After finishing his breakfast, Arman stepped into the hallway, the quiet click of the door echoing behind him. The polished marble floor beneath his feet gleamed in the soft golden light pouring through the high windows, casting long shadows across the ornate walls. The palace halls, though quiet, felt alive with history—tapestries rippled faintly as if whispering secrets in the breeze drifting through arched windows.
He made his way toward the garden, each step light but purposeful.
As he pushed open the tall wooden doors and stepped outside, a hush fell over him.
The garden unfurled before him like a painting brought to life.
A warm breeze brushed his face, carrying the fragrance of jasmine, roses, and freshly cut grass. Dew still clung to the petals of tulips and marigolds, sparkling like scattered gems beneath the rising sun. Stone paths wound through patches of wildflowers, and the air was filled with the gentle hum of bees and distant chirping of birds flitting from branch to branch. Along the edges, slender trees swayed softly, their leaves rustling like murmured lullabies.
In a quiet clearing of lush green grass, Zubair stood barefoot, stretching his arms high above his head, back arching as he exhaled slowly. The early light danced on his skin, casting a faint shadow behind him.
Arman raised a hand. "Hey… Zubair!"
Zubair glanced over his shoulder, his smirk lazy and amused. "Oh, well, if it isn't Arman. Let me guess—Aayesha dragged you out of bed?"
Arman chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "You guessed it right."
Zubair tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Arman. "You seem… different. Taller, maybe? There's something off, I can't put my finger on it."
Arman laughed, but the sound was hollow. "It's just your imagination."
His lips curled into a grin, but tension lingered at the corners of his mouth, betraying him.
"No, seriously," Zubair said, stepping closer, his brow furrowing. "You look taller. I swear—you weren't this tall yesterday."
"Haha, nah," Arman said, brushing it off. "You probably just didn't notice before. Been working out, you know?"
Zubair rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. Not like I care about your gains."
A voice called out from across the garden.
"Hey, you guys!"
Reyan strolled over, his school bag still slung over one shoulder, waving like he'd just spotted old friends at a reunion.
"What are you guys talking about?" he asked, sliding between them.
Zubair opened his mouth to respond, but Arman was quicker. "Nothing important."
Reyan raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Alright… Anyway, how are your injuries, Arman?"
"I'm fine now," Arman said with a nod. "Almost like nothing ever happened."
Just then, Riya appeared from a side path, the breeze catching her dupatta as she joined the group.
But before Arman could greet her, a voice slammed into his mind like a sudden gust of wind.
"Kid. Listen carefully."
The voice was sharp, commanding—undeniably Ievon.
"You and your friends need to leave this place. Now. They know you're interested in Jaisagar. That means they'll come for you again—and this time, they won't hold back."
Arman's hands balled into fists by his sides, his knuckles turning white. A cool shiver ran down his spine despite the warmth of the morning sun.
He was stronger now. He could fight back.
But the others?
They were normal. Vulnerable.
Aayesha approached, her steps hesitant. Her eyes scanned the garden, as if sensing something unseen.
"Hey, guys… I don't know," she said quietly, her voice laced with unease. "Something feels off here. I think I want to go back."
Arman looked at her, reading the tension in her furrowed brow. He nodded. "Yeah. I think you're right."
Zubair exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. "Well… if you guys really aren't feeling good about this place, we can leave."
Reyan frowned. "So… when are we leaving?"
"Wait," Zubair said, pulling his phone from his jeans pocket. The screen lit up, revealing a lock screen photo—Zubair standing beside a woman in a pink saree, both smiling warmly.
His mother.
He swiped the screen open and tapped into a travel app. The sound of tapping filled the silence.
"There's a bus to Sikar at 12:30 PM," he said after a beat. "It's already 9:00, so we've got a little time. Let's pack up and meet at the palace gate."
With quiet nods, they split up and headed inside.
An hour later, the group gathered near the palace gates. The sun now hung higher in the sky, bathing the sandstone courtyard in a rich amber glow. Pigeons cooed from the palace walls, and distant temple bells rang softly.
"Alright," Zubair said, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "The bus stop's close. Should only take five minutes if we walk."
They set off, their footsteps crunching lightly on the cobbled path as the grandeur of the palace slowly faded behind them.
As they approached the small, shaded bus stop lined with faded posters and a rusty bench, a burst of color and movement caught their eye.
Meera.
She waved excitedly and darted toward them, her ponytail bouncing behind her. Her parents stood nearby, chatting quietly by their suitcases.
"Big sis!" Meera squealed, flinging her arms around Aayesha. "You're leaving too?"
Aayesha grinned and pinched her cheeks. "Yeah, seems like it. And you?"
"Yup!" Meera beamed. "Dad's gotta work, so we're heading home early."
"Then let's go together," Aayesha said, giving her a side-hug.
Meera glanced at Arman and gave him a shy but sincere smile.
Arman's breath caught. He gave her a stiff nod and an awkward, crooked smile in return, barely meeting her eyes.
Even now, even after all that had happened, being seen still made him feel like he was standing under a spotlight with nowhere to hide.
As the group reached the bus stop, the gravel crunched under their feet. The morning sun was warm on their backs, casting soft shadows on the uneven path. The scent of dust and blooming neem trees lingered in the air. A few crows cawed in the distance, their cries breaking the otherwise quiet road.
Near the rusted bus shelter stood Meera's parents, their suitcases neatly arranged beside them. Her mother was fanning herself with a folded newspaper while her father—tall, with a mustache peppered gray—checked his watch.
Meera had already dashed ahead, now bouncing in place beside her father as she held Aayesha's hand, chatting away with youthful energy.
As Arman and the others walked closer, her father looked up and smiled in recognition.
"Ah, kids!" Vishal called out, his voice warm and welcoming. "Are you all heading back too?"
Zubair gave a polite nod, his hand resting on the strap of his backpack. "Yeah, sir. We figured… this might not be the best time for a vacation after all."
Vishal chuckled, though there was a trace of understanding behind it. "Hmm… probably a wise decision. No point staying if your heart's not in it."
Just then, the distant hum of an engine grew louder. A blue-and-white bus rounded the corner, its tires crunching to a stop just a few feet away. The brakes hissed, and the door creaked open.
The driver gave a half-glance toward the group, not bothering to announce the route. It was the right bus—they all knew.
"Well then," Vishal said, picking up one of the suitcases. "Let's head home."
Without another word, everyone began boarding. One by one, they stepped into the bus, the interior warm and faintly smelling of diesel and old upholstery. The seats were worn but familiar, and the windows offered a hazy view of the quiet road behind them.
As Arman took his seat beside the window, he glanced back through the dusty glass. The palace still stood in the distance, proud and timeless. But something in the air had shifted.
This wasn't just the end of a short trip.