The ripples took a long time to die.
The night air had turned so still that even the leaves seemed afraid to breathe.
The moon hung above the canal like an ancient witness, pale and hollow-eyed, watching what it could not explain.
The fairy was gone.
Only the shimmer of her last footsteps lingered over the surface of the water—silver rings widening, fading, swallowed again by silence.
For a moment, it felt as though the world itself had stopped spinning.
Everyone remained frozen.
The mansion loomed like a portrait painted in moonlight—every window holding a shadow, every balcony hiding a heartbeat.
Guards who moments ago had drawn their weapons now stood with their arms lowered, uncertain whether they were guarding heaven or hell.
The family—those who had always thought themselves human, safe, ordinary—stood paralyzed in the garden's breath.
Mahim had not moved since the fairy appeared.
The glass still trembled in his hand.
Mahi's fingers dug into his arm, trembling, eyes wide with something between horror and prayer.
Fahim and Fahad leaned against the marble railings of the upper balcony, their faces pale and unreadable. Farhan had gone still as stone, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling in shallow rhythm.
And there, on the grass, stood Rahi—his hands shaking at his sides, eyes fixed on the girl in black who stood between the human and the divine.
Maya.
The name itself seemed to hum faintly in the air, as though it now belonged to something larger than a person.
The water behind her glowed faintly, reflecting the moon in ripples that seemed almost alive.
Her long black hair clung to her shoulders, damp at the ends, her face expressionless—so calm it made the world look violent beside her.
There was no smile. No sadness.
No emotion at all.
Only that endless quiet—the kind that lives inside mountains and broken temples, where even the wind forgets its own name.
She stepped forward.
Her bare feet touched the grass, and it bent beneath her but did not break.
The faint shimmer around her body began to fade, thread by thread, as though the light itself was afraid to remain near her too long.
From the shadows of the eastern garden, a child's voice broke the silence.
"Maya!"
It was Raya.
Her little face was streaked with tears and wonder. She had seen everything—the fairy, the light, the water that had bowed before a human girl.
And now, in her innocent heart, there was no fear. Only love.
She ran forward, barefoot on the stone path.
But before she could reach Maya, Niya caught her by the shoulders and pulled her back sharply.
"Don't," Niya whispered. "Not now."
Raya struggled, her voice trembling. "But she's not scary! She's—she's like the fairy!"
Niya's hand shook as she held the child close.
Her eyes, however, were fixed on Maya.
On the quiet, expressionless figure who now walked toward the mansion—slowly, silently, like a shadow that had learned to take human shape.
Maya did not speak.
She passed through the garden, past the fountains that had stopped flowing, past the trees that leaned like witnesses.
Her black dress shimmered once in the moonlight—then faded, losing its silver glow. It turned to plain dark fabric again, humble and heavy, as if the magic had folded itself away to sleep inside her skin.
The sound of her footsteps was softer than wind.
When she reached the marble steps of the mansion, the world seemed to exhale again.
But no one dared follow—
Except one.
Anik.
He took a hesitant step forward, his voice trembling like the last note of a dying song.
"Wait."
Maya did not.
Her steps continued, one after another, echoing faintly through the grand hallway beyond.
Anik quickened his pace, catching up to her at the foot of the grand staircase.
"Was that… really you?" he asked, his words a mix of awe and disbelief.
She didn't answer.
Didn't turn.
Her face was calm, unreadable, empty of all that had once been human warmth.
Because there was nothing left to hide now.
Everyone had seen.
The truth could no longer be buried in shadow.
"You didn't have to show them," Anik whispered, softer this time.
His voice carried a kind of sadness that came not from fear—but from knowing he had lost something he could never name.
Still, no reply.
Her silence was not cold—it was sacred. The kind of silence that came from carrying too much pain, too much power, too much memory.
Behind them, the rest of the family had begun to move—slowly, cautiously—like people approaching the edge of a dream they feared to wake from.
Mahim and Mahi stepped into the doorway. Mahi's tears glistened in the faint chandelier light. Fahim's jaw was set. Fahad's hand trembled against the marble railing. Farhan's eyes shimmered, the reflection of something broken and beautiful inside them.
And Rahi…
He stood just beyond the stairs. His voice cracked as he spoke.
"You told me they'd never know."
Maya stopped.
Her head turned slightly, the faint motion of her hair brushing against her neck.
Then she looked at him.
Her eyes were soft, but hollow—like the ocean before a storm.
"They had to," she said quietly.
Her voice was gentle, almost tender—but it carried a finality that froze the room.
Rahi took a step closer, his eyes searching hers for something—anything—human.
"But why now?"
There was a long pause.
So long that even the night outside seemed to wait for her answer.
Finally, she spoke.
"Because the fairy didn't come for me."
Her tone was even. Her words fell like rain into still water.
Rahi's confusion deepened. "Then who—?"
Maya's gaze drifted past him—past the family, past the fear—toward the garden outside.
There, under the silver moon, stood Raya.
Tiny, trembling, her eyes still full of light.
Maya's expression softened, though no warmth reached her voice.
"She came for her."
A silence followed—deeper than before.
No one dared breathe.
Raya, unaware of the weight those words carried, only blinked and whispered,
"For me?"
But Maya had already turned.
She began to climb the staircase—slowly, one step at a time.
Each step sounded like a heartbeat fading farther away.
The family remained where they were—half in light, half in shadow.
Mahi reached out once, instinctively, like a mother reaching for a child.
But her hand froze midair.
Because she saw it—
The faint shimmer of energy that rippled around Maya's body, an invisible barrier between her and the rest of the world.
A reminder.
That even touch had become forbidden.
Mahim lowered his head. "She's changed," he murmured.
But the truth was, she hadn't.
The world had simply begun to see what she truly was.
Maya reached the landing of the stairs. The chandelier light fell over her like spilled moonlight.
Her black dress fluttered faintly in the draft of night air coming through the open doors.
And then—she stopped.
Without turning, she spoke again.
Her voice barely above a whisper, but every word struck like thunder.
"Don't follow me."
The words hung heavy, echoing down the marble walls.
No one moved.
Not even Rahi.
Not even Anik.
And then—
She was gone.
The sound of her footsteps faded into the corridor, until the mansion returned to silence again.
Outside, the canal began to move.
Soft ripples shimmered over its surface, glowing faintly as though remembering her touch.
The water seemed alive—like it knew her name, like it mourned her absence.
In the garden, Raya broke free from Niya's hold and ran to the water's edge.
"Maya!" she called, her voice echoing softly against the stone walls. "Maya, look! The water's still shining!"
But Maya did not return.
She stood on the upper balcony now, unseen by most, watching through the tall glass panes.
Her face unreadable.
Her body motionless.
Only her eyes—ancient, distant—reflected the shimmering light below.
The fairy's last trace floated on the canal, fading slowly into the night.
It was as if the world had been rewritten for a single moment—then folded back into itself, leaving only memory behind.
Down below, the family began to stir again—broken whispers, questions that no one dared voice aloud.
"What was that?"
"Is she… one of them?"
"Did you see the light?"
"Was it magic?"
"Or something else?"
Rahi turned toward the canal, his face pale as winter dawn. "She didn't even look at me," he whispered.
Anik placed a hand on his shoulder—but even that comfort felt empty.
Because how do you reach someone who no longer belongs to the same world?
Above them, the balcony curtain fluttered once.
A gust of wind swept through the hall, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and jasmine—the same scent that had followed Maya since the day she was born.
And for a moment—just a moment—it felt as though she had become part of the night itself.
Not gone.
Not here.
beyond.
The canal shimmered one last time before turning dark again.
The water that remembered her.