Scene: The Choice of Aahi
EXT. ESTATE GROUNDS – MOMENTS LATER – NIGHT
The world was ablaze.
Not just the estate grounds — but everything Aahi had built in silence, all that surrounded her — now danced under a sky turned orange.
The fire had spread faster than expected.
First the outer trees… then the garden… then the greenhouse.
The once-serene estate now roared with heat and destruction.
And Aahi… she walked calmly across the old stone bridge.
A light evening breeze tugged gently at her kurta, the hem fluttering. Her brown hair, streaked with hints of red, caught the firelight, glowing as if made of flame itself. Her bare feet tapped softly against the stones, the only sound she allowed herself to make.
She wasn't afraid.
She never was.
Then she heard it.
A voice — faint but desperate.
"Help! Please! Someone… help me!"
Aahi froze mid-step.
The world around her seemed to pause.
The flames still raged, the smoke still curled into the sky — but her ears heard only that voice.
She turned, slowly, eyes scanning through the growing wall of smoke.
And then she saw her — a woman, mid-thirties, trapped in a ring of fire near the collapsed remains of the old greenhouse. She had fallen, coughing violently, her arm reaching out through the blaze.
No one had reached her.
No one even noticed.
But Aahi did.
And she didn't wait.
No hesitation.
She slipped her dupatta off and tossed it aside.
Kicked off her sandals without a thought.
Tied her loose hair back in a quick knot with the red thread on her wrist.
Then she ran.
Through the broken garden wall, past the stone lion statues her grandfather had imported from Italy, through the chaos of flame and ash—
She ran like the fire called her home.
The heat slammed into her skin immediately, thick and angry.
Smoke blurred her vision.
Wood cracked and fell around her.
Still, she didn't stop.
The woman was now barely conscious, curled beneath a smoldering wooden beam. The fire grew louder — so loud it drowned even the screams. The air was too thick to breathe, too hot to think.
But Aahi moved like the storm didn't exist.
She reached the woman, crouched low, and with every ounce of strength she had, lifted the burning beam aside. Sparks leapt onto her sleeve — she batted them away with her bare hand.
With grace and power, she lifted the woman in her arms — gently, as if holding something precious.
No cries. No dramatic declarations.
Only a whisper to herself.
"We're getting out of this."
Then she turned back toward the flames she had come through.
But the path was gone.
Where she had once run in — now stood a wall of fire.
She didn't flinch.
She adjusted her grip on the unconscious woman and pushed forward.
Through fire.
Through falling ash.
Through the heat that tried to crush her.
The flames reached for her — but somehow, they bent around her. As if respecting her name.
Aahi.
The girl who walks through fire.
And then—
She emerged.
Smoke burst outward like a curtain pulled back.
Gasps filled the night.
Guards ran forward. Staff froze in place.
The woman coughed in Aahi's arms, blinking, alive.
Aahi gently laid her down on the grass.
Her own skin was reddened, her clothes scorched, her cheeks streaked with ash — but her eyes… her eyes were calm.
Like the storm never touched her.
Everyone stared.
The elegant, quiet girl from the mansion…
The one who wore no gold but carried a world of grace…
had just walked through an inferno.
A journalist from a local paper had arrived too late to catch the fire's start — but not too late to capture her.
His camera clicked.
Someone dared to ask, breathless—
"What's your name?"
Aahi turned, brushing ash from her sleeve.
She gave a soft, almost tired smile.
"Aahi."
A pause.
Then, gently—
"Fire doesn't scare me. It remembers me."
And with that, she walked away — barefoot, back across the same bridge, her figure glowing against the burning night.
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