Embers Don’t Fade
📅 Monday, 7th August
📍 Devgarh High School
The school morning was quieter than usual, but only on the surface.
It was still dark when the first alarm rang in Nandanpur.
4:45 AM: Yawns, tangled braids, half-folded uniforms.
5:15 AM: The soft roars of scooters hummed down the misty road from Nandanpur to Devgarh.
Four scooters, carrying nine sleepy but determined students, sped across the Sudarshini bridge. Wind blew Ishanvi's braid back as Meera held her from behind, half-asleep. Simran—now back in her polished city uniform—had returned to school that morning but kept glancing at Ishanvi and Abhay every chance she got.
After all, she'd seen them yesterday.
They weren't just village toppers anymore. They were something else.
🔹 At School: Whispers and Warnings
By 7:30 AM, the corridors buzzed with whispers.
"Did you hear what happened on the trek?"
"Someone said Ishanvi took down a senior with just one move."
"Black belts. Both of them."
They tried to ignore it, but by recess, Mr. Sumanth, the PE teacher, had cornered them.
"Why didn't you ever tell me you were trained martial artists?" he asked, sipping his watery tea.
"We… don't practice anymore," Ishanvi replied.
"Well, from what I hear, you still can," he said, raising an eyebrow.
🔥 Lunch Break: A Spark of the Past
They sat under their usual tree—Vrinda and Vaidehi sharing lunch, Meera and Vivaan competing over who could eat more rice with one hand.
Simran leaned toward Ishanvi and whispered,
"You never told me you quit karate for him."
Abhay looked up, startled.
Ishanvi, very softly, said,
"Because it was never about giving up. It was about not continuing alone."
The others went quiet.
And Abhay… stared at his lunchbox like it had caught fire.
🕯 Flashback: February 17th — Two Years Ago
The dojo floor was warm under bare feet. Sweat dripped from Abhay's brow as he circled his opponent. Ishanvi stood at the edge—braids tight, eyes sharper.
The match had been called. He was winning.
Then the boy opposite him slipped. The timing was off.
Abhay lunged—not to strike, but to save.
The boy landed hard. Abhay fell awkwardly, shoulder-first.
Crack.
He didn't scream. But when he tried to get up, he couldn't move his arm.
Later that night, in the hospital, Ishanvi sat beside him without speaking.
The next day, she went to the dojo.
She tried. She really did.
But there was a rhythm missing—like a song with no drumbeat.
She bowed to Sensei and handed over her belt.
"Why?" he had asked.
"Because he can't stand there," she whispered. "So neither will I."
🌊 Back to Present
"You still move like a fighter," Simran said.
Ishanvi didn't deny it. She just looked at Abhay.
Abhay looked away.
Later, in the chemistry lab, a beaker slipped off the table, boiling liquid almost falling on Aariv.
Ishanvi, a full five feet away, turned instinctively—and the beaker stopped midair, hovering just above the ground.
Everyone stared.
"Lucky bounce," she muttered, placing it gently down with her bare hands—untouched.
🌙 Evening: On the Bridge
They returned home by dusk, scooters gliding silently across the bridge.
Ishanvi and Abhay rode side by side, the others ahead.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Abhay nodded, then said without looking at her,
"I never asked you to give it up."
"I know," she replied just as softly.
"But I did."
He looked at her now, expression unreadable.
"You're… incredible," he said.
"Say that again," she teased.
Abhay's ears turned red.
"You're… in-inc—let's just ride," he mumbled, gripping the handle.
She laughed.
Behind them, the Sudarshini rippled calmly.
But above their heads, a single firefly danced ahead of their scooters—its glow soft and steady.