When Sister Vaalark and Sister Catherine were summoned to Mussoorie for a clergy conference by the head priest, the decision to bring Noor along was quickly agreed upon. It was framed as a spiritual pilgrimage, a chance for a girl who had known nothing beyond the church walls to experience a change of air. Only Catherine knew her real intent. For months, she had watched Noor bloom—her gentle care for pigeons, her sunflowers, her hymns floating like whispers in the garden. She knew there was more to Noor than devotion; there was life waiting to be awakened.
One evening, in a cozy café in Mussoorie, they sipped warm herbal tea. A live band played soft acoustic music in the corner. Noor, unaware of herself, swayed gently to the melody, her fingers tracing rhythms in the air, lips mouthing silent lyrics. Catherine's heart leapt—music was the key to Noor's soul.
The next morning, over breakfast, Catherine suggested, "Noor, you should join a music class while we're here. There's rhythm in you."
Noor shook her head politely but firmly. "I've made a promise. My voice belongs to hymns."
Catherine did not press, but later confided her thoughts to Sister Vaalark, who nodded in approval. "Music heals," she said. "And healing is God's work. Let her do it."
That afternoon, Noor enrolled in a music school tucked at the valley's edge—a white building surrounded by pine trees, where piano notes floated like birdsong.
Inside the music room, Noor's eyes widened at the piano, the violin, the laughter, and the harmony of dozens of students. And then a familiar voice called, softly: "Noorie?"
She turned. Anunay. Taller now, lean and faintly stubbled, his eyes still sparkled with boyhood mischief. Childhood memories flooded back—sweets shared under the oak tree, whispered dreams, and a thread bracelet they had tied together, now extended with pearls to fit growing wrists. Fate had preserved their bond.
They began attending classes together. He taught her guitar; she helped him with harmonies. They laughed like old friends, walked foggy lanes, and talked endlessly about songs, books, and life. Noor, for the first time, was not a nun-in-training. She was a girl alive in every sense.
Anunay, quietly and steadily, began to fall in love—not for beauty alone, but for the peace her presence brought. One day, he confessed to Catherine, who was thrilled. She had long feared Noor would spend her life behind chapel walls; here was someone willing to love her wholeheartedly. Catherine subtly prepared Noor, dropping hints about love, hoping music could bridge her heart to the world.
Mussoorie became a memory Noor never wished to leave. But the return journey on the train was anything but peaceful. At dusk, a group of masked robbers stormed the compartments. Passengers screamed as valuables were snatched. Amid the chaos, a man rose, moving with precision and power—storm-blue eyes, muscled frame, jaw carved like stone. Arunav saved Catherine and Vaalark with calm authority, vanishing like a shadow once the danger passed.
Days later, he appeared at the church for confession. Noor, curious, asked, "What kind of sins do police officers confess?"
Arunav's smile was sly. "The crime of falling for beautiful eyes."
She laughed. "Is that all it takes—beauty?"
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever," he replied. "But beauty lies in action too. I saw you with that injured pigeon. You weren't just beautiful—you were beautiful in what you did."
Noor was speechless.
Their meetings were brief but charged. Noor found herself waiting behind balconies, heart thrumming at his presence, hating the fluttering in her chest. She prayed harder, stayed longer in chapel, avoided Catherine's knowing eyes. But love, like a storm, finds its way.
One evening, Catherine asked Noor to meet someone in the church garden. Under soft string lights and the gentle hum of violins, Anunay waited, holding a book filled with childhood drawings, poems, and unfinished songs. He knelt.
"Noorie," he said, "give me a life of you."
Noor froze. Her heart ached, but not for him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've made a promise. I will become a nun. I'm not meant for this world."
Anunay's face fell, but he nodded. "If you ever want a friend," he said softly, "I'll always be waiting."
That night, Catherine pleaded, cried even, but Noor's silence was louder than refusal. She went to bed, turned from the window, and sang—not a hymn, not a song—but the soft whisper of a heart at war.