The tall windows let in ribbons of sunlight, casting golden lines across the floor of Aahi's room.
It was a beautiful space — soft creams, pale wood, walls lined with books, paintings, and handmade things that whispered of love.
But even the sunlight couldn't melt the tension in the room.
Aahi stood by the bed, catching her breath, strands of hair stuck to her cheek from running. Her eyes searched the space — no smoke, no danger. Just—
Her grandmother, seated stiffly on the armchair near the window, a faded red photo album open across her lap.
"Naani?" Aahi's voice broke the silence. "Why did you call me like that? What happened?"
Her grandmother — Shaheen Begum, graceful in age, wearing her pearl-grey dupatta like a crown — didn't look up immediately. She was flipping pages slowly, almost nervously.
"You scared me," Aahi said again, softer now. "Is everything okay?"
Finally, her grandmother looked up. Her expression was not panicked — it was gentle, but lined with something deeper: worry.
"Sit, aahi."
Aahi hesitated, then lowered herself to the edge of the bed.
Shaheen sighed, resting her hand over the open album.
"You're always out there by yourself. Walking alone. Reading alone. Talking to the koi fish like they'll answer you."
Aahi blinked.
"They listen better than people."
Shaheen smiled faintly — then turned the album toward her.
"I want you to look at these."
Photographs.
Of young men — smiling, dressed well. Some formal. Some casual. Most of them clearly posed, with tiny notes scribbled under each name.
Aahi froze.
Her smile faded completely.
"Naani…"
Her grandmother raised a hand.
"Just look. You don't have to pick today. But soon. You need someone, Aahi. You're twenty. You come home to an empty room. Your mother's in Dubai half the year running that empire. Your father…" — her voice caught slightly — "…he walked out on us both. I don't want you to forget how to feel loved."
Aahi stood up.
Not with anger — with something quieter.
A deep, invisible ache she carried in her spine.
"I'm not lonely, Naani."
"Then what are you?"
Aahi looked out the window.
The trees outside danced in a quiet wind. Somewhere in the garden, her bag still lay on the bench… and inside it, the spirit charm waited, silently waking something within her.
She turned back, her voice calm but firm.
"I don't want to date anyone. Not right now. Maybe not ever."
Her grandmother frowned gently.
"You say that now. But one day, when the house is empty, you'll remember what I said."
"It's already empty," Aahi whispered, barely audible.
Silence.
Shaheen softened.
She closed the album and reached for her hand.
"I just want someone to look at you the way you deserve. Not for your money. Not for your beauty. But because they see you."
Aahi gave a small, tired smile.
"I don't think anyone's ever really seen me, Naani."
Another silence.
Then Shaheen squeezed her hand, kissed her knuckles.
"Then maybe I just want someone brave enough to try."
They said nothing more after that.
But as Aahi walked to the window, letting the light hit her face, something inside her felt heavier.
Not because of the photographs.
Not because of her past.
Because something inside her had shifted, and she didn't know what yet.
Outside, the koi pond rippled.
The wind blew through the garden.
And far below, tucked in her forgotten bag —
the charm pulsed once.
And Aahi blinked.
A strange dizziness passed through her, gone in a second.
She shook her head.
"Weird," she whispered.
And outside, far down the estate road…
Eela stood beneath the trees, watching the windows.
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