July had arrived, and with it, the early morning hum of scooters and the fresh smell of rain-soaked earth.
The school had started extra classes — scholarship exam preparation — but with a catch: they began at six in the morning. That meant rising before dawn, racing the sun, and riding twenty kilometers to Devgarh each day.
The eight gathered in front of Ishanvi's house just before 5:30 AM. The four scooters were lined up, engines still silent in the cool dawn air.
"Are you sure you can wake up that early every day?" Vivaan yawned, rubbing his eyes.
Vaidehi grinned. "I'll just set three alarms. That's foolproof."
Abhay was checking his helmet, a quiet focus on his face. Ishanvi stood beside him, her fingers tracing a soft pattern on the scooter's handle.
"Ready firefly?" Abhay asked her softly.
She nodded, but her eyes flickered for a moment — a subtle shimmer, like the heat haze on a summer road.
"She met his eyes, breath visible in the morning chill. 'Okay,' Ishanvi said, voice steady. 'Let's make these mornings ours.'"
The ride was always the most peaceful part of the day.
The road stretched ahead, lined with tall trees dripping with leftover raindrops. Sometimes the mist was thick, curling low over the fields, softening the world into gentle shapes.
Abhay led, his scooter slicing through the fog.
Ishanvi followed closely, her gaze calm but alert.
Sometimes, as they passed the fields, a soft glow pulsed from her palms — just for a second, seen only by Abhay.
He had his own moments. When the rain lightly tapped on his jacket, he felt strangely untouched — like the drops simply slid off him, never truly soaking in.
Neither spoke about these moments. They were quiet signs — tiny hints of something deeper beneath the surface.
At school, the classrooms were still half-dark when they arrived. The teachers greeted them with tired smiles, but the energy was different — charged, hopeful.
During the breaks, Ishanvi and Abhay shared small jokes and helped each other with tricky problems, their bond growing quietly stronger.
Raghav and Vaidehi teased them gently, noticing how often they exchanged glances and smiles.
"Didi, Bhaiya, you two are on a secret mission or something?" Vaidehi whispered one day, grinning.
"Maybe we're just tired," Abhay said, shrugging.
But Ishanvi only smiled — like she knew something the world didn't.
Back on the road, after classes, the group raced home as the sun climbed higher, their scooters splashing through puddles and kicking up wet dust.
Despite the early mornings and long rides, the days felt lighter.
Because even if they were far from perfect, even if their families struggled, even if the world sometimes seemed heavy — they had this. This road, this ride, this small circle of friendship and hope.