The night had folded itself into silence.
Not the silence of fear.
But the silence that follows revelation — deep, wide, endless.
The wind moved softly through the trees outside, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and rain-washed earth. The moon floated high above the Sunayna mansion, pale and unblinking, as though keeping watch over everything that had just unfolded.
And inside that mansion — the world felt strangely still.
No one spoke of what they had seen.
No one dared to call it magic.
No one whispered the word power.
Because what Maya had done did not feel like power.
It felt like peace.
The servants walked slower, their eyes softer. The guards, who had once stood rigid whenever Maya passed, now lowered their heads slightly — not out of fear, but reverence. Even the walls of the mansion, once trembling from the echoes of violence and grief, seemed calmer, like they were finally breathing again.
Mahi sat in the drawing room, her hands folded, her eyes glistening. Mahim stood beside the window, his gaze lost somewhere between the stars and his daughter's shadow upstairs.
No one knew what to say.
How could they?
In that single night, Maya had rewritten everything they thought they understood about her — about what she was, and what she wasn't.
She had walked on water.
She had called light from air.
And yet, when it was done — she had turned away, wordless.
No pride.
No fire.
Just quiet.
Upstairs, the hallway was filled with a faint hum of air — as if the walls themselves remembered her steps.
Maya's room stood open. The moonlight touched her floor, spilling over her bed like silver silk.
She was there — sitting near the balcony again, barefoot, dressed in black.
The night air stirred her hair, brushing against her cheek, but she did not move. Her eyes, those unfathomable mirrors of dusk and light, were fixed on the horizon.
There was no pain in them.
No joy.
Only stillness — the kind that came after storms, when the world was too tired to speak.
Below, she could hear faint whispers — Rahi's voice, Fahim's low murmur, Mahi calling softly for the maids to rest.
She heard everything, but none of it reached her.
She wasn't angry.
She wasn't hurt.
But she couldn't go back to what they called "home."
Because she had become something else — something that words like daughter, sister, or sorrow could no longer contain.
From the garden, the soft laughter of a child drifted upward.
Raya.
Maya's gaze flicked downward for just a moment.
The child was chasing fireflies with Ohi and Niya, her tiny hands glowing golden in the moonlight. Every few seconds she would stop, stare at the water where the fairy had once danced, and smile — as though waiting for her to return.
That smile — unbroken, unafraid — was enough.
Maya turned back to the horizon.
Her gloved hand lifted slightly, and a faint shimmer of wind rose in answer.
Not harsh. Not powerful.
Just gentle — a whisper that swirled through the garden and wrapped around Raya's hair, spinning the fireflies into little rings of light.
The child laughed again.
No one else saw it, but Maya looked.
Just once.
Time passed slowly that night.
Anik came to her door, stopping just before the threshold. He didn't dare step inside. The soft silver glow from her balcony outlined her in silhouette — too still, too beautiful, too distant.
"Maya," he said quietly, "you don't have to be alone."
Her voice came after a long silence, smooth and quiet as falling ash.
"I'm not."
He frowned, stepping forward slightly. "Then who's with you?"
She looked toward the sky.
"The wind. The silence. The part of me they couldn't take."
He didn't know what to say.
No one ever did, when she spoke like that.
Anik took a breath, as if to try again — but stopped when the air shifted.
A soft current brushed against his face, and for the first time, he realized what he was feeling wasn't cold. It was calm.
It was her.
Maya wasn't a storm anymore.
She was the calm that came after it.
He lowered his eyes. "Goodnight, Maya."
But she didn't reply.
She was already looking past him — to the stars.
Hours slipped by.
The moon moved westward. The house fell asleep.
And Maya remained by the balcony, unmoving.
The faint trail of her earlier magic still shimmered faintly on her skin, like dust left by something divine.
Her fingers rested on the railing, cold and still.
Somewhere in her mind, she heard a memory — a voice from the past.
"You'll find your answer when you stop calling me Rose of Death."
Arib's words.
She closed her eyes.
The wind touched her again, soft and tender, carrying whispers from far away — maybe from places she had forgotten, maybe from people she would one day meet again.
And though she had no emotion left to feel, no tear left to shed — there was something like peace in that silence.
Because for the first time, Maya wasn't being watched.
She wasn't being feared.
She was being understood — even if quietly, from afar.
Downstairs, Mahi lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Mahim turned on his side, unable to sleep. Rahi sat near the window, writing something he would never show. Fahad stood in the courtyard, his eyes fixed on the balcony above.
And Raya, small and dream-lost, whispered before sleep took her:
"Goodnight, fairy."
The air carried that word upstairs.
Maya heard all noise — faint,clear.
Her lips parted.
a dark smile.
Almost unhuman.
Then she turned her gaze to the horizon once more.
The stars above were still bright. The trees whispered like old friends.
And the world, at last, was quiet — not out of fear, but out of awe.
The girl who had once been the storm…
Now ruled the silence.
And the silence, unlike the world,
Did not try to change her.
It simply bowed —
And slept beside her.
rose of death remain inside.