart.

Arguments were abandoned.

Victories were forgotten.

Even the most energetic children seemed to understand that dinner was approaching.

Which, apparently, was motivation powerful enough to accomplish what the caretakers could not.

Shona watched them go.

Then immediately looked back at me.

Curious.

Observant.

And clearly possessing absolutely no fear of conversation.

Unlike the girl sitting beside her.

"Do you work in a big office?" she asked suddenly.

The question arrived so unexpectedly that I laughed.

"A very big office."

Her eyes widened.

"How big?"

I considered the question seriously.

Then pointed upward.

"Big enough that the elevator takes longer than some people's attention spans."

Shona stared.

Then burst into laughter.

Aira looked between us.

Confused.

As though she wasn't entirely sure why that had been funny.

Which only made Shona laugh harder.

For a few minutes, the conversation drifted toward safer subjects.

School.

Classes.

Teachers.

Mostly through Shona, who seemed perfectly willing to answer for herself and occasionally for everyone else as well.

Aira remained quiet.

Listening more than speaking.

Though every now and then, I noticed her attention lingering on the conversation.

Following it.

Even if she never joined it.

The sky above the orphanage gradually deepened into softer shades of orange and pink.

The day was beginning to fade.

And somewhere during that quiet stretch of time...

something unexpected happened.

Aira shifted slightly.

Not much.

Just enough for the sleeve of her shirt to slide upward as she adjusted her position.

My gaze caught the movement automatically.

And froze.

For a second, I wasn't entirely sure what I had seen.

Then the fabric slipped a little further.

Exposing part of her forearm.

A faded mark stretched across the skin.

Uneven.

Pale in some places.

Darker in others.

Old.

Very old.

But unmistakable.

A burn scar.

My smile disappeared.

Not dramatically.

Just quietly.

The way a candle flame vanished when a window opened.

Aira seemed completely unaware.

Or perhaps she was simply used to it.

Before I could look away, she tugged the sleeve back down.

The motion was immediate.

Instinctive.

Practiced.

As though she had done it hundreds of times before.

My chest tightened.

Questions rose instantly.

What happened?

How old had she been?

Who had been there?

Had anyone helped her?

But none of those questions reached my lips.

Because the moment I looked at her face...

I knew.

Whatever answer existed behind that scar...

it wasn't something I had earned the right to ask about.

Not yet.

Maybe not for a long time.

So I stayed silent.

The conversation continued.

At least on the surface.

Shona kept talking.

The courtyard kept moving.

The evening carried on exactly as before.

Yet a small part of my attention remained fixed on that brief glimpse.

That old scar.

That instinctive movement to hide it.

And the realization that there was so much about this child nobody seemed to know.

Far more than I had initially thought.

A little while later, Kamla Kaki finally noticed me sitting on the staircase.

A look of pleasant surprise crossed her face.

"Meera ji?"

I stood.

Smiling.

"Good evening."

She walked closer, wiping her hands lightly on the edge of her dupatta.

"Dinner time is about to start. I didn't even see you arrive."

"That's because your army appears to keep you busy."

I glanced toward the children.

Kamla Kaki laughed.

A tired laugh.

But a genuine one.

"Army is exactly the right word."

For a few moments, we exchanged casual conversation.

Nothing serious.

Nothing important.

Yet while speaking, I found my gaze drifting once more toward Aira.

She was looking down again.

Fingers resting against the pendant.

Lost somewhere inside her own thoughts.

And for reasons I couldn't explain...

the image stayed with me.

Long after I looked away.

For a few moments, I continued speaking with Kamla Kaki.

At least physically.

Mentally, my attention kept wandering back toward the staircase.

Toward a quiet little girl who seemed determined to carry every burden alone.

An impossible task for anyone.

Let alone a child.

Eventually, Kamla Kaki followed my gaze.

The smile on her face softened immediately.

"Aira?" she asked gently.

There was no point pretending otherwise.

I nodded.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

The evening sounds filled the silence between us.

Children gathering for dinner.

Caretakers calling names.

The distant clatter of plates being arranged inside.

Then, after a moment, I found myself asking the question that had been sitting in my mind since I saw the scar.

"What happened to her arm?"

Kamla Kaki's expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The kind of change that appeared when someone was confronted with a question they couldn't fully answer.

She looked toward Aira.

Then back at me.

And slowly shook her head.

"We don't know."

I blinked.

"You don't know?"

"No."

Her voice remained calm.

Matter-of-fact.

Without embellishment.

"We don't know where she came from."

The answer caught me off guard.

I knew very little about Aira's past.

But somehow, hearing those words aloud felt different.

More real.

Kamla Kaki folded her arms loosely.

Her gaze remained on the children.

"When she was brought here, she was very -."

A pause.

"Scared."

Another pause.

"Silent."

The last word lingered.

Because yes.

That sounded exactly right.

I glanced back toward Aira.

She hadn't changed position.

Still sitting quietly.

Still touching the pendant occasionally.

Still seeming older than eleven in some ways.

And younger in others.

Kamla Kaki sighed softly.

"We tried asking questions when she first arrived."

Something in her tone made me pay closer attention.

"But every time the conversation moved toward her past..."

She stopped.

Choosing her words carefully.

"Aira would panic."

The image formed instantly.

A frightened child.

Terrified of memories she couldn't explain.

My chest tightened.

Kamla Kaki continued quietly.

"Not stubbornness."

"Not refusal."

"Fear."

The simple honesty in her voice somehow made it worse.

"We eventually stopped asking."

I looked at her.

"And she never told anyone?"

Kamla Kaki shook her head again.

"No."

Her gaze softened.

"When she's ready, she'll tell us."

A small smile appeared.

"If she ever wants to."

The answer made sense.

It was probably the right approach.

Yet I couldn't stop thinking about how lonely that must have been.

To carry years of memories alone.

Without sharing them.

Without speaking about them.

Without trusting anyone enough to let them close.

My eyes drifted back toward Aira once more.

And unexpectedly...

I noticed her looking at us.

Not directly.

Not obviously.

But watching.

Quietly.

Carefully.

As though trying to determine whether she should be worried about the conversation.

The moment our eyes met, she looked away.

Immediately.

The movement was so quick it was almost guilty.

I nearly smiled.

"Angel," I thought.

"What exactly happened to you?"

The question remained inside my head.

Where it belonged.

Because whatever answer existed...

she wasn't ready to give it.

And I wasn't ready to demand it.

Some stories had to be offered.

Not taken.

A caretaker appeared at the entrance and called out that dinner was ready.

Instant chaos followed.

Children who had been moving at normal speed suddenly discovered the ability to teleport.

Shona was among the first.

One second she was beside Aira.

The next she was halfway across the courtyard.

Aira remained exactly where she was.

Which honestly felt more predictable.

Shona stopped.

Turned around.

Realized Aira wasn't following.

Then marched all the way back with the determination of someone handling a very important responsibility.

Even from where I stood, I could see her talking.

Probably insisting.

Possibly arguing.

Definitely refusing to leave without her.

Aira listened.

For several seconds.

Then finally stood.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

But she stood.

Victory.

Shona looked immensely satisfied with herself.

I laughed before I could stop it.

And surprisingly...

Aira noticed.

For the briefest moment, she glanced toward me.

Then lowered her gaze again.

But this time...

there was something different about the expression.

Something softer.

Less guarded.

Not trust.

Not yet.

But perhaps...

the very first step toward it.

And somehow, watching her disappear into the building alongside Shona...

felt like enough for one evening.

For a few seconds, I remained where I was.

Watching the doorway through which the two girls had disappeared.

The courtyard felt quieter now.

Emptier.

As though the day itself was slowly folding to a close.

Around me, caretakers were heading inside as well.

The last of the outdoor games had ended.

The evening sky deepened overhead, painted in shades of fading gold and soft blue.

Eventually, I looked away from the entrance.

Because standing outside and staring at a dining hall door would probably be considered unusual behavior.

Even for me.

Kamla Kaki was still beside me.

A faint smile lingered on her face.

The kind adults wore when watching children be children.

No matter how difficult those children sometimes made their lives.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she glanced toward the building.

"They'll be upset if the food gets cold."

I laughed softly.

"A valid concern."

"The most serious concern."

Her expression remained completely straight.

Which somehow made it funnier.

For a few seconds, I found myself appreciating how normal the conversation felt.

No heavy topics.

No sadness.

Just an ordinary evening.

Something Aira probably deserved more of.

Eventually, I adjusted the strap of my bag.

"I should leave."

Kamla Kaki nodded.

Then smiled.

"You're welcome to visit whenever you like."

The words were simple.

Casual.

Yet something about them warmed me unexpectedly.

Because despite everything...

despite having known these people for such a short time...

coming here no longer felt unfamiliar.

"I might take you up on that."

The answer slipped out honestly.

More honestly than I had intended.

Kamla Kaki's smile widened slightly.

As though she had expected exactly that response.

We exchanged a few final words before I turned toward the gate.

The walk back to my car was slow.

Unhurried.

The orphanage behind me glowed with warm lights now.

Windows illuminated against the approaching night.

Soft voices drifted through the evening air.

Laughter too.

Children laughing.

The sound followed me all the way to the parking area.

I unlocked the car.

Opened the door.

Then paused.

My gaze drifted back one final time.

Toward the building.

Toward the lit windows.

Toward the place where a quiet little girl with dark eyes was probably sitting through dinner while pretending she wasn't sad.

A strange feeling settled in my chest.

Not worry.

Not exactly.

Something gentler.

Something quieter.

The sort of feeling that appeared when someone mattered before you had consciously decided they did.

The realization should have alarmed me.

Instead...

it simply made me exhale slowly.

Then shake my head at myself.

This had started with a child sitting beneath a neem tree.

One afternoon.

One chance meeting.

And somehow...

it had become the part of my day I kept returning to.

I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

The headlights cut through the growing darkness.

The gates slowly disappeared behind me as I pulled back onto the road.

Jaipur stretched ahead.

Busy.

Bright.

Alive.

Yet throughout the drive home...

my thoughts kept wandering back to the same place.

A staircase.

A little girl who looked surprised when someone came back.

And somewhere between one traffic signal and the next...

I found myself making a quiet promise.

Not aloud.

Not even consciously.

Just something that settled deep inside me.

If life allowed it...

I would come back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until one day...

seeing me wasn't a surprise anymore.

The thought stayed with me for the rest of the drive.

Quiet.

Persistent.

Like something that had settled into the corners of my mind and refused to leave.

The city lights blurred past outside the window.

Traffic signals.

Busy roads.

Evening crowds.

I noticed all of it.

And somehow... none of it held my attention for very long.

By the time I reached my apartment building, the sky above Jaipur had darkened completely.

The familiar security cabin stood near the entrance.

Guard Uncle looked up from his chair as my car approached.

The moment he recognized me, his face brightened.

"Late today, beta?"

I smiled while stepping out of the car.

"A little."

"Too much work?"

"Something like that."

He nodded knowingly, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did.

After exchanging a few more words, I headed inside.

The elevator carried me upward.

Floor after floor.

Until finally the doors opened.

The corridor was quiet.

Peaceful.

I unlocked my flat and stepped inside.

Silence greeted me immediately.

Not uncomfortable silence.

Just the ordinary kind.

The kind that naturally existed when nobody else was home.

My parents were still travelling.

Which meant the flat belonged entirely to me for now.

I placed my bag on the table.

Changed into something more comfortable.

Finished the few remaining things I needed to do.

And eventually found myself standing beside the window in my room.

Looking out at the city.

Jaipur stretched endlessly beneath the night sky.

Thousands of lights.

Thousands of people.

Thousands of stories unfolding all at once.

And somewhere out there...

a small orphanage.

A quiet little girl.

And a sadness that seemed much too heavy for someone her age.

I rested my arms against the window frame.

Lost in thought.

Then, unexpectedly...

I smiled.

Because for the first time since yesterday...

when I thought of Aira...

the memory wasn't only sadness anymore.

I remembered her confusion when I called her Angel.

The way she had immediately looked behind herself.

As if she genuinely believed I must be talking to someone else.

The brief look of embarrassment that had followed.

The tiny frown.

The silent confusion.

The way she had seemed completely unconvinced by my explanation.

A soft laugh escaped me.

The sound felt strangely loud in the quiet room.

"Angel."

I shook my head lightly.

Even now, I wasn't entirely sure why the nickname felt so natural.

It simply did.

Outside, the city continued glowing beneath the darkness.

Inside, my thoughts wandered back to a staircase.

A confused expression.

Dark eyes that had looked a little less lonely than they had the day before.

Small things.

Insignificant things.

Yet somehow...

they stayed.

And as I finally moved away from the window and prepared to sleep...

one last thought settled quietly in my mind.

Aira had smiled today.

Not fully.

Not openly.

But enough.

Enough to remind me that beneath all the grief...

she was still a child.

And for some reason...

that thought made me happier than it probably should have.

Unaware that the coming days were going to change far more than either of us could possibly imagine.

The days that followed passed quietly.

Not happily.

Not sadly.

Just... quietly.

Life at Pranay Ashray continued the way it always did.

Children attended school.

Caretakers managed routines.

Meals were served.

Homework was completed.

Evenings arrived.

Mornings returned.

Everything moved forward.

Whether someone was ready for it or not.

And Aira tried.

She really did.

She attended classes.

Completed her assignments.

Helped the younger children whenever she could.

She even sat beside Shona during meals when their schedules allowed it.

From the outside, she looked calmer than she had a week ago.

But appearances were often misleading.

Because moving forward and healing were not always the same thing.

Some days were easier.

Some weren't.

And certain moments still caught her unprepared.

Like hearing someone laugh the same way Riya used to.

Or seeing an empty chair.

Or finding herself turning to say something before remembering there was nobody there to listen.

Those moments never lasted long.

But they hurt.

Every single time.

One afternoon at school, it happened again.

Aira had been sitting quietly near the classroom window while the teacher explained something at the front.

Her notebook was open.

Her pencil rested between her fingers.

The lesson continued normally.

Then someone in the corridor called out a name.

Not Riya.

Just a similar name.

Close enough.

For a second, her heart forgot the difference.

Her head lifted immediately.

Hope.

Instinctive.

Unthinking.

And then reality followed.

The feeling disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.

But not completely.

Aira looked back down at her notebook.

The words on the page suddenly seemed blurry.

Her fingers tightened around the pencil.

Too tight.

A familiar pressure began forming inside her chest.

Small.

Uncomfortable.

Dangerous.

The kind she recognized immediately.

No.

Not now.

She lowered her head slightly.

Taking slow breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

Her hand slipped beneath the desk and found the pendant resting against her chest.

The touch grounded her.

Just a little.

Enough.

The pressure didn't vanish.

But it stopped growing.

After several moments, her breathing steadied again.

The shaking in her fingers faded.

The classroom remained exactly the same.

Nobody had noticed.

Nobody knew.

And Aira preferred it that way.

So she picked up her pencil again.

Opened her notebook.

And continued writing.

As though nothing had happened at all.

The truth, however...

was that something had happened.

Aira simply wasn't the type of person who let others see it.

So the day continued.

Class ended.

Another began.

Teachers explained lessons.

Students answered questions.

The hours moved forward with the steady predictability of an ordinary school day.

By the time the final bell rang, the uncomfortable feeling from earlier had mostly faded.

Mostly.

A faint ache remained somewhere inside her chest.

Not sharp enough to hurt.

Not small enough to ignore.

She carried it with her anyway.

Much like she carried everything else.

The journey back to Pranay Ashray was quiet.

Children talked among themselves.

Some complained about homework.

Others argued about games they intended to play later.

Life moving forward.

Always moving forward.

Eventually, the orphanage gates came into view.

The children scattered almost immediately after arriving.

Some headed toward the playground.

Others ran inside.

A few disappeared in search of snacks.

Normal.

Everything felt normal.

At least on the surface.

The afternoon drifted into evening.

Homework was completed.

Chores were finished.

Dinner preparations began.

And somewhere between all of that...

another routine had quietly started forming.

One that nobody had planned.

One that nobody had discussed.

Yet somehow everyone had noticed.

Every evening, around the same time...

Shona would find a reason to wander near the front gate.

Sometimes she claimed she wanted fresh air.

Sometimes she insisted she was watching birds.

Once she spent nearly ten minutes pretending to be fascinated by a leaf.

Aira had seen through every excuse.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop her from accompanying her anyway.

Which was how the two of them found themselves sitting on the front staircase again.

The same staircase where they had sat several times during the past few days.

Shona rested her chin on her hands.

Staring toward the road.

Aira sat beside her quietly.

Neither of them said anything.

For a while.

Then Shona glanced sideways.

"Aru didi."

Aira looked at her.

Shona hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then grinned.

"Do you think she'll come today?"

Aira immediately looked away.

Which, in Shona's opinion, was answer enough.

The younger girl's grin widened.

Aira responded by lightly nudging her shoulder.

A silent warning.

Behave.

Shona looked entirely unrepentant.

In fact, she seemed delighted.

The conversation ended there.

Mostly because Aira refused to participate.

But the smile threatening to appear on Shona's face never disappeared.

Minutes passed.

Children played in the courtyard.

Caretakers moved in and out of the building.

The evening sun slowly descended toward the horizon.

And then—

A familiar car turned onto the road.

Shona sat upright instantly.

"Aru didi!"

Aira's head lifted before she could stop herself.

The realization hit both of them at exactly the same time.

The car.

The timing.

The feeling of sudden anticipation.

Neither girl said anything.

But somehow...

both were already looking toward the gate.

And for reasons neither of them were quite ready to admit...

their evening suddenly felt a little brighter.

The car slowed as it approached the entrance.

Not quickly.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The familiar vehicle rolled to a stop near the gate.

And almost immediately, Shona's face lit up.

"There she is!"

The excitement in her voice was impossible to miss.

Aira immediately looked away.

Which would have been a much more convincing reaction if she hadn't been staring at the road two seconds earlier.

Shona noticed.

Of course she noticed.

But fortunately for Aira, the younger girl was too distracted to tease her properly.

The driver's door opened.

And a moment later, Meera stepped out.

Simple clothes.

No office files.

No rushed phone calls.

No obvious reason to be here except the one she kept refusing to admit to herself.

She closed the car door and looked toward the building.

Then toward the courtyard.

And finally—

toward the staircase.

Her eyes found them almost immediately.

For a brief second, surprise flickered across her face.

Then a smile followed.

Small.

Warm.

Genuine.

The kind that reached her eyes.

"Angel."

The word carried easily across the short distance.

Aira froze.

Not because the nickname was unfamiliar anymore.

Because somehow...

it wasn't.

That realization felt strange.

A week ago she would have looked around in confusion.

Now she simply knew.

Meera was talking to her.

The thought should have embarrassed her.

Instead, it made something flutter unexpectedly inside her chest.

A feeling she didn't quite know what to do with.

Beside her, Shona jumped off the staircase immediately.

"Didi!"

She practically ran across the courtyard.

Meera laughed softly as the little girl reached her.

"Hello, Shona."

The younger child beamed.

As though she'd just been personally congratulated by a celebrity.

Aira remained where she was.

Watching.

The way she always did.

Not joining.

Not approaching.

Just observing from a safe distance.

A habit that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

Because every time Meera visited...

she stayed.

Not for a minute.

Not for a quick greeting.

She stayed.

She talked.

She listened.

She remembered things.

And somehow that made it harder to keep believing she would simply disappear one day.

The thought was dangerous.

Aira knew that.

Because expectations hurt.

Hope hurt.

Missing people hurt.

She knew all of that better than most.

Yet despite herself...

she found her gaze drifting toward Meera again.

The woman was listening patiently to whatever Shona was saying.

Nodding occasionally.

Laughing once.

Entirely focused.

As though the conversation actually mattered.

The sight stirred a memory.

Riya.

For a second, the familiar ache returned.

Gentle this time.

Not overwhelming.

Just there.

A quiet reminder of someone who was missing.

Aira's fingers instinctively found the pendant beneath her sleeve.

Holding it lightly.

Breathing slowly.

The sadness lingered.

But something else existed beside it now.

Something new.

Something unfamiliar.

And perhaps that was why, when Meera finally glanced toward the staircase again and lifted a questioning eyebrow—

a silent invitation—

Aira didn't immediately look away.

She hesitated.

Only briefly.

Then, very slowly...

raised her hand.

A tiny wave.

Barely visible.

The smallest wave imaginable.

Yet somehow it made Meera's smile widen.

And for reasons Aira couldn't explain...

that made her own chest feel unexpectedly warm.

A strange feeling.

A fragile one.

But real.

And for the first time since Riya had left...

the emptiness didn't feel quite as endless as it had before.

Meera noticed it immediately.

Not the wave.

Not this time.

The change.

Tiny.

Almost impossible to see unless someone was paying attention.

But it was there.

A week ago, Aira would have lowered her eyes the moment their gazes met.

She would have retreated behind silence.

Behind distance.

Behind that invisible wall she seemed to carry everywhere.

Now...

the wall was still there.

But there was a small crack in it.

A very small one.

And somehow, that felt important.

Meera found herself smiling again before she could stop it.

"Well," she said lightly, looking between the two girls, "I suppose that's progress."

Shona looked delighted.

Aira looked confused.

Neither of them knew exactly what she meant.

Which was probably for the best.

The three of them eventually moved toward the courtyard.

Children were still playing nearby.

A football rolled across the ground.

Someone shouted.

Someone else complained about cheating.

The usual chaos of childhood unfolded around them.

For once, Aira didn't feel completely separated from it.

She sat on a low cement ledge beneath a tree while Shona did most of the talking.

Which, admittedly, was what Shona usually did anyway.

Meera listened patiently.

Responded when necessary.

And gradually found herself learning more about both girls than she had during all her previous visits combined.

Mostly because Shona volunteered information with remarkable enthusiasm.

"Aru didi likes drawing."

"Aru didi doesn't like karela."

"Aru didi always gives me the bigger ladoo when we get sweets."

Aira immediately nudged her arm.

A silent protest.

Shona ignored it.

Completely.

Meera's laughter escaped before she could stop it.

The sound made Aira glance up briefly.

Then down again.

But not before noticing something.

The laughter wasn't forced.

Wasn't polite.

Wasn't the kind adults used when speaking to children.

It was real.

The realization settled quietly somewhere inside her.

Nearby, Shona suddenly straightened.

"Wait!"

Then she turned toward Meera.

"Aru didi can teach you signs!"

Aira froze.

Immediately.

Absolutely not.

The horrified expression that crossed her face was so obvious that even Meera nearly laughed.

Shona, meanwhile, remained entirely committed to her idea.

"It'll be fun!"

Aira shook her head at once.

Firmly.

Decisively.

No.

Shona looked offended.

"Aru didi."

Another head shake.

Even stronger this time.

"No."

The sign was clear enough that even Meera recognized it.

Shona crossed her arms dramatically.

"Aru didi is being mean."

Aira stared at her.

The betrayal.

The absolute betrayal.

Meera finally laughed.

A proper laugh this time.

And something extraordinary happened.

For half a second...

Aira forgot to be sad.

The moment vanished quickly.

But it happened.

And that alone felt like a victory.

Eventually, after much negotiation conducted entirely by Shona, Aira reluctantly agreed to teach exactly one sign.

One.

No more.

Shona looked very pleased with herself.

Meera sat down beside them.

"Alright," she said. "One sign."

Aira hesitated.

Then slowly lifted her hands.

The movement was careful.

Slightly awkward.

Not because she didn't know the sign.

Because someone was watching.

Waiting.

Learning.

For a moment, she remembered another person sitting beside her a year ago.

Patiently teaching.

Patiently learning.

Riya.

The memory arrived unexpectedly.

And for a second, her hands stilled.

Meera noticed immediately.

The brief pause.

The flicker of sadness.

The way her eyes seemed to drift somewhere else.

But before she could ask anything, Shona spoke softly.

"Riya didi taught her."

The courtyard suddenly felt quieter.

Not silent.

Just... softer.

Aira lowered her gaze.

Her fingers tightened slightly.

Shona's voice became gentler.

"She taught Aru didi most of the signs."

Neither girl spoke after that.

One because she couldn't.

The other because she suddenly didn't know what to say.

For a few moments, only the sounds of the orphanage remained.

Children playing.

Birds settling into trees.

Evening drifting steadily toward night.

Then Meera spoke.

Very carefully.

"Then I think she must have been a very good teacher."

The words were simple.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing overwhelming.

Yet something about them eased the tension immediately.

Shona smiled.

A small one.

Aira didn't look up.

But the tightness in her shoulders lessened.

Just a little.

And somehow...

that felt like enough.

Enough for today.

Enough for this evening.

Enough to make Meera realize that healing wasn't always loud.

Sometimes it was just this.

A child sitting quietly beneath the evening sky.

Missing someone.

Remembering someone.

And still finding the courage to keep going anyway.

The evening stretched on quietly after that.

No one tried to force conversation.

No one tried to fill every silence.

And somehow...

that made everything easier.

The sky above Jaipur had begun turning violet.

The courtyard slowly emptied as children were called inside.

One by one.

Little by little.

Until eventually Shona became distracted by a disagreement involving several younger children and a game whose rules appeared to change every thirty seconds.

Naturally, she ran off to solve it.

Leaving Aira and Meera alone.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

The silence felt different now.

Not uncomfortable.

Just quiet.

Aira sat with her hands resting in her lap.

Her gaze fixed somewhere ahead.

Meera leaned back slightly against the low wall.

Watching the evening settle around them.

Then suddenly she noticed movement from the corner of her eye.

Aira had lifted one hand.

A small gesture.

Tentative.

Questioning.

Meera frowned slightly.

Not understanding.

Aira repeated it.

Once.

Then again.

Patiently.

Waiting.

Realization slowly appeared.

"Me?"

Aira nodded.

Meera pointed toward herself.

"You want to ask me something?"

Another nod.

A little faster this time.

The corner of Meera's mouth twitched.

Despite herself.

"Alright."

A pause.

"What is it?"

Aira hesitated.

Then pointed toward Meera.

Then toward herself.

Then tilted her head slightly.

The meaning took a second.

Then another.

And suddenly Meera understood.

Angel.

The nickname.

Aira wanted to know why.

For a moment, Meera simply looked at her.

Then laughed softly.

Not because the question was funny.

Because somehow she had expected it eventually.

"You've been wondering about that?"

Aira immediately looked away.

Which was answer enough.

The smile on Meera's face softened.

She looked toward the courtyard.

Thinking back.

Back to the first day.

Back to the road.

Back to frightened eyes and trembling hands.

Then she said quietly,

"The truth?"

Aira looked at her again.

Meera nodded.

"The truth is... I don't completely know."

Aira blinked.

Clearly not expecting that answer.

Meera laughed softly.

"I mean it."

She folded her arms loosely.

"The first time I saw you, you were sitting in the middle of a road."

Aira's ears immediately turned pink.

Meera noticed.

And chose not to mention it.

"You looked terrified."

Her voice grew gentler.

"And somehow..."

She paused.

Searching for the right words.

"...you didn't look real."

Aira stared.

Confused.

Meera smiled.

"Not because you were a ghost."

That earned the tiniest reaction.

Almost.

Almost a smile.

Almost.

"You just..."

She shook her head slightly.

"I don't know how to explain it."

The memory returned clearly.

Dark hair.

Tear-filled eyes.

A child clutching a packet of bangles as if it contained her entire world.

"You looked like a child who belonged somewhere softer than that road."

The words came quietly.

Naturally.

"As if somebody had accidentally dropped an angel in the middle of traffic."

Silence followed.

Aira forgot to look away.

For several seconds, she simply stared.

Meera continued before she could overthink it.

"And after that..."

A small shrug.

"The nickname just stayed."

Aira lowered her gaze.

The warmth in her chest returned unexpectedly.

Strange.

Unfamiliar.

Difficult to understand.

Beside her, Meera smiled.

"And honestly?"

Aira looked up again.

"I think it suits you."

The words were simple.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing overwhelming.

Yet somehow they settled somewhere deep inside her.

In a place that had spent a very long time feeling empty.

And for the first time in days...

a tiny smile appeared.

Small.

Brief.

Fragile.

But real.

And Meera found herself smiling too.

Because somehow... seeing that smile felt like enough for one evening. 

For a little while longer, neither of them spoke.

There was no need to.

The evening itself seemed content to fill the silence.

Children's voices drifted through the courtyard.

A caretaker called someone inside.

A door opened.

Another closed.

Life continued around them in small, ordinary ways.

And somehow...

that made the moment feel even more peaceful.

Aira sat quietly beside her.

The tiny smile had disappeared almost immediately.

As if she had remembered she wasn't supposed to do that.

But the memory of it remained.

At least for Meera.

A surprisingly stubborn memory.

One she suspected would stay with her for quite some time.

Eventually, the sky darkened further.

The last traces of orange faded beyond the rooftops.

Lights began appearing throughout the orphanage grounds.

One by one.

Soft pools of yellow against the growing night.

A few younger children started heading inside for dinner.

Others followed soon after.

The courtyard gradually became less crowded.

Meera glanced at the time.

Later than she'd realized.

She should probably leave.

The thought arrived logically.

Reasonably.

Yet for some reason, she didn't stand immediately.

Instead, her gaze drifted toward Aira again.

The little girl was watching the courtyard.

Quiet as ever.

Thoughtful as ever.

But different.

Only slightly.

The sadness was still there.

Meera could see that.

It hadn't disappeared.

Wouldn't disappear that quickly.

Grief didn't work that way.

But it wasn't the only thing there anymore.

And that felt important.

Important enough to make something warm settle quietly in her chest.

Finally, she pushed herself to her feet.

"Alright, Angel."

Aira looked up.

"I'm going before Kamla Kaki decides I've unofficially joined the orphanage staff."

A brief pause.

Then, unexpectedly—

Aira's eyes widened slightly.

The reaction was small.

Tiny, really.

But Meera caught it.

And suddenly understood.

The child had expected her to leave.

Of course she had.

That wasn't surprising.

The surprising part was something else.

Aira looked disappointed.

Only for a second.

Only a fraction.

Yet it was there.

Gone almost immediately.

But there.

The realization made Meera's heart do something strange.

Something suspiciously soft.

She chose not to comment on it.

Mostly because she suspected Aira would immediately vanish into the nearest wall if she did.

Instead, she smiled.

"I'll come again."

The words slipped out naturally.

Simple.

Casual.

A promise disguised as a sentence.

Aira froze.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Meera pretended not to notice.

Some things didn't need attention.

Some things just needed time.

Nearby, Shona finally returned from whatever serious legal dispute she had been settling among the younger children.

"Aru didi!"

Then she spotted Meera standing.

"You're leaving?"

The disappointment in her voice was considerably less subtle.

Meera laughed.

"Unfortunately."

Shona looked personally betrayed.

Which only made the situation more amusing.

After another few minutes, goodbyes were exchanged.

The children headed inside.

The courtyard grew quieter.

And eventually, Meera made her way toward the gate.

Halfway there, she glanced back.

Almost without thinking.

The staircase was empty now.

The courtyard nearly deserted.

But near the entrance...

Aira was still standing there.

Watching.

The moment their eyes met, Aira immediately looked away.

Far too quickly.

Meera bit back a smile.

Then shook her head lightly and continued walking.

By the time she reached her car, she found herself feeling oddly content.

A feeling she hadn't expected when she'd left the office earlier.

The drive home felt shorter.

The traffic seemed less annoying.

Even the long day sitting on her shoulders felt lighter somehow.

And when she finally reached her apartment later that night, one thought kept returning.

Not board meetings.

Not schedules.

Not reports.

A tiny smile.

Brief enough that most people would have missed it.

But she hadn't.

And strangely... she didn't think she would forget it anytime soon.

That night, Meera fell asleep with the memory of a tiny smile she had waited an entire evening to see.

Miles away, inside Pranay Ashray...

Aira slept with her pendant curled tightly in her hand.

For the first time in days... the sadness felt a little lighter.

Just a little.

Neither of them knew it.

Neither of them could have known.

But sometimes...

the most important people enter our lives quietly.

Without warnings.

Without explanations.

Without asking permission.

And by the time we realize what they've become...

it's already too late to imagine life without them.

────୨ৎ────

🌷 End of Chapter 🌷

A few questions for my lovely Tulips:

🤍 What was your favorite moment in this chapter?

🤍 Did you like Meera and Aira's first proper conversation when they were alone?

🤍 What do you think about the nickname "Angel"?

🤍 Do you think Aira is slowly starting to trust Meera?

🤍 And most importantly... what do you think is going to happen next? 👀🌷

Also, a tiny request...

You all are amazing when it comes to voting, and I genuinely appreciate every single vote. 🤍

But the comment section...

Bhai.

At this point, it's so quiet that I'm starting to think even my notification bell has forgotten how to ring. 😭🔔

Please leave even one small comment.

A single emoji. 

One word.

Anything.

I genuinely want to know whether you're enjoying the story or not. Your comments make my day and help me understand what you're thinking while reading. 🤍🫂

Take care, stay happy, and loveeeeeeeee youuuuuuuuuuu all bahuttttttttttt saara! 🤍🌸🫂

Byeeeeeee! 🤍✨

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧🩷˚.🎀༘⋆

RADHE KRISHNA🌷**