The monsoon hadn't stopped, but today, it felt softer — like the sky itself had taken a deep breath and decided to smile.
Morning light tiptoed into the homes of Nandanpur, flickering across tiled roofs and puddle-speckled courtyards. Birds chirped between droplets. For once, the rhythm of rain didn't drown out laughter.
At Ishanvi's home, the smell of toasting parathas filled the small kitchen.
"Is there gud in these?" Vivaan asked, peeking over the counter.
"Only if you don't annoy me today," Ishanvi replied, ruffling his wet hair with her towel.
Across the lane, Abhay tugged on a half-dry uniform shirt. Vikram had already left for Devgarh, and Neha was on a call with the clinic.
"You're smiling a lot today," Aariv teased as they packed their tiffins.
"I just feel... good," Abhay replied, surprising even himself.
He didn't say it, but he was thinking about her. About Ishanvi's braid swinging over her shoulder, about her determined voice during the quiz, and the way her eyes lit up when her siblings smiled.
The eight of them met at the bend near the Sudarshini River, as usual. The path was muddy, the air cool. Vivaan jumped over puddles like they were lava. Vaidehi held Meera's hand and pointed out cloud shapes.
"Look, that one's like a cat riding a scooter!"
"No," Aariv said, "It's a confused goat holding an umbrella."
Even Ishanvi laughed.
Abhay had been waiting by the edge of the path. When she walked up, he matched her step.
"You look... good today," he said, trying to sound casual.
"I'm wearing the same uniform I always do," she replied, raising an eyebrow.
"I know, I just meant… y-you look g-glow—uh—glowing," he stumbled, eyes fixed ahead.
There was a pause.
Then came the explosion.
"Ooooh!" Raghav grinned.
"Glowing!" Vivaan sang.
"Firefly's on fire!" Aariv added.
Even the usually composed Vaidehi smirked.
Ishanvi narrowed her eyes at them, cheeks pink, but didn't say a word. Abhay looked like he wanted to melt into the road.
"Quiet," she said, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. She was smiling.
At school, the air was crisp and buzzing with low-key excitement. A weekly open-mic session was happening in the assembly hall that afternoon — poetry, stories, songs — and a few of the village kids were daring to sign up for the first time.
Raghav was reciting a self-written rap.
Vaidehi had drawn a set of social message posters.
Even Aariv had sneakily signed Vivaan up to sing a silly song about frogs.
During recess, Ishanvi and Abhay sat under the gulmohar tree.
"Thanks for the jaggery roti yesterday," he said, voice low.
"You needed it more than I did."
"I didn't. But I liked that you thought I did."
They sat in silence for a moment. Rainwater dripped steadily from a leaf overhead.
"You ever wonder," Abhay said, "why we're like this? You and I?"
Ishanvi looked at him, puzzled. "Like what?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, "Like we see things differently. Feel things... deeper. It's like there's something in us that's—"
"Waiting," she finished for him.
They didn't say anything else. But a breeze passed between them, quiet and knowing.
Later, during the open-mic, Raghav's rap about "Villages Being Cool Too" got cheers. Vaidehi's posters were pinned near the entrance with applause from two teachers. Vivaan's frog song was a disaster in melody but a win in laughter.
When Abhay was accidentally called to stage by mistake — the teacher misread the list — he panicked.
"I—I d-don't have anyth-thing," he stammered.
Ishanvi, sitting in the crowd, raised a hand. "He'll recite a poem. I've heard him. It's good."
Abhay shot her a death glare. She just smiled.
And somehow, he walked up.
It was short. A piece he wrote last winter:
"Some storms don't roar.
Some flames don't burn.
Some hearts don't shout.
They just learn."
The room was quiet when he finished.
And then came the applause.
"Did you write that?" Meera asked, wide-eyed.
"No," Aariv smirked. "The wind wrote it for him. He just borrowed it."
That evening, as they rode home, the skies cleared further. The clouds broke just enough to let soft golden light flood the wet roads.
"Still glowing, Firefly," Abhay said softly, just for her.
"And you're still rippling," she replied.
Behind them, the others were singing made-up songs and laughing too loudly.
But for a moment, it didn't matter.
They weren't thinking about hunger or taunts or secrets they hadn't yet uncovered.
Just sunshine.
Just each other.
Just enough.