(Same day, night)
The village bonfire was already roaring by the time the sun sank behind the western ridge, painting the forest in bruised gold. Smoke rose in lazy spirals above the clearing, blending with laughter, drumbeats, and the sharp scent of roasted meat.
Rai sat cross-legged in the grass, surrounded by a wild circle of pups buzzing with sugar and anticipation. Each held a tiny parchment — wishes scribbled in crooked handwriting, folded like secrets between their palms.
"Alright, alright," she laughed, tugging one pup back by the collar before he launched headfirst into the fire. "One at a time. We don't want to burn your fur off before you even shift properly."
They giggled, crowding closer, tugging her sleeves and hair, pressing their papers into her hands like offerings. She guided them one by one to the edge of the fire, helping them toss their wishes into the flame.
Some wishes vanished in a whisper of ash.
Others burst into gold sparks, rising like fireflies into the night.
A small hand tugged at her. "Rai, what did you write?"
She smiled, brushing ash from the child's cheek. "Mine's already in there."
It wasn't a lie. She had written something — a quiet little wish curled inside a folded leaf, dropped into the fire before the crowd arrived.
She hadn't written his name. But she didn't need to.
She looked up absently— and froze.
There he was.
Standing near the long feast table, just beyond the ring of celebration, half-wrapped in firelight and shadow. Aryan. One hand resting on the table's edge. The other loosely holding a wooden cup.
Their eyes met across the clearing — a look that caught in the chest, fierce and soft at once.
The pups around her blurred, laughter dimming beneath the hum in her ears.
She stood, brushing ash from her dress, letting the moment pull her like a tide.
Later, she wandered toward the long feast table. Lanterns swayed gently above, casting warm flickers across plates and bowls brimming with roasted vegetables, smoked meats, honeyed bread.
Aryan hadn't moved.
Rai plucked a bunch of grapes from a wooden tray and popped one between her lips as she approached. She didn't look at him until she was beside him.
Only then did their eyes meet again — and hold.
The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid.
Rai chewed slowly, then plucked another grape, pressing it between her fingers before looking up at him again.
"You know," she said, voice low but clear, "that place isn't mine only."
Aryan didn't move.
She watched his throat work as he swallowed. Watched the faint rise of his chest under the simple black linen shirt he wore.
"You can come sometimes," she added, soft now. "If you like."
Still, he said nothing.
But his gaze… it burned.
Then — just barely — he nodded once.
She smiled.