This time, the story shifts from your hands to theirs — those who walked beside you, broke with you, healed with you.
🌼 Amara (The Sister With Both Fires and Roots):
She watches you sleep on the veranda one evening — hair a mess, cheek smudged with turmeric from some chaotic recipe gone right. She smiles, then frowns.
> "I remember holding her hand through fire. And I remember watching her let go. Both feel real. Both hurt."
But she stays. Because even though the timelines hurt her too, she sees what you're building with Samar and Chiku and strangers who come for healing. She calls it magic through maintenance.
Her thoughts are quieter than yours, but strong. She wonders what it means to protect someone who keeps becoming more — and whether she can keep up.
(Spoiler: She can.)
📖 Isha (The Bookshop Owner Who Carries Too Many Pages):
She rewrites her journal in the back of her shop — the one with disappearing poetry and shelves that breathe like sleeping beasts.
> "The girl with the teas gave me my life back. But sometimes, I wish I'd never remembered the one I lost."
Her thoughts are layered. She resents the merge some days. Loves it others. But always, she writes. And somehow, the books have stopped whispering so loudly.
She often leaves you little riddles on receipts tucked into returned novels. On one, she writes:
> "Some truths brewed too long become bitterness. > But the good ones? They bloom again in someone else's cup."
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You don't always know what these three think. But you feel it, in how they move, how they show up, how they stay.