The morning was alive with sounds of the city—the distant rumble of autorickshaws, the sharp cries of street vendors, the soft cooing of pigeons on rooftops. Ayaan bounced on his heels, backpack barely hanging from one shoulder, holding my hand as we walked to the rickshaw.
Mrs. Lakshmi had insisted on accompanying him herself today.
"You'll be safe," she said, crouching to adjust his shirt collar. "And remember, behave nicely. Make friends."
Ayaan nodded solemnly, mimicking an adult. "I will, aunty. I promise."
I watched him climb into the rickshaw, waving as it disappeared down the lane. My chest felt oddly empty. For the first time in months, I was letting him go for a whole day.
I turned to see Ananya, Meera, and Kavya waiting for me. Their schoolbags were slung over their shoulders.
"Ready?" Ananya asked, bouncing on her toes.
"Yes," I said, smiling. Fourteen. I am allowed to feel this way. I am allowed to live.
It was a strange kind of freedom—walking alongside my friends, the weight of the past lifted slightly, replaced with the pulse of normal teenage life.
At school, the halls were a blur of colors and sounds. Children chattered, lockers slammed, teachers shouted names over the din. I felt a pang of nervousness, but then I remembered my legal age. Fourteen. I could do this. I belonged here.
Ananya leaned close. "Don't worry. You'll fit in fine."
I nodded, grateful for their encouragement. We navigated to our classrooms together.
Inside, the teacher introduced me to the class. "This is Sumiddhi Rai Sharma. She's new. Let's make her feel welcome."
Some kids smiled, others whispered. A boy in the back nudged his friend. "She looks cute…"
I shrugged. Fourteen, legally. I could laugh. I could speak. I could be me without guilt.
By recess, I had found a corner with Ananya, Meera, and Kavya. Laughter bubbled easily between us as we shared stories from the neighborhood, teasing each other, passing around small snacks we had brought.
I felt lighter than I had in years.
Meanwhile, at Ayaan's school, Mrs. Lakshmi watched him carefully, her presence reassuring. She made sure he had extra clothes for sports and ensured he had lunch packed properly.
"Remember to make friends, little one," she said. "And listen to your teacher."
Ayaan nodded and raced off to join a group of boys playing cricket.
He stumbled at first, unsure of the rules, but quickly found his rhythm. By lunchtime, he was laughing loudly, chasing after the ball, sharing snacks, and proudly showing off his marble to new friends. Mrs. Lakshmi watched him from a distance, smiling. He is happy. He belongs.
Back at my school, the day passed in a blur of lessons, assignments, and introductions. By mid-afternoon, I was already feeling more comfortable. Kids whispered less about me. I laughed more.
During lunch, I opened the tiffin my friends had shared. Kavya passed me a small slice of ladoo.
"For luck," she said.
"Thank you," I replied, touched.
Ananya leaned closer. "You're really going to like it here, Sumiddhi. I can tell."
I smiled. "I think I already do."
When the school day ended, we walked back to the lane together. Mrs. Lakshmi had prepared fresh clothes for both Ayaan and me, neatly folded in a basket. Bright colors, soft fabrics, everything practical but beautiful.
"You need these for the festival next week," she said, handing me a soft green kurta. "And these for Ayaan," she added, giving me a small white kurta with red embroidery. "He'll look smart for the Teej celebration."
"Thank you," I said, hugging her briefly. The weight of gratitude and relief settled in my chest. Clothes, school, friends—these were small things, but for me, they were everything.
Ayaan's legal status as my ward gave me the freedom to do this openly. Fourteen. I could exist in the world without hiding. Without guilt.
The days passed quickly after that. Ayaan thrived at his school. He made friends easily, his laughter carrying through the playground. He loved cricket, drawing, and even the little arts projects his teacher assigned.
I thrived too. The three girls from the lane stuck close. I joined them during lunch breaks, walked home with them, shared secrets and dreams, laughed at ridiculous jokes.
For the first time in years, I felt normal.
The week before Teej, the lane began to buzz with preparations. Women hung colorful cloths across doorways, children ran about with flowers, and the smell of sweets filled the air. Mrs. Lakshmi insisted we all help.
"Sumiddhi, Ayaan, you must have the best outfits," she said. "I bought extra bangles and threads for you. The festival is about joy—you cannot be left out."
I held the clothes and bangles, looking at Ayaan who clutched his new kurta with a wide smile. "I want to wear this, Didi! Look at the red threads!"
I laughed, feeling warmth and pride. He was so small, so alive, so wonderfully mine.
The day of Teej arrived. The lane was alive with color and laughter. I wore the green kurta Mrs. Lakshmi had given me, hair braided with fresh flowers. Ananya, Meera, and Kavya were already waiting outside my house, carrying baskets of flowers for the temple rituals.
At the temple, children ran between the steps, women chanted prayers, and the bells rang tirelessly. Ayaan ran to join a group of boys, spinning his red threads in the air, calling out happily.
I followed my friends, feeling the thrill of belonging, of normalcy, and yes, of being fourteen.
Then I saw him. Aarav.
He was standing slightly apart, watching the crowd, quiet, calm, his hostel bag at his feet. His eyes found mine. And for a moment, it felt like the world shrank just enough for the two of us.
He smiled faintly, but there was a shadow in his eyes. Jealousy.
I noticed him glance at me as I laughed with two boys from school, holding flowers, teasing each other in the playful way teenagers do.
He didn't show it, not in word or action, but I felt it. Subtle, like the tightening of a string.
We joined the ritual circle, tying threads around the wrists of women and children, blessing each other with flowers. Ayaan laughed as he tried to tie threads on his friends' wrists, the strings slipping and knotting badly.
"Let me help," I said, tying one around his small wrist properly.
He grinned. "Thanks, Didi! You're the best!"
Aarav stood nearby, observing. His jaw tightened slightly when I held another boy's hand to tie a thread, but he didn't move. He never moved. Quiet. Restraint.
I caught his glance once, and my heart fluttered. Dangerous. Exciting. Unexplainable.
After the temple, we gathered in the lane for the festival games—musical chairs, spinning tops, and races. The air was filled with shouts, laughter, and the scent of sweets.
I ran in a race with Ananya and Kavya, my lungs burning, hair bouncing, the world bright and chaotic. Ayaan cheered from the sidelines, Aarav watching silently a few steps behind, his expression unreadable.
When I tripped slightly over a stone, Aarav was there in an instant, steadying me with a hand at my elbow. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the weight of his feelings—concern, protection, and… yes, jealousy too.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
"Yes," I said, brushing myself off, smiling. "Thanks."
He nodded, and I felt the dangerous thrill again—the one that made my heart beat faster, even as I reminded myself: he belongs to the hostel most of the week. He's not mine.
But for now, the festival, the friends, the laughter, and even the forbidden thrill of his gaze—it was enough.
By nightfall, the Teej celebrations ended with lamps floating in the small temple pond. Children clapped, adults prayed, and the lane glowed with firelight and flowers.
I sat with Ayaan beside me, his small hand in mine, feeling the warmth of the world. Fourteen. Free. Alive. Surrounded by friends, neighbors, and the faint, dangerous presence of Aarav, who stood just a few steps away, silently watching, silently caring, silently jealous.
For the first time, I felt complete.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to dream—not just survive.
The sun had just begun to settle over the rooftops when Ayaan tugged at my sleeve.
"Didi! Let's play before school!" he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
I laughed, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Alright, but ten minutes. Then we have to get ready."
Rohan and his friends were already waiting near the banyan tree. The boys waved when they saw me and Ayaan approaching.
"Hey, Sumiddhi!" Rohan called. "Ready for the game?"
"Yes!" I said, smiling. My laughter felt lighter these days, no longer hesitant. It was easier to belong here, easier to interact with others, and even with boys. The relief of my legal age gave me courage. Fourteen. I could act my age, laugh, tease, and still be protected by the lie that I belonged in this world as a teenager.
Ayaan ran off, joining the smaller boys chasing a marble, and I stayed to talk with Rohan and the others.
"Sumiddhi, did you see the new lab equipment in school?" one boy asked, grinning.
"Yes! The teacher showed us yesterday," I said. "It's amazing—I think we're going to learn a lot of experiments."
The boys nodded eagerly. We spent the next ten minutes discussing science projects, laughing, and making playful bets on who would win the upcoming race at school.
Later that afternoon, I walked home with Ananya, Meera, and Kavya.
"You're spending more time with Rohan," Ananya teased, nudging me.
I shrugged. "He's fun to talk to. He's smart."
"Smarter than you, maybe," Meera added, grinning.
Kavya rolled her eyes. "Stop teasing her. She's allowed to have friends—boys, even."
I laughed softly, feeling warmth and ease. "Thanks, Kavya."
At the corner of the lane, Mrs. Lakshmi was hanging colorful cloths on a line.
"Sumiddhi! Ayaan! Come, I have something for you," she called.
We ran over. She handed me a small bundle of clothes for the upcoming festival before the school break. Bright yellows, reds, and soft fabrics, neatly folded.
"You both need to look your best," she said, smiling. "The festival is about joy and fun."
"Thank you, aunty," I said, hugging her briefly.
Ayaan clutched his new kurta. "I like this color, Didi!"
"I know you will," I said, laughing. "You'll be the best-looking boy at the festival."
The festival arrived with music, laughter, and the smell of sweet jalebis floating in the air. Children ran in every direction, playing, spinning, and calling out to each other.
Rohan and his friends ran up to me.
"Sumiddhi, come! You have to try the sack race!" Rohan said.
I grinned. "Alright, but you better not cheat."
We joined the race, hopping in burlap sacks, laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. The boys were competitive, but playful. I teased them, dodged, and even let Rohan win once.
Ayaan was nearby, chasing a small group of friends with a paper flag, laughing loudly. I watched him, my chest warm with pride.
Later that day, Aarav returned from the hostel. I spotted him near Mrs. Lakshmi's house, adjusting his bag. His dark eyes scanned the lane, and I felt that flutter again—the dangerous pull of awareness and curiosity.
I had spent most of the day with Rohan and his friends, teasing, laughing, and sharing stories. Aarav's presence was quiet but undeniable. He approached silently, standing a little apart, watching me interact.
That evening, Meera came to the corner of the lane to meet Aarav secretly. I had gone ahead with Ayaan, chatting with neighbors about the festival.
From a distance, I heard their voices, soft and low, clearly private.
"…I can't stop thinking about her," Aarav admitted quietly, his voice tense. "She… she's always smiling, always laughing. And I… I don't know how to… what if she doesn't feel the same?"
Meera's voice was calm, steady. "You don't have to tell her now. Just… be near her. Protect her if you need to. She'll notice, eventually. But don't push. Not yet."
Aarav nodded slowly, a frown tugging at his lips. "I just… hate feeling jealous."
Meera smiled gently. "Then don't show it. Let it stay inside for now. She's your friend. That's enough."
He exhaled sharply, as if releasing a secret weight. "Thanks, Meera. You always know what to say."
Meanwhile, I ran around with Rohan and the boys, helping them with small games, teasing, laughing. I felt alive, free, and completely normal. Fourteen. Legally fourteen. No guilt, no hiding, just… being myself.
After a while, I walked with Ananya and Kavya to the corner where Mrs. Lakshmi had set up a small snack stall for the children. We shared jalebis and ladoos, chatting about the festival and the school projects we were all excited for.
"You've changed," Ananya whispered to me. "You laugh more. You smile more. You look… happy."
"I am happy," I admitted. "It feels like… I can finally live my life as it's supposed to be. And not be guilty about anything."
Kavya nodded. "You deserve it."
Later, as the festival lights dimmed and children began heading home, I noticed Aarav standing a few steps away, quietly observing. He didn't approach. He didn't speak. But his eyes lingered. His expression was calm but guarded, like he was wrestling with something inside.
I caught his glance briefly and smiled. Not a romantic smile, just a simple acknowledgment. He nodded slightly in return, and then he stepped back, fading into the shadows near his mother's house.
That night, I sat by the window, Ayaan asleep beside me, listening to the sounds of the lane winding down. The festival had ended, but the warmth lingered—friends, neighbors, laughter, and small joys.
I thought about Aarav, Rohan, the boys at school, and the freedom of being fourteen legally. For the first time in years, I didn't feel guilty for living. For laughing. For interacting, for feeling, for wanting… maybe even noticing someone like Aarav, quietly, from afar.
The weight of the past, of the fire, of lost memories, of survival—all of it had eased. I could exist fully now. Fourteen. Free. Alive.
And with Ayaan beside me, friends surrounding me, and the subtle tension of the boy from the hostel lingering at the edge of my life, I finally felt… complete