The rain had passed, leaving the sky washed in soft gold. Puddles glistened along the streets like mirrors reflecting the fading light. All of Nandanpur buzzed with excitement — the Sudarshini Utsav had arrived.
Every year after the first monsoon, the festival honoring the village's sacred river was celebrated with flowers, prayers, folk music, and food. School ended early that day, and students rushed home to get ready.
By late afternoon, the temple courtyard bloomed with marigolds and mango leaves. The scent of incense, wet earth, and jaggery sweets floated through the air.
Abhay adjusted the strings on his kurta, still slightly damp from drying over the fire. He turned to find Aariv and Meera pulling Vaidehi into the courtyard, all of them laughing.
But when he looked up — he saw her.
Ishanvi walked slowly behind her siblings, wearing a deep blue saree with silver borders. Her hair was braided with fresh jasmine, and her earrings danced in the light wind. She looked... calm. Strong. Like a story from the old texts.
Abhay blinked.
Vivaan smirked and elbowed him. "Don't look so stunned, bhaiya."
"She always looks like that," Abhay replied too quickly.
Vrinda laughed. "Even the river would stop flowing to stare today."
They weren't the only ones watching. As the eight children moved together toward the temple steps, a few of the village women nudged each other.
"One day, they'll make a fine pair," someone whispered with a chuckle.
"Shhh, don't tease," another said, giggling.
Abhay's ears turned red. Ishanvi pretended not to hear, though her smile betrayed her.
The temple bells rang, and the priest began the Sudarshini Aarti, chanting praises to the river that fed their soil and souls. The flames reflected in everyone's eyes.
After the prayers, the group lit floating diyas and placed them gently in the flowing river. One by one, the tiny flames drifted away like hopes cast into the current.
As the crowd began to disperse, an old woman in a faded green sari approached them. Her eyes were sharp and cloudy all at once, and her voice cracked like dry leaves.
"You two…" she pointed a trembling finger at Ishanvi and Abhay. "Storm and flame. Water will test you. Fire will rise. Stay near, stay apart — and remember, the river remembers everything."
Everyone fell silent.
Meera clutched Vaidehi's hand. Aariv shifted behind Vivaan, who had stopped grinning.
"Don't listen," Neha said firmly, walking up from behind. "She says something strange to every child every year."
"Come, all of you," Sunita added, holding Ishanvi's shoulder. "Ignore her."
But Ishanvi's eyes lingered on the woman, and so did Abhay's.
"She called me flame," Ishanvi said softly.
"And me storm," Abhay added.
That night, back home, the siblings gathered around to talk, eat, and joke — but a quiet thread ran through the laughter.
The festival had brought them closer, but also cracked open something ancient.
Ishanvi placed her diya in a bowl near her bedside, still burning faintly.
Abhay sat by the window, staring at the dark clouds once again forming far in the horizon.
Whatever it meant, whatever was coming — they weren't alone.
And maybe… the river really did remember.