Shetty Villa — Delhi, Late Morning
Varun zipped the last pocket of his bag, checking each strap and clasp as if the careful packing could somehow prepare him for everything he might face. The bag itself looked ordinary—just a travel pack—but in truth, it could hold the weight of the world: Reeva weapons, mystical instruments, enchanted cloths, and other items no ordinary traveler could carry.
Vikram entered the room, his expression sharp, eyes narrowing at the sight of the packed bag. "Where are you going, son?" he asked, voice low but edged with warning.
Varun met his father's gaze steadily. "I'm going to search for Dilruba."
Vikram's face darkened immediately. "Dilruba?" he repeated, incredulous. "Do you even understand what you're saying? She is a dark force, a nine-tailed purple fox witch. Our family… we are hunters, Reeva hunters. Kiara is no longer with us—she chose her path, fell in love with the Warlock King, and left us behind. And now you… you want to chase this witch?"
Varun took a deep breath, standing straighter, his voice calm but resolute. "Dad… stop being angry. Yuvaan didn't choose the path he took lightly. He drank the Lunar Potion to save the family. You know better than anyone that potion can corrupt even the purest soul. He paid the price for that."
Vikram's hands clenched at his sides. "You defend him? After all that—after Kiara—"
Varun shook his head firmly. "No. I'm not defending him. I'm telling you the truth. My Chutki… Kiara… she sacrificed herself. She loved… and she saved the world. I won't give up on my love either just like Chutki never gave up on her love, father. I will find Dilruba. Even if it takes searching the entire world. Even if it means facing every dark force that stands in my way."
A long silence followed. Vikram's eyes softened for just a heartbeat, though the shadow of anger lingered. Varun slung the bag over his shoulder, steady and determined.
"I have to go now," he said, voice low but unwavering. "I will find her, and I will reunite with my love. Nothing else matters."
Without another word, Varun stepped out into the sunlight, leaving the room—and his father's gaze—behind.
School — Noon, Lunch Break
The corridors buzzed softly with laughter, footsteps, and the occasional squeak of a chair. Kiaan moved quietly, almost gliding through the crowd, his small frame dwarfed by bustling older students. Every sense was alert. His eyes scanned faces, searching. His ears picked up whispers of voices, fragments of laughter.
And then… a faint drift of fragrance brushed past him.
He froze mid-step. His chest tightened. That… that scent. It was soft, delicate, impossibly familiar. The same scent his grandma had described once, long ago—the one his mumma had always worn. Over countless days, Kiaan had trained himself, memorized it, recognized it instantly.
"Mumma…" he whispered, barely moving his lips, letting the hope flow through him. He took a careful step forward, following the invisible thread of the perfume. His heart thudded against his chest—not fear, not excitement, but a desperate, careful hope.
Every passing student blurred past him, but he could sense the presence of the angel before him, even if her face was still hidden. He slowed his pace, careful not to draw attention, letting the scent guide him, letting his instincts—his mother's guidance—lead the way.
---
Principal's Office
Khushi sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, yet inside her mind, a quiet storm raged. Memories flickered unbidden—times when she had to soothe frightened children, earn their trust, navigate the world with nothing but patience and care. I know how to connect… I know how to listen… I know how to guide them…
She breathed slowly, grounding herself. No one here needed to know her past. It wasn't theirs to see. She would let her words, her presence, speak for her.
The principal's eyes were steady, piercing, yet not unkind. "Khushi, tell me like I asked… how do you bond with children? How do you help them grow, feel safe, learn?"
Khushi's lips curved in the smallest of smiles. "I try to understand them first," she said softly. "I listen before I speak. I watch, I learn what each child needs, and I try to guide them in a way that makes them feel safe and confident. I believe every child responds differently, so I adapt to each one."
The principal's expression softened slightly, a small nod. "I can see you have a natural understanding. I believe you could do well here. I am inclined to offer you the position."
Khushi felt her chest lift slightly, but she kept her composure. "Thank you," she murmured, letting the relief settle slowly through her body.
The principal's gaze shifted, serious again. "There is one condition. For security reasons, we require any teacher to have a reputable family in this city to vouch for them. Do you know of any family who could do that?"
Khushi felt her throat tighten. No… I don't know anyone here. She hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat, choosing her words carefully. "I… I don't," she admitted quietly, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach. "I um....actually."
The principal's eyes lingered on her, thoughtful, and the unspoken weight of her words hung in the air. Khushi let herself take a slow, quiet breath, settling into the moment. Every challenge ahead felt less daunting, fueled by the quiet determination in her chest.
Outside, the school hall hummed with life, unaware of the silent, careful plotting of hearts and minds—the boy following a faint scent, the woman quietly waiting, both moving toward a collision fate had quietly arranged.
To be continued…