The days were still hot and humid, but the monsoon clouds were no longer just visitors — they had settled over Nandanpur like a heavy blanket. The constant drizzle drummed on rooftops and puddled across paths, but inside the small homes of Ishanvi and Abhay, something had begun to shift.
For the first time in a long while, there was a hint of hope.
Rajesh , Ishanvi's father, managed to lease a small patch of land in the neighboring village where the flood hadn't damaged the soil. It wasn't much, but it meant planting again. Meanwhile, Sunita began stitching old sarees into carry-bags to sell in the local market — a quiet idea that Vaidehi suggested after school.
Across the dusty lane, Neha started getting more regular calls from the clinic, thanks to a sudden wave of fever cases in nearby hamlets. It meant longer hours, but also slightly better pay. Vikram , despite the distance, was offered a temporary position at Devgarh's coaching center for evening tuitions — something he hesitated about but eventually took, after encouragement from Abhay.
Even the children noticed it — a slightly heavier tiffin one day, a second roti tucked into cloth the next, a new bar of soap at the edge of the bucket. Small signs. But to them, it felt like celebration.
That morning, as the eight of them gathered for school, Ishanvi quietly handed her siblings a folded roti with jaggery. "Don't eat it all at once," she warned softly.
They didn't ask where it came from. But later, Raghav whispered to Abhay, "Didi skipped dinner last night again."
Abhay said nothing, but his jaw clenched.
At school, the corridors buzzed louder than usual. The monthly knowledge quiz was scheduled for the last two periods, and only one group from each class would represent. Abhay and Ishanvi had already been chosen from Class 12. Raghav and Vaidehi were selected too — a rare chance for village kids to show up the town's best.
"I don't care about winning," Raghav said, stretching his arms behind his head during break. "Just want to prove we deserve this desk as much as anyone."
"They'll still call us 'village bugs,'" Aariv said calmly, chewing the corner of his pencil.
"They can call us whatever they want," Ishanvi said, adjusting her braid. "We're not here for them."
As the quiz started, she could feel the room watching — some out of curiosity, others out of disbelief. She met Abhay's eyes across the classroom, and he gave her the smallest nod.
By the time it ended, their team was tied in the lead with the top group from Devgarh City School.
It wasn't a win. But it wasn't a loss either. And that alone made some of the teachers pause and whisper. One even clapped as the bell rang.
After school, while walking home
A streak of sunlight pierced through the clouds, scattering gold over the Sudarshini.
"The clouds are breaking," Vivaan grinned.
"That's just physics," Aariv muttered. But even he was smiling.
They stopped at the edge of the forest, under the tree where they always took a break. Meera took out a broken piece of chalk she'd pocketed and began drawing shapes on a rock.
Vaidehi watched quietly, her hands stained with ink from a pen she'd repaired herself. "One day," she whispered to herself, "I'll clean this village… with ideas."
Abhay looked over at Ishanvi, who was watching her siblings laugh and share stories. She looked tired, but in her eyes was something steadier than strength — a quiet fire.
"Hey," he said gently, "You're glowing again, Firefly."
She turned to him with a small smirk. "And you look calm, Ripple. What, the storm didn't shake you today?"
He laughed. "Not even a little."
They didn't need to say more. The breeze answered for them.
In the silence that followed, an old woman passed by the road, her walking stick tapping on the muddy trail. She looked at them once — especially at Ishanvi and Abhay — and murmured something in a voice too soft for the others to hear.
Abhay turned. "Did she say something?"
"She said," Ishanvi replied slowly, "'The river and fire never truly sleep. They wait.'"
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
Ishanvi looked ahead, eyes narrowed at the sky. "I don't know. But let's ignore it… for now."
The others were already calling them to hurry — it was getting late, and the storm might return.
But as they rode through the damp woods on their scooters, their bags half-dry and bellies half-full, they could feel it —
Something had changed.
Just a little.
But enough.