November arrived with its cool breeze and the first hint of winter. Devgarh buzzed with life again — the annual Sharad Mela had started, filling the streets with colors, food stalls, laughter, and music. The fairground near the school was lit with strings of bulbs that swayed gently in the wind.
Abhay, Ishanvi, and their group — Meera, Vivaan, Raghav, Vrinda, Aariv, Vaidehi, and Simran — had planned to meet there after school. Scooters lined up, they reached just before sunset, the sky painted orange and pink.
"Let's hit the Ferris wheel first!" Vaidehi shouted, already dragging Meera along.
Ishanvi smiled, her red scarf fluttering. Abhay walked beside her, holding two cups of hot corn.
"Still thinking about that rain day?" she teased softly.
Abhay sighed, "I can't explain it, Ishu. It's like the water listens."
She stopped walking for a moment. "And fire listens to me," she said quietly.
They shared a look — that quiet, unsure one — the kind that holds both wonder and fear.
Suddenly, a power cut swept through the fair. The lights blinked out, plunging everything into darkness. Gasps, then silence. Only the Ferris wheel creaked slowly to a halt.
And in that darkness — the strangest thing happened.
A faint blue glow rippled near Abhay's hand. Sparks of orange danced along Ishanvi's fingertips.
People nearby thought it was the reflection of fireworks, but Simran, standing just behind them, saw it clearly — two faint lights pulsing in rhythm, one water-blue, one flame-orange.
When the lights flickered back on, both stood frozen. Their hearts thudded faster.
"Abhay…" Ishanvi whispered, "…did anyone else see that?"
He shook his head slightly, forcing a smile. "No one will believe it anyway."
But as they left, the old Ferris wheel operator watched them — eyes narrowed, muttering to himself,
"Just like twenty years ago… the river's children have awakened again."