The rising sun painted the sky in soft hues of orange, pink, and lavender—like delicate strokes of a master artist upon the canvas of dawn. Golden fingers of sunlight crept through the tall, narrow windowpanes, casting intricate patterns upon the polished marble floors of the small cottage nestled on the outskirts of the city. It was 4:00 AM, the hour when the world still held its breath, teetering between the remnants of night and the promise of morning.
TRINGGGG—TRINGGGG—TRINGGGG!
"Ahhh… again?! This alarm! Stop it already!" I groaned, pulling the heavy pillow over my ears. My hand stretched blindly across the bedside table and finally found the alarm clock's off button. "There. Peace at last."
The room returned to silence, save for the soft chirping of birds outside. My eyelids fluttered shut again, giving in to the sweet temptation of sleep, and before I knew it, I was dreaming…
The sunlight in the dream was different—softer, warmer, more golden than reality. I stood by a tall window draped in sheer white curtains that danced lightly with the breeze. A faint aroma wafted in—freshly brewed coffee mingled with the floral scent of morning lilies. I turned around.
He was there again.
The mysterious figure who'd appeared in so many of my dreams lately. His smile was warm, his eyes sparkled like a constellation in the night sky, and his presence—ethereal.
"If the clouds cry," I whispered, watching the gentle rain through the window, "will the wind blow them dry?"
He chuckled softly, stepping closer. "And if the wind sighs, who will comfort it?"
I laughed. "Adult boys say the silliest things."
The room around us shimmered, changing shape and color like a watercolor bleeding on damp paper. We stood now at the edge of a waterfall. Butterflies fluttered around blooming flowers, birds chirped love songs, and the air smelled like rain-kissed roses.
"I want to hold onto your back and never let go," I murmured, stepping closer. "I want to feel your heartbeat against mine. I want to give you a rose, trace the edges of your lips with mine, rise on tiptoe, and—"
TRINGGGG—TRINGGGG!
I jolted awake.
The clock now read 6:00 AM.
I blinked against the soft light flooding into the room through my open window. Outside, the sky had turned a creamy golden color. The first rays of sunlight made everything look dipped in honey. Birds were chirping their good morning songs, and the world outside was slowly waking up.
Stretching, I got out of bed. My limbs felt heavy, my heart still tethered to the remnants of the dream.
"Another day," I murmured.
I walked over to my cupboard and pulled out my favorite towel—a soft, fluffy sky-blue one. I loved that color. It reminded me of freedom, of hope, of wide skies and endless possibilities.
After brushing my teeth and taking a long shower, I wrapped the towel around myself and stepped out into my room.
She was there.
Ammu.
Mrs. Amaya Singhania, the woman who'd raised me like her own ever since I had to leave my real home. She stood there, neatly arranging my school uniform on the bed, her eyes kind and patient.
"You forgot your comb again," she said softly.
I nodded sheepishly. "Sorry, Ammu."
She chuckled and came over, gently toweling my hair dry before combing it with practiced ease. Her hands were gentle, her touch full of care. She did the same for Alisha, her real daughter—my stepsister in this hidden life.
In this place, I wasn't Addyanshi anymore. I wasn't Adda. I had a new name.
Akio.
No one here knew who I truly was. Not my classmates, not my teachers, not even Alisha. Only Ammu and my younger brother Aryan knew. Even they called me Akio in public.
We lived in a modest but cozy home, just a few meters away from the school bus stop. Our morning routine had become a kind of ritual. Ammu made sure we were up, dressed, fed, and off to school on time. She was strict, protective—too protective. But we knew why.
As I stepped into the kitchen, the smell of fresh parathas and warm milk greeted me. Aryan was already seated at the table, pouring water into three glasses. Even at just 11, he insisted on serving me breakfast every morning.
"Senior sister, your seat is ready!" he announced with a playful grin.
"Hey, Bunny," I teased, ruffling his hair. "You're just a little mouse. Let me help you with that."
"I'm not a mouse! I'm a lion in disguise!" he replied with a dramatic growl.
We laughed.
Alisha joined us, and together we finished breakfast. Then, with bags slung over our shoulders, we stepped outside and made our way to the bus stop.
That short walk was our free time—our secret time. At home, we couldn't talk much. Ammu monitored everything. But on this path to school, we could share secrets, giggle about teachers, whisper about dreams, and complain about how strict Ammu was.
The school bus arrived right on time. We boarded it, each settling into our usual spots. Aryan found his place among his group, Alisha among hers.
I sat by the window with two of my closest friends—Abhilipsha Arora and Akanshya Chopra. My anchors. My laughter. My secret-keepers.
As the bus rumbled to life, a voice called from behind.
"Akio!"
I turned.
And for a brief moment, the past and present blurred.
Because that voice… that name… carried something familiar. Something from a life I no longer lived.
Something from a story I wasn't ready to tell.
To be continued...