The corridor was quiet except for the distant echo of students in the playground. Khushi slowly sank on her knees in front of Kiaan so their eyes were level. Her dupatta slid forward, framing her face as the soft afternoon light brushed her features.
Her voice was gentle, almost trembling.
"Why did you lie for me, little one?"
Kiaan didn't look away. His eyes were steady, far wiser than a child's should be.
"Because you lied to help yourself," he said simply.
Then he added, softer, "and because you helped me first."
Khushi frowned slightly, confused.
"Helped you? When did I…?"
And then his next words unlocked the memory she had brushed aside as a strange dream.
"You saved me last night. Near the highway. A truck was coming. You pulled me back."
The sound of rushing wheels, her hand shooting out on instinct, the faint chiming of her locket — it all flashed before her mind like flickering frames. She stared at him, stunned.
Khushi whispered, hardly breathing, "I knew you felt familiar. So you were that boy…"
Kiaan nodded eagerly and his small smile held pure trust, warm like a candle in darkness.
"Yes. You saved me. So I saved you today."
Her throat tightened. Gratitude swelled inside her chest, raw and fragile. At the same time guilt stabbed her — he was just a child, and she had dragged him into her lie.
"I shouldn't have let you lie," she murmured, eyes glistening. "It still isn't right. What if we get into trouble?"
Kiaan puffed his cheeks like he'd heard adults do and repeated proudly,
"Dadi says a lie told for a good cause isn't such a bad thing."
He shrugged softly. "And I want to help you. You look like you needed it."
Something inside her cracked open.
Khushi leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. A soft, trembling hug — desperate, thankful, emotional. She felt his tiny hands clutch her kurta, trusting her without hesitation. The hug felt strangely familiar, like something her soul recognized but her mind couldn't place.
For Kiaan, the moment froze like magic.
He pressed his face against her shoulder, and for a heartbeat — just one brief flash — he felt his mother's warmth again. The way Kiara's embrace used to smell like peace and rain.
His breath hitched.
Khushi's eyes fluttered shut and suddenly a vague memory flickered behind her eyelids — blurred, like an old photograph.
A woman laughing, silver anklets chiming.
A baby floating in the air, giggling.
The woman reaching out with a startled smile.
"Come down, sweetheart. You will fall."
The image vanished before she could grasp it. She pulled back abruptly, eyes wide, heart racing.
Kiaan blinked up at her, unaware of the vision she just saw.
Khushi forced a shaky breath and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The world around them felt different now — as if something had shifted, something destined.
"Thank you, Kiaan," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.
"You don't know what this means to me."
He held her hand again like it was natural, like he had done it forever.
Maybe he had — in another life.
Far away from the school's walls and the delicate thread forming between Khushi and Kiaan, another path unfolded in a world darker and more ancient.
The forest of Kalindra stretched endlessly, dense with towering trees, roots like twisted serpents coiling across the ground. Mist crawled low along the mossy earth, and the air tasted of old magic — forgotten, dangerous.
Varun pushed aside a curtain of hanging vines and stepped forward with steady breath.
The Reeva compass in his hand pulsed with a faint violet glow, its needle spinning until it aligned sharply to the north.
The enchanted map rolled in his bag shimmered faintly, as if urging him.
His boots sank softly into wet leaves.
Dilruba…
Even her name echoed inside him like a prayer and a wound.
But love was never gentle for a hunter.
A sudden sound stirred the silence — like bone scraping over stone. Varun halted, fingers instantly tightening around his bow. His body went still, trained, alert.
From behind a dead banyan tree, three hags emerged.
Skin shriveled like dried parchment. Eyes white and milked with hunger. Their hair tangled with forest weed. They smelled of rot and forgotten graves.
One hissed, voice cracking like broken glass.
"You dare trespass on the Unholy Ground, Reeva hunter…"
Varun did not answer. Hunters never wasted words on demons.
He slid an arrow from his quiver, movements fluid, practiced. The silver-tipped shaft gleamed with moon-forged metal — death to tainted spirits.
The second hag cackled, saliva dripping down her chin.
"He seeks a fox witch."
"A foolish heart chases impossible love."
"A hunter tainted by longing," another croaked.
Their laughter rattled like bones thrown in an iron pot.
Varun's jaw tightened but he stayed expressionless.
"Move," he warned quietly, voice deep and controlled.
"Or fall."
The hags lunged first.
Their claws sliced through air, inches from his throat — but Varun rolled aside, instincts sharp as blade. The bowstring pulled back in a heartbeat, and the arrow flew.
One hag screamed — dissolved into ash mid-air.
The second leapt onto a branch, screeching curses, but Varun pivoted, fired again.
The arrow pierced her skull. She collapsed into smoke.
The third was faster — she shot toward him, fangs bared.
Varun ducked, grabbed another arrow, turned — too slow.
Her claw brushed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
Varun's eyes flared with Reeva fire.
With one smooth motion he plunged the silver arrow directly under her ribs.
She convulsed, shriek breaking through the forest like torn metal — then vanished to dust, scattering like dirty snow.
Silence returned.
Varun wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, breath steady.
No victory smile.
No relief.
Just determination tightening through every muscle.
He picked up the compass again.
The needle spun wildly, then pointed deeper into the shadows of the forest.
Varun whispered into the cold wind.
"Dilruba… I am coming."
---
To be continued…