She returned—but nothing was the same. Her mind calls it a dream, her heart knows it was real. One hides the truth. One breaks in tears.
~~~~~
Ahmaya rises slowly and sits up. She sees the soft curtains swaying in the breeze.She turns…..then bursts into tears and throws her arms around her grandmother.
Her grandma hugs her back tightly, but then gently pushes her away. "What just happened bub? I found you unconscious outside and brought you in."
Ahmaya looks down. She notices she's wearing the same clothes—the same ones she wore the day she touched the sandalwood tree.
"When did you find me unconscious?" she asks, her voice unsteady.
"About half an hour ago. Why?," her grandma replies.
Ahmaya has lived through days. Experienced a lifetime of memories in the past. But now, she's back—on the same day she vanished. Everything that happened feels distant, blurred…like a dream too vivid to be real.
"What… happened, honey?" her grandma asks again.
"Nothing… just…" Ahmaya's voice breaks. "I guess I've been skipping meals too much. I must've collapsed."
She forces a weak smile and hugs her grandma again before gently standing.
But her grandmother grips her hand. "Where were you?"
Ahmaya hesitates. "What do you mean?"
Her grandmother studies her face. "Where did you go?"
"I'm right here, Granny," she says, evasive. "Where would I go?"
And with that, she walks away.
But her grandmother doesn't move. She stares at Ahmaya, walking away, certain of one thing: her granddaughter has returned from somewhere else.
In her room, Ahmaya lies back on her bed, presses her fingers to the fabric of her bedsheet, the softness of the pillow under her head. Her heart beats with quiet disbelief. She is home. This is her time. Her room. Her breath.
But the memories still bloom behind her eyelids—so vivid they burn.
It all feels like a long realistic dream. Its textures remain: the smell of sacred smoke, the sharp cold of river water, the sorrow in Kitbok's eyes, the power in Ayani's voice. A dream that lives inside her bones, refusing to be dismissed.
Her grandmother's question echoes again: "Where did you go?"
Why did she ask that? Does she know something?
Was it all a dream? Or was it real?
It's like her brain is playing with her.
She thinks of Ayani's father's chant, of the ancient hymns that carried her through veils of time. She remembers what they told her: "Emotion-driven powers."
Kitbok—was he part of the dream too? That boy who looked at me as if I were made of flowers? Was he just a part of my own heart's creation?
She sits upright, staring at her palms. She thinks of her mother—of the moments, the memories. She tries to raise her energy.
Nothing.
Nothing happens.
No light. No warmth. No hum of power.
Just then, her grandmother enters with a glass of water and a plate of fruits. Ahmaya suddenly gets awkward under her gaze.
Her grandma watches her hands, her movements, her face—there's something in her eyes that wasn't there before.
She sits beside her and hands her the glass of water.
Ahmaya drinks, then accepts the fruit with a small smile. Her grandma hesitates.
"If there's anything you need to share," she says gently, "you can tell me freely."
Ahmaya looks up. "Yeah."
"Is there anything you think you should share?" her grandma asks again.
"No… no," Ahmaya replies.
Her grandmother stands, walks to the door. But just before she steps out, Ahmaya calls after her.
"Granny…"
She stops.
"You know something, don't you?"
Her grandmother turns. "What?"
"Aokma," Ahmaya says quietly.
A stillness enters the air.
"So?" her grandmother replies, careful.
"Powers?" Ahmaya whispers.
"What? I don't understand," her grandmother says with too much precision.
Then, without waiting, she turns and walks out. But just as she shuts the door, she leans against it.
Breathing heavily.
Shocked. Amazed. Afraid.
As if something she feared has happened.
.
1936~~~~
In the past, the original soul of Pushpa comes back.
She wakes in an unfamiliar room, her body aching. She doesn't know where she is, or what happened to her. She is feeling as if she's been asleep for days. Her body feels used—moved in ways she can't explain.
Her memories are scattered—blurred fragments of something someone else lived through. She feels as if she was watching everything as a third person.
Ayani sits beside her, calm. She speaks softly, then takes Pushpa to her home in Mawphlang village. With a quiet chant, Ayani uses her power to blur the recent days from Pushpa's mind.
Pushpa returns to her normal life—her quiet routine as a widow. Unaware of anything that has passed.
The magic conceals everything.
"I hope she learns her role and responsibilities soon," Ayani prays softly for Ahmaya, missing her a little, watching the fading sky.
Kitbok rides with his brother in a bullock cart, on their way to tend to some work. As they pass a nearby field, Kitbok's eyes catch a glimpse—someone bent over, working in the soil.
His breath stumbles.
"Stop," he says suddenly, and leaps down.
He runs across the field, toward her, heart pounding.
He calls out, breathless, "Ahmaya!"
Pushpa doesn't turn.
He slows, confused, and tries again, "Ahmaya?"
She turns this time, glancing at him. Her eyes do not flicker with recognition. She bends and returns to her work, silently.
And in that moment, Kitbok knows.
Something inside Kitbok shatters.
He walks to her, eyes searching hers.
It isn't her.
Her gaze is changed. Her body language is changed.
Ahmaya is gone.
She found what she was searching for. And now she is…. not coming back.
He had tried to prepare himself. Told himself it wasn't meant to be. That he would have to let her go.
But knowing… and feeling it… are different.
His heart falls apart.
He stands there, tears rushing in, breaking through everything he held together.
And he breaks down, in front of Pushpa.
Crying—immensely, endlessly.