📅 Mid-September – Devgarh & Nandanpur
Flickers at Dawn
The storm clouds refused to leave. Morning light broke weakly through curtains, painting Nandanpur in shades of grey. Ishanvi sat at her desk, scribbling biology notes, when her pen tip snapped.
"Ugh," she muttered, reaching for another.
Without warning, the broken nib rolled to the edge of the table—then stopped. Hung there, suspended, trembling in the air. Heat tingled in her fingertips. She snatched her hand back, and the nib clattered to the floor.
Her chest tightened. It's getting stronger.
From across the street, Abhay stood at the well, drawing water for his family. He dipped the bucket once, twice—and on the third pull, the rope snapped. The bucket plunged toward the depths.
But the water rose. Smoothly, impossibly, the bucket floated back to the surface, settling in his hands like nothing had happened.
Aariv ran up just in time to see it. He froze. "How—"
Abhay coughed, fumbling. "Luck. Just… luck." But even as he spoke, the water clung to his wrist like a silver bracelet before dripping away.
Schoolyard Whispers
By recess, the tension was thicker than the clouds. Simran stuck close to Meera and Vivaan, her sharp eyes darting between Ishanvi and Abhay.
She leaned close to Rehan, whispering, "I'm not crazy, right? You saw it too yesterday?"
Rehan frowned. "Yeah. The way they—" He stopped as Rehana tugged his sleeve, warning him to keep quiet.
But it was too late. The seed of suspicion had already taken root.
On the playground, Vivaan ran toward a puddle, laughing as usual. Ishanvi chased after him, worried he'd slip. Just as his foot hit the slick stone, she reached out. Heat pulsed from her palm, and the water hissed away, evaporating before his shoe could touch it.
Vivaan blinked, confused. "Huh? That puddle was just there—"
Simran's jaw dropped. She had seen it.
A Shared Confession
After classes, as the scooters lined up for the ride home, the drizzle began again. Abhay lingered near Ishanvi, their siblings busy arguing about who would ride with whom.
"You can't keep hiding it," Ishanvi whispered, adjusting her scarf.
His gaze flicked to the droplets curling around his knuckles. "Neither can you."
For a heartbeat, the world hushed—the storm, the chatter, the forest road ahead. It was just them. Fire and water, heat and ripple, bound by something bigger than themselves.
"I don't even understand what this is," she admitted softly.
Abhay's voice was steady, almost reverent. "Whatever it is… it's waking up."
Evening Restlessness
That night, both households tried to pretend nothing was wrong. The siblings bickered over homework, Sunita scolded Vrinda for losing her eraser again, Vikram lectured Aariv about responsibility.
But under the ordinary chaos, unease stirred.
Vaidehi scribbled in her diary: Ishanvi doesn't blink at storms anymore. Abhay… smiles at rain.
And Simran, lying awake in her small house near the school, whispered to herself: "They're not normal. And I think they don't even know how much they've changed."
Outside, the Sudarshini river swelled, its voice louder than before. The storm wasn't finished—it was only sharpening its teeth.