📅 October 5 – Devgarh
Back to Routine
By morning, the rain had eased. The roads still glistened, and mist clung to the fields as Ishanvi and Abhay rode their scooters side by side.
Twenty kilometers every day — through half-flooded paths, paddy fields, and narrow bridges.
To others, it looked like stubborn determination. To them, it had simply become routine.
"I heard the Sudarshini bridge will close if it rains again," Abhay said, eyes on the road.
"Then we'll take the long route," Ishanvi replied.
He smirked. "That's 10 extra kilometers."
She shrugged. "Worth it if it keeps us in class."
Devgarh High stood ahead — its gate buzzing with morning chatter, teachers calling attendance, and students gossiping about the Dusshera fairs. But to Abhay and Ishanvi, the noise felt faint, distant… as if something else was calling louder.
---
The Dream That Follows
During History period, Abhay's pen slipped from his hand. For a split second, he wasn't in class.
He was standing knee-deep in the Sudarshini — the water calm, glowing faintly under moonlight. A woman's voice whispered through the mist:
"The river remembers those it has chosen."
Then thunder cracked, and he blinked back into the classroom — heart pounding, palms damp.
Across the room, Ishanvi lifted her eyes. She'd felt it too — the same pull, the same chill crawling up her spine, though her dream had been different: a flame burning under water, refusing to die.
---
Whispers at Lunch
At lunch, Vaidehi waved them over. "You two okay? You look like you didn't sleep."
"Just tired," Ishanvi muttered, unwrapping her lunch.
Simran leaned closer. "You both were weird after Dusshera. You're hiding something."
Abhay met her gaze. "Would you believe us if we told you?"
Simran frowned. "Try me."
He hesitated. His hand brushed the edge of his bottle — the water inside rippled, though no one had moved it.
Simran's eyes widened.
Ishanvi caught her wrist gently and whispered, "Don't. Not here."
---
Evening at the River
After school, they rode home in silence again. But halfway across the bridge, Abhay stopped.
The river was calm now, almost too calm.
He leaned over the railing. "It's like it's waiting."
Ishanvi parked beside him. "Waiting for what?"
Before he could answer, the surface of the Sudarshini shifted — not from wind, not from rain, but as if something beneath had breathed.
A glow spread for an instant, silver and red intertwining — the same colors that had shimmered that night after Dusshera. Then it vanished.
They stood frozen, the roar of distant thunder echoing like a warning.
---
As they rode home, neither spoke again.
But deep beneath the river's surface, two faint lights glimmered — one of fire, one of water — drawing closer each day.