Chapter 7:- The Bell Rings Again

They said healing takes time.

But sometimes, healing walks into a classroom wearing a white ribbon and clutching a notebook — not sure where to sit, but knowing who she's sitting beside.

For Jeevika and Shivanya, the bell didn't just mark the start of class —

It was the sound of life saying: Try again, little warriors.

Early Morning – Rishikesh Estate Driveway

The Rishikesh Royal Palace grounds hummed with a different kind of energy this morning. Not the playful chaos of cricket, but a quiet anticipation. The sun, a soft golden orb, was still climbing, casting long shadows across the dew-kissed lawns.

A polished navy blue school van, bearing the school's emblem painted in gold near its door, purred softly outside the estate gates. It was a familiar sight for some, a new, daunting one for others.

Inside the grand foyer, Jeevika, fourteen, stood a little stiffly in a crisp new school uniform. The material felt unfamiliar, formal. Beside her, Shivanya, ten, looked even smaller in her matching uniform, her eyes wide, absorbing everything.

The usual morning bustle of palace staff seemed to move around them with extra care, hushed and sympathetic.

Mrinalini Singh and Charumati Rathore Singh stood with them, their presence a blend of regal calm and maternal concern. Mrinalini Bua Ji wore a soft grey saree with a maroon border, her hand gently resting on Jeevika's shoulder.

Charumati Tai Ji was beside Shivanya, meticulously adjusting a stray strand of hair, securing it with a small, white ribbon.

Mrinalini Bua Ji looked at Jeevika, her gaze soft, empathetic.

"You'll do well, beta," Mrinalini said, her voice a warm, comforting murmur. "Just... take your time with the world. It'll catch up to your silence. There's no rush." Her words were a quiet acknowledgment of Jeevika's grief, a permission to feel without pressure.

Jeevika nodded, a faint tremor in her lips. The silence was still her closest companion, but the thought of facing a new school, new faces, tightened a knot in her stomach.

Charumati Tai Ji cupped Shivanya's cheek, her touch feather-light.

"And if anyone says anything mean, Shivanya beta," Charumati Tai Ji advised, her voice surprisingly firm, "just point at Virat. He'll deal with them." She winked playfully.

A tiny, fleeting ghost of a smile touched Shivanya's lips. It was almost imperceptible, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it was there. The thought of Virat, her partner in pranks, acting as a protector, seemed to offer a sliver of comfort.

Suddenly, a flurry of motion. Ram, sixteen, appeared, already looking sharp in his college uniform, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Virat, Pragati, Preesha, and Chandu streamed in behind him, their chatter filling the foyer with welcome noise.

"Alright, everyone! Let's get moving!" Ram called out, his voice already carrying the authority of an elder cousin.

Preesha, twelve, adjusted her school bag, a nervous flutter in her own chest. She whispered to Chandu.

"Today feels different, doesn't it?" Preesha murmured, glancing at Jeevika and Shivanya. "Like... we're a team now. All of us."

Chandu, ten, grinned, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Shivanya. "Operation: Protect Our Girls is officially in motion, Preesha Didi! Especially Shivanya!" She winked at Shivanya, a silent reassurance of their new bond.

Jeevika and Shivanya exchanged a glance. The nervousness remained, but it was now laced with a tentative sense of belonging.

Inside the Van – Mid-Ride

The school van, surprisingly spacious, buzzed softly with half-whispers and scattered giggles. The familiar chatter of the cousins formed a comforting, if overwhelming, backdrop. Shivanya sat next to Chandu, their pink water bottles clinking gently with the turns of the road. Pragati sat beside them, occasionally sharing a quiet smile.

Virat, always restless, twisted around from the front seat, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"So... newbie squad," Virat said, addressing Jeevika and Shivanya, "any idea how strict Miss D'Souza is? I heard she gives pop quizzes on Tuesdays!"

Pragati, ever pragmatic, sighed dramatically. "Strict enough to know when you fake a stomach ache, Virat." Her dry tone was laced with brotherly affection. "Don't even try it."

Virat dramatically clutched his stomach. "My delicate constitution can't handle such accusations, Pragati! I am a pillar of academic integrity!"

The other cousins chuckled.

Jeevika, in a window seat, watched the world rush past. Her hands clutched her diary, its familiar weight a small comfort. She didn't speak much, her mind still processing the enormity of the changes. Her eyes flickered – at school walls, passing kids, a yellow balloon stuck in a tree.

Her thoughts whispered:

> "It's strange. How a place can be new… and yet feel like something I dreamt once. Like a second chance. But at what cost?"

>

School Campus – Morning Assembly Ground

The Rishikesh school campus was a sprawling, vibrant expanse. Students, dressed in crisp uniforms, moved in organized lines towards the morning assembly ground. Sunlight spilled generously over tiled roofs and bright marigold hedges, painting the scene in cheerful hues.

The estate kids stood together, a small, close-knit unit amidst the hundreds of other students. Jeevika and Shivanya stayed close to Ram and their younger cousins.

The Principal, a tall woman with a kind but authoritative face, stepped up to the microphone. Her voice boomed, clear and welcoming.

"Good morning, students!" the Principal announced. "We have two new additions to our school family this week. Please extend a warm welcome to Jeevika Singh, joining Grade 9, and Shivanya Singh, joining Grade 5."

A soft, polite clapping followed. A wave of curious glances swept over Jeevika and Shivanya. A few whispered questions, too soft to fully make out, drifted through the air.

One student, leaning towards another, murmured: "Are they... from that royal family? The Palace ones?"

Another girl, a whisper of concern in her voice, replied: "I heard they lost everything in a fire. Their whole family, almost."

The whispers, though hushed, reached Virat's ears. His head snapped up. His eyes, usually full of mischief, hardened with sudden protectiveness. He turned, his voice carrying just enough to interrupt the hushed conversation near them, a subtle but firm declaration.

"They didn't lose everything," Virat stated, his voice clear and sharp. "They still have us."

Shivanya, standing beside Chandu, turned, surprised by Virat's unexpected ferocity. A faint, almost startled look crossed her face. Chandu grinned, nudging Shivanya's shoulder, a silent message of shared triumph and loyalty.

Jeevika just stood still, her spine straight, her gaze steady. She didn't flinch from the whispers. Not anymore. Not now that she had her sister and her cousins by her side.

Inside Class 5 – Shivanya's New Desk

The classroom was bright, filled with the soft rustle of notebooks and the excited murmurs of ten-year-olds. A clean desk by the window, bathed in morning light, awaited Shivanya. She sat there, her new school bag neatly zipped, her small hands resting on the smooth wood.

Chandu pulled her chair closer, a determined look on her face.

"Okay. Official rule," Chandu whispered, her voice conspiratorial. "If I pass you a note in class, it means it's time to laugh. No matter what. Even if Miss Sharma is glaring."

Pragati, from the next row, leaned in, her eyes twinkling.

"And Virat's handwriting?" Pragati added dryly. "You can ignore. Half the time it's a secret code only he understands. It's truly ancient, I think."

Virat, from the front seat, spun around, feigning outrage.

"Hey! My handwriting is a work of art, Pragati! That's why I sit in front. You don't deserve my genius," Virat declared, puffing out his chest.

Shivanya watched them, her lips twitching. She bit her lip—and then it happened. A smile. Real. Not just polite. Not just a ghost. It reached her eyes, crinkling the corners, a rare, beautiful glimpse of the girl she used to be.

The burden of the secret, for a moment, seemed to lighten.

Inside Class 9 – Jeevika's Desk

Rows were neat. The fan clicked steadily overhead, stirring the air. Jeevika sat at her new desk, her textbooks open, but her gaze was distant. The weight of her new role as Shivanya's protector, and the unresolved grief, felt heavy.

A girl from the next desk, curious but hesitant, leaned slightly towards Jeevika.

"Excuse me," she whispered. "Do you really live in a haveli? The palace?"

Jeevika, without looking up, quietly flipped a page in her textbook. Her voice was soft, but carried a quiet strength.

"I live with people who make it feel like home," Jeevika replied, her words a subtle deflection, a quiet statement of loyalty to her new family.

The girl blinked. She hadn't expected that answer. She had expected glamour, not quiet resilience. The conversation ended there, leaving a sense of unexpected depth.

Intermediate College – Ram's New Beginning

Across the sprawling campus wall, in the junior college wing, Ram Singh, sixteen, leaned against the railing of his class corridor. The atmosphere here was different – a buzz of older students, more focused, more independent. His group of boys surrounded him – laughing, discussing cricket practice, the upcoming exams.

But Ram's eyes kept drifting to the school ground below, where his younger cousins were just ending their assembly, a kaleidoscope of uniforms under the rising sun. His gaze lingered on Jeevika and Shivanya, small figures amidst the throng.

> "Protecting them won't always mean standing in front.

> Sometimes, it means walking your path right – so they believe they can too.

> So they know they have a solid ground to stand on, no matter what."

>

The school day passed, a blur of new routines and unfamiliar faces slowly becoming familiar. At the end of the day, as the dismissal bell echoed, the estate kids gathered again, a tight-knit unit walking towards the waiting van. Bags were tossed onto seats. Ties undone. The formal crispness of morning uniforms gave way to the comfortable slouch of exhausted teenagers.

Virat, predictably, was already leading a chaotic mess of "dab" dance moves, much to Preesha's exasperated attempts to coordinate them. Jeevika and Shivanya found themselves under the shade of an amaltas tree on the palace lawn, still in uniform, watching their cousins being… themselves. Pure, unadulterated chaos, infused with a vibrant sense of life.

Jeevika looked sideways at Shivanya, a tentative hope in her eyes.

"Did you like it?" Jeevika asked softly.

Shivanya nodded, her gaze still fixed on the dancing cousins, a faint smile on her lips.

"It wasn't scary," Shivanya whispered, her voice surprisingly clear. "It was… like a place that knew I'd come." A place that accepted her.

Jeevika didn't say anything. But she reached over, gently pushed a stray leaf out of Shivanya's hair, a small, tender gesture of silent understanding.

"School's just a building," Jeevika said, a soft, profound smile blooming on her face. "But today… it felt like a beginning."

> A new school.

> A new rhythm.

> But the same old promise—we'll face it together.

> And somewhere in the crowd, fate watched them —

> still whispering secrets only time would reveal.

Night – Rishikesh Estate, Cousins' Study Room

The grand Haveli was quiet. Too quiet. A soft breeze fluttered through the corridors, carrying the distant hum of crickets and the faint rustle of neem leaves. The night wore its usual shawl of silence — the kind only royal walls truly understood.

But somewhere down a dimly lit hall, that silence was being very… politely stolen.

Virat, age ten, moved like a shadow. Barefoot, eyes gleaming with thrill, he tiptoed across the polished marble, hugging the deeper pockets of darkness. His oversized T-shirt, probably borrowed from Ram, nearly tripped him, but he was on a mission.

The silver tray near the front foyer shimmered in the moonlight — and sitting atop it: a stack of cream-colored envelopes. Some were curled at the edges from the monsoon humidity, sealed with wax or sloppy tape — depending on which cousin had a penpal that week.

Virat suppressed a triumphant cackle.

"Operation: Postal Heist is a go," he whispered dramatically to himself, his voice a barely audible puff of air, his grin wide enough to split his face in the darkness.

He snatched the entire stack. Not sprinting, which would be too loud, but a sneaky-fast bolt, like a squirrel with a secret. His destination: the cousins' shared study room upstairs.

Cousins' Study Room – Upstairs

Soft yellow lamps glowed against the intricately carved wooden walls of the study room.

The air was thick with the scent of old books and fresh paint. The cousins were scattered across the thick carpet like a spilled box of crayons — each lost in their own world, the quiet hum of concentration filling the space.

Ram, sixteen, leaned back against a large bolster cushion, flipping through his economics workbook, headphones plugged into one ear, a faint rhythm escaping the earpiece.

Preesha, twelve, sat cross-legged, her brow furrowed in careful concentration as she delicately shaded a lotus with her watercolors. Her palette was a rainbow of soft hues.

Chandu, ten, had a smudge of blue paint on her nose and one leg twisted under the other. She was intensely doodling a warrior princess in a sketchbook, her tongue sticking out in concentration.

Jeevika, fourteen, sat upright, her textbooks open. She was underlining notes with an almost eerie precision, her focus absolute, a coping mechanism against the lingering anxieties.

Pragati and Shivanya, both ten, were huddled together, giggling quietly over a Hindi poem that had far too many tongue-twisters. Shivanya, for the first time since the fire, had a genuine lightness in her eyes as Pragati stumbled over a particularly difficult rhyme.

Suddenly— SLAM.

The door to the study room creaked open, then was pushed wide with unnecessary force. Virat stormed in, arms raised high like a victorious pirate, a stack of letters clutched in one hand.

""BREAKING NEWS FROM YOUR FAVORITE ROYAL POSTMAN!" Virat boomed..., his voice echoing loudly in the formerly quiet room. "I BRING TREASURES FROM THE LAND OF ENVELOPES!"

Chandu groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Not again, drama king."

Ram, without looking up, merely raised a hand, still absorbed in his economics. "Virat, if you opened any of my marksheets, you're going to be doing pushups till college."

Virat ignored everyone, a seasoned showman. He hopped onto a small stool, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Attention, attention! Let the reading commence!" He shuffled through the pile with the air of a seasoned news anchor.

Slowly, one by one, everyone began to abandon their books and art supplies, gathering on the floor, forming a half-circle around him.

"Letter Number One!" Virat announced, holding up a cream-colored envelope. "From Mrs. Malhotra of Mussoorie — her cat has delivered four kittens and she insists we come visit!" He gasped dramatically.

"A litter! Of kittens! Scandalous! Jeevika Didi keeping feline secrets from us all!"

Jeevika, a small smile playing on her lips, pretended to look annoyed. "Give it back, Virat, or I'll tell Bade Maa you swapped her camphor again."

Virat, with a theatrical bow, lowered the letter. "Fine, fine. Next up!" He shuffled the stack. "Letter Number Two! From someone named… Meenakshi Aunty, who says — and I quote — 'Tell Chandu to STOP mixing turmeric in paint!'" turmeric

Chandu gasped, scandalized. "That was for creative effects! It was going to be an experimental technique!"

Shivanya, who had been watching with unblinking curiosity, bit her lip. Then, for the first time since the fire, she spoke directly, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Yeah, yellow boogers on a canvas. Very artistic," Shivanya teased, a faint, genuine smile touching her lips.

A burst of laughter erupted from everyone in the room. Even Ram finally looked up from his book, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Alright anchor sir," Ram said, his voice laced with amusement. "Any letters for me?"

Virat cleared his throat, enjoying the attention. "Letter Number Four — from Papa — which says: Ram, stop eating pickle during tuition."

Ram snatched the letter instantly, his smile faltering. ""Lies! You're hereby exiled from my future kingdom, Virat."

The letters passed around, a tactile link to a world outside their new reality. Some held old stories. Some had dried flowers pressed flat within their folds.

One even had a pressed four-leaf clover from a cousin studying abroad. Paint-streaked fingers mingled with ink-stained ones as they shared the small, personal windows into other lives.

Soon, Shivanya was smiling so much her dimples reappeared, a rare and beautiful sight. Chandu nudged her shoulder, proud.

"This is what I call cousin chaos," Chandu said, grinning. "Admit it — you like us now, Shivanya."

Shivanya looked around the room, at the laughing faces, at Jeevika's quiet joy, at the general, comforting mess.

"…Maybe a little," Shivanya whispered, her smile softening, her gaze finding Chandu's.

Virat, always listening, overheard her. He puffed out his chest.

"She loves us. Especially me. Obviously," Virat declared with supreme confidence.

Preesha grabbed a paintbrush, chasing him playfully. "Say that again and I'll paint your face like a Holi wall, Virat!"

Night – Mrinalini and Charumati – Palace Corridor

Down the hall, Mrinalini Singh and Charumati Rathore Singh were walking past the half-open door of the cousins' study room. They paused.

The laughter inside? It wasn't loud.

It wasn't forced.

It was real. Warm. Loud in its own silent way.

"Did you hear that, Mrinalini?" Charumati whispered softly, a profound relief washing over her face.

Mrinalini's eyes glinted with unshed tears, a tender smile blooming. "My love, she laughed. Our Shivanya... she laughed." She grasped Charumati's hand, a shared moment of triumph.

They looked at each other, eyes glinting with relief. Something broken had started stitching itself back together. Not with therapy. Not with lectures. But with cousins. Letters. And a ten-year-old news anchor who believed every envelope was front-page worthy.

That night, no one noticed when the clock slipped past midnight. Or how Jeevika, textbook open, kept glancing at Shivanya — laughing like she hadn't in weeks. Somewhere deep inside, Jeevika finally understood:

Home wasn't bricks or chandeliers. It was people who waited for your smile.

____________________________________