It was a sunny afternoon in Kolkata, and the city was alive with the colours and sounds of a children's cultural festival. Mukul Sharma, just four years old, held his small sketchbook tightly, scribbling the seven stars he always imagined above his head. His tiny hands moved quickly, his eyes sparkling with concentration.
Amid the laughter and music, he noticed a little girl sitting alone near a fountain. Her clothes were slightly torn; her cheeks wet with tears. She looked lost, and something in Mukul's heart tugged at him.
"Are you… okay?" he asked softly, kneeling beside her.
"I… I can't find my Amma and Dada," she sniffled.
Mukul nodded firmly. "Don't worry. I'll help you."
Her name was Aaradhya Sen, an India-Japan mix, also four years old. Gentle, thoughtful, and careful, she looked up at Mukul with wide, trusting eyes. Mukul noticed she carried a small, worn-out toy rabbit, hugging it tightly.
Together, they walked through the festival, Mukul pointing out landmarks. "See the stage over there? And the big red tent? Your Amma and Dada might be near those."
As they walked, Aaradhya glanced at the back of Mukul's neck and gasped softly. There, just above his collar, was a cluster of seven tiny stars.
"Your… your stars…" she whispered. "They're magical."
Mukul touched the mark instinctively. "They help me remember things," he said shyly.
Aaradhya's expression grew serious, almost as if she understood something beyond her years. "I think… you are special," she said. "And one day… I will find you again. I promise. I will be by your side."
Mukul blinked, a small smile forming. He didn't fully understand her words, but the warmth in her voice felt comforting.
They finally reached Aaradhya's parents, who were frantically searching. Aaradhya ran into their arms, her tears turning to smiles of relief. Mukul hung back, shyly waving as her parents thanked him.
But Aaradhya turned back once more. "Don't forget," she whispered, pressing her small hand gently on his neck over the stars. "I'll see you again. I promise."
Mukul felt a strange flutter in his chest. There was something in her eyes—a spark of destiny, a connection that seemed to transcend the present moment.
Even after she ran to her parents, Mukul continued to draw seven stars in his sketchbook, thinking of the little girl who had recognized him in a way no one else ever had. That brief encounter planted a seed—one that would grow into a bond that stretched across time and continents.
Little did they both know, this was not just a friendship. It was the first link in the constellation of Seven Stars, a connection that would guide and protect Mukul in the years to come.
The festival ended, the sun dipped lower in the sky, and the sounds of music and laughter faded. But for Mukul and Aaradhya, a quiet, unspoken promise lingered—a promise that destiny had already written, even if their young minds could not yet read it.
And in the quiet of his sketchbook, surrounded by colours, laughter, and the bustle of Kolkata, Mukul drew the seven stars once more, feeling, unknowingly, the pull of the first of many companions who would stand by him through the storms of life.