The golden sunlight stretched across the Sunayna mansion, soft and deliberate, touching every surface as if it were measuring the weight of presence within these walls. The marble floor shone faintly under the sun's caress, the portraits lining the halls glimmering like silent witnesses to centuries of pride and discipline. Shadows clung stubbornly to corners, reluctant to give way to light, much like the house itself—always holding onto echoes of the past while the present moved cautiously.
Maya sat near the pillar, gloved hands folded neatly, her black dress absorbing the brilliance around her. She was still as the sunlit dust motes dancing in the air, yet every movement in the room seemed to ripple through her consciousness. Even the softest whisper, the faintest rustle of fabric, was observed, cataloged, and weighed. Her dark eyes were unreadable pools, reflecting none of the fear, awe, or curiosity that radiated from the others.
It was Rohini who first broke the fragile tension, her hand extending toward Maya with delicate intent, trembling slightly as if acknowledging that this act of closeness might be denied. She reached out, her fingers brushing toward Maya's arm—not to seize, not to command—but to offer warmth.
Maya flinched. Not violently, not in fear, but subtly, decisively. She stepped back, her posture a shield, a careful boundary that demanded respect.
"Why do you… step away, child?" Rohini's voice was gentle, threaded with curiosity rather than reproach, a soft murmur like wind through the silk of her sari.
Maya's gaze lifted, unwavering and composed. She let the silence stretch, a measured pause that drew attention to the gravity of her choice. "I… I do not want to," she said finally, her voice quiet but unwavering.
A hush fell across the room. Even the servants, accustomed to moving silently around the imposing family, seemed to halt, suspended in the weight of her declaration. Mahim stepped forward, fingers clutching the edge of his sleeve. "Baba… when she… she was returned, we found her like this," he said carefully, his voice threaded with awe and caution.
Arunabh's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flickered between mother and daughter. "Ah…" he murmured, his voice low and deliberateh,
"… she chooses her distance," Mahi said softly, her voice tinged with unease, careful not to impose. "It is how she protects herself… and perhaps, others too."
Rohini's hand retracted slightly, a small smile flickering across her lips. "Ah… yes," she said gently. "The child understands the world too well. And yet, she allows us here, does she not?"
Maya inclined her head ever so slightly. "I allow presence. Not touch. Presence is enough."
The room seemed to exhale. Even the Ghosts of Hell shifted slightly, a subtle acknowledgment passing among them—they were witnessing authority not through fear, but through the quiet weight of self-possession.
Arunabh leaned back in his chair, cane tapping against the marble floor with deliberate cadence, each tap echoing in the silent corners. "I like that," he said slowly. "A girl who defines her own boundaries. Strength not as a weapon, but as a shield. Perhaps… this house has yet to see its finest heir."
Fahim muttered under his breath, voice low, "Damn… she really is untouchable. Everyone says it, but seeing it…" His eyes followed her carefully, as if calculating the impossible.
Fahad's look was half amusement, half warning. "Careful, brother. Untouchable, yes. But respected. That is the difference."
Farhan, ever impulsive, leaned forward, curiosity bright in his tone. "So, Dadi… what does it feel like? To have someone you cannot reach, but who is always… there?"
Rohini chuckled softly, fingers tracing the edge of her sari. "It is humbling. And humbling is good. Humbling keeps the world honest."
Maya allowed herself a subtle tilt of the head, observing the sunlight dancing across her grandmother's features. "Humility is different from fear," she said softly. "I do not fear anyone."
Her words hung in the air, measured and calm, and even the sunlight seemed to pause, caught in the resonance of her declaration. Arunabh's eyes softened slightly, a fleeting shadow of pride crossing his stern features.
"You are wise," he said slowly. "And yet, wisdom is dangerous if left untamed. Tell me, child… do you obey the world, or do you bend it to your will?"
"I do not let the world bend me," Maya replied immediately, precise, unwavering. "I bend only that which must be bent."
A low murmur ran through the room. Mahim adjusted his watch nervously, Mahi's fingers tightened around her shawl, even Farhan's usual grin faltered at the sheer decisiveness of her words.
Arunabh laughed softly, deep and resonant, the sound chasing tension into the corners where it had been hiding. "Good. I approve. I approve of a mind that does not yield."
Rohini's smile was warmer now, like sunlight spilling into a dark courtyard. "And yet," she said gently, "a mind that yields sometimes… learns compassion."
Maya's lips curved subtly, a faint trace of acknowledgment. "Compassion is not weakness."
"No," Rohini said softly. "But it is a light that shows the path where shadows might otherwise reign."
The old man's cane tapped sharply, drawing the room's attention. "Enough philosophy. Let us speak plainly. Mahim, Mahi, how fares the household? Is discipline upheld?"
Mahim straightened, swallowing. "Baba, the household is… functioning. The servants… the work… everything is in order."
Arunabh raised an eyebrow. "Order is nothing without alignment. Are hearts in place? Are you all… aligned?"
Fahim shifted nervously. "Aligned, Baba… yes, aligned. We… we do as we are told."
Arunabh's piercing gaze fell again on Maya. "And you? Are you aligned?"
"I align only with myself," she said evenly. "I answer to no one."
The grandfather's lips curved into a subtle smile of approval. "Good. This house needs someone like you. Someone who does not falter. Someone who… does not bend for trivial storms."
Rohini leaned closer. "And yet, storms can teach. They can reveal the sun if one knows where to look."
The conversation flowed then, as sunlight through lattice windows—fragmented, warm, golden. The Ghosts of Hell, who had always observed silently, began cautiously participating.
Fahad teased, "Dadu… remember when you made Baba sweep the courtyard for forgetting the anniversary of your arrival?"
Arunabh's eyes twinkled. "I remember. And Mahim remembers too, I hope."
Mahim flushed, allowing a small smile. "Yes, Baba. I… learned my lesson."
Farhan's laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained. "Lesson learned indeed! Baba, you trembled like a leaf in a storm!"
Fahim muttered softly, "And deservedly so. Even I… I wouldn't risk angering him."
Rohini's laughter, soft and melodic, filled the spaces between words. Maya allowed herself to be drawn slightly into the warmth, though she remained apart. The sunlight in the room intensified, spilling into corners long shadowed by fear and expectation.
Unexpectedly, Rohini leaned forward, whispering to Maya conspiratorially, "Do you know, child… he has always admired those who can walk in silence, yet be louder than any voice?"
Maya's lips curved faintly. "I… understand."
The room held its breath. Even Arunabh hesitated before speaking, letting his gaze linger on Maya a fraction longer than proper decorum dictated.
"Perhaps," he said finally, "it is time you learn the old ways. Not out of fear, not out of obedience, but because strength without roots is like a tree in the wind—it falls before storms unseen."
Maya's eyes met his, steady, unwavering. "Then I will see the storms. And I will not fall."
Mahim exhaled, Mahi's hands pressed lightly together, and even the Ghosts of Hell relaxed imperceptibly.
Rohini's hand hovered near Maya—not touching, not imposing—but a quiet acknowledgment. "Then perhaps," she said softly, "this house is ready to breathe again."
Sunlight traced Maya's outline, highlighting the interplay of shadow and brilliance. She sat there, untouchable, present, a force both gentle and unyielding. And in that room, filled with conversation, laughter, and golden light, the distance between shadow and light, control and freedom, had never been clearer—yet it was a distance she had always known, always commanded, and always preserved.
The air shifted subtly when Rohini leaned closer again, this time her hand stretching slightly forward, a tender attempt to rest briefly near Maya's shoulder. Maya's eyes, dark and unflinching, met her grandmother's and tilted ever so slightly, stepping backward. It was deliberate, calm, yet undeniably firm.
"Child… why?" Rohini asked softly, tracing the movement of the air around her instead of bridging the gap herself.
Maya's answer was simple, measured: "I do not allow touch. Presence is enough."
Even the adults murmured among themselves. Mahim whispered, "She does not just keep strangers away… she keeps us away too, when she chooses."
Fahad added quietly, "No one touches her. No one approaches. And she lets us see, only see. That is… respect. Or fear… I cannot tell which."
Rohini tilted her head, studying her granddaughter, a smile lingering. "Perhaps both," she whispered. "Power is always respected, whether it is visible or quiet."
Farhan leaned forward, curiosity shining in his eyes. "So… even Dadi cannot…?" He gestured vaguely at Maya. "Cannot touch you?"
Rohini's eyes twinkled. "No, child. Not even I. She chooses. That is her own will."
Maya's faint tilt of the head was acknowledgment enough. Silence, in the Sunayna house, had never spoken louder.