The next morning arrived quietly, with sunlight spilling through the school windows like warm gold.
Khushi stood outside the principal's office, hands clasped together, fingers nervously twisting the strap of her bag. Every second felt longer than it should. Her eyes moved to the clock, then to the corridor, and back again. Doubt whispered in her ear.
What if he doesn't come? What if I trusted a child too easily?
She inhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. A faint smile tugged at her lips despite it all.
Why do I feel so connected to that little boy?
The corridor remained empty… until she heard the light patter of small feet.
Kiaan appeared first, small and determined, running towards her. His face carried that innocent excitement only children have. Behind him walked Bhoomi and Susheela—two elderly women draped in soft pastel sarees, graceful, gentle, radiating the kind of warmth she had only dreamt of.
Khushi rose to her feet instantly, eyes softening, relief washing over her like a cool breeze after a storm. She greeted them with folded hands, voice low and grateful.
"Thank you for coming."
Bhoomi smiled back, a motherly smile that reached her eyes. Susheela's hand rested on Khushi's head briefly, a blessing that felt unexpectedly familiar… comforting… almost like a memory brushing her skin.
Her heart fluttered.
Together, they stepped inside the principal's office.
Khushi remained by the door while Kiaan stood proudly beside her like a little guardian.
The principal adjusted her glasses, gaze sharp and questioning. Bhoomi and Susheela sat before her with composed dignity. When asked if they knew Khushi, the elderly women exchanged a small glance—an agreed lie for a good cause—then answered with gentle firmness.
"Yes, we know her. She has grown up like our daughter."
Khushi lowered her eyes, overwhelmed. Her chest tightened with gratitude and guilt. A warmth spread through her—belonging, even if borrowed.
The principal nodded, taking notes, occasionally glancing at Khushi.
And outside the window, a soft breeze rustled the curtains, as if fate itself exhaled.
The principal leaned back in her chair, pen tapping lightly against the desk.
Her eyes shifted from the papers to the two elderly women seated before her.
"And what can you tell me about Khushi's personality?" she asked, voice calm but expectant.
A brief silence passed, delicate like a held breath.
Bhoomi's lips curled into a soft smile.
"She is gentle at heart," she said, voice warm as sunlight. "Always eager to help others, even when she struggles herself. Khushi doesn't give up easily. Life has not been kind to her, yet she still chooses kindness."
Susheela nodded, her gaze settling fondly on Khushi.
"She is respectful, hardworking. A child who knows the value of gratitude. She treats elders like family… and children like her own." She touched Kiaan's head, who stood close to Khushi as if guarding her. "We trust her."
Khushi's throat tightened, eyes stinging with emotion she wasn't prepared for.
Praise was something she rarely heard… and coming from women who barely knew her made it both comforting and painfully beautiful.
The principal observed Khushi quietly, perhaps noticing the shimmer in her eyes.
She scribbled a few more notes, her expression softening.
Kiaan glanced up at Khushi, squeezing her hand lightly, as if telling her See, you deserve this.
Khushi inhaled shakily, a faint smile rising to her lips—hope settling inside her like a fragile bird finally finding a branch to rest on.
---
The principal finally placed the pen aside, a decisive click echoing in the room.
"Well," she said, eyes shifting from Khushi to the two elderly women and then to Kiaan, "I'm satisfied. Everything seems in order."
Her voice warmed, losing its earlier edge of scrutiny. "Congratulations, Khushi. You're appointed."
Khushi blinked. For a second she thought she misheard.
"Appointed…?" she echoed under her breath, disbelief soft as a whisper.
"Yes," the principal smiled. "Today is Friday, so take the weekend to prepare. You may join officially from Monday."
It felt as if the ground beneath Khushi steadied for the first time in years.
Her chest rose with a shaky breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
"Thank you, ma'am," she said—voice gentle, eyes glossy with relief she tried hard to hide. She pressed her palms together respectfully. "Thank you so much."
Bhoomi and Susheela exchanged a look of quiet triumph.
Kiaan grinned up at her, victorious like he had won something precious.
Khushi bowed again, gratitude shining through every inch of her being.
A new beginning. A door finally opening.
---
Outside in the garden, sunlight filtered softly through the trees, painting gold across the trimmed grass. Khushi walked alongside Bhoomi and Susheela, still overwhelmed with the happiness that trembled inside her. The moment they were far enough from the office, Khushi stopped, turned to them, and suddenly stepped forward, gently wrapping her arms around them both.
"Thank you," she breathed, voice thick with emotion. "Truly… thank you. I don't know how to repay what you did today. You lied for me, stood beside me… even when you don't really know me. I—" Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry you had to lie because of me."
Susheela's hands came to her shoulders, steady and warm.
"No child," Susheela murmured, her tone filled with softness rather than reprimand. "You didn't force us. We chose to. Sometimes hearts understand what eyes do not."
Bhoomi smiled and reached down to ruffle Kiaan's hair.
"It was this little boy," she said gently. "He told us everything. How you saved his life yesterday. How he believes you are his angel… and maybe he isn't wrong. If fate brought you to him twice, there must be a reason."
Khushi's eyes shifted to Kiaan—his tiny face upturned, eyes sparkling with pride as if he had accomplished something grand.
Without thinking, she dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.
He giggled softly when she hugged him, and her voice cracked with gratitude as she whispered, "Thank you… for believing in me. For helping me."
Kiaan hugged her back tighter, a warmth between them that felt older than time—like a forgotten bond tugging at the edges of both souls.
The wind rustled the leaves above them, almost as if the universe itself paused to watch.
To be continued…