Days had turned into weeks, and life at the orphanage had become a rhythm Sita treasured more than anything else. The children who once looked at her with shy curiosity now ran to her the moment she stepped into the courtyard, clinging to her dress, tugging at her hands, their innocent laughter echoing through the walls.
She felt lighter here, as though the weight of her past had slowly begun to fade. Every smile, every tiny hand in hers made her heart swell with warmth. For the first time in years, Sita felt she was living the dream she had always longed for — a simple, pure life where she could love and be loved without question.
That morning, when the first rays of sunlight filtered into her small room, she awoke with a smile already on her lips. She lay still for a moment, listening to the faint sounds of the orphanage stirring awake — footsteps shuffling, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, children whispering before they burst into giggles.
She turned her head toward the calendar hanging beside her bed. Her gaze lingered on the date.
February 29.
She blinked at it, her smile deepening. A leap year's day — one that came only once every four years. There was something quietly magical about it, as though the universe had granted her a gift of an extra day. And Sita, more than anyone, believed in small signs, in moments that seemed ordinary but carried hidden meaning.
She rose and made her way to the wardrobe. Pulling the wooden door open, her eyes widened. Folded neatly at the top shelf was a dress she didn't remember seeing before — a delicate white dress, soft as silk, its fabric shimmering faintly in the morning light.
Sita reached for it almost instinctively, her fingers brushing over the fabric as if it had been waiting for her. She held it against herself in the mirror. It was simple, yet so elegant that it made her heart skip a beat. She didn't question how it had appeared there. All she felt was an urge — today, of all days, she would wear it.
Moments later, she descended the stairs, the hem of her white dress flowing softly with each step. Her hair framed her face, her eyes glimmered with a joy she hadn't felt in years. She was not merely Sita, the quiet caretaker of the children. She was Sita, the woman who for one fleeting moment felt like she belonged to a dream.
At the bottom of the stairs, little Lili was waiting, holding her doll close. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Sita.
"Wow," Lili whispered, her face breaking into a bright smile. "Sita… you look so pretty! Is there something special today?"
Sita laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "No, sweetheart. Nothing special. I just found this dress and thought… why not wear it?"
"Well, it suits you," Lili said, nodding firmly as though she were much older than her years. "You look really, really nice in it."
A faint blush rose to Sita's cheeks. Compliments were not something she was used to. She lowered her gaze, her smile tinged with shyness. "Thank you, Lili."
The girl tilted her head, studying Sita with the curiosity only children possessed. "Where's Uncle Vallayi today? I didn't see him this morning."
"Oh, Uncle Vallayi?" Lili answered, clutching her doll tighter. "He's gone out of the city. Something urgent came up, and he'll be gone for a week."
Sita paused, then nodded. "I see. He's been very busy these days."
"It's alright," Lili said with a small shrug, trying to sound nonchalant, though her voice carried the faint trace of longing. "He always comes back."
Sita reached out, brushing the girl's hair gently. "Yes. And until then, we'll keep each other company, won't we?"
Lili's lips curved into a smile. "Of course!"
Soon after, Sita prepared to leave for her errands in the town. She picked up her shawl and adjusted it carefully over her shoulders. "I'll be back before evening," she told Lili. "Take care, and don't forget to help the younger ones if they need you."
"Yes, Miss Sita." Lili nodded proudly, as though entrusted with a great responsibility. Then she stood on her tiptoes, pressed her fingers to her lips, and blew Sita a flying kiss.
Sita caught it with a laugh, her heart warming at the gesture. She waved as she stepped outside, the morning sunlight wrapping her in a soft glow. For a moment, everything felt impossibly perfect — the dress, the children, the peace of the orphanage.
Yet as she walked down the road, the wind stirred, carrying with it a faint whisper. It brushed against her ear, so soft she almost thought she had imagined it.
"Sita… the day has come."
She stopped in her tracks, her breath hitching. Her eyes darted around, but the street was empty. Only the rustle of trees and the distant hum of the town reached her ears. Slowly, she shook her head, trying to steady her thoughts. Perhaps it was only the wind.
Still, a chill lingered at the back of her neck as she walked on.
Unseen by her, the calendar in her room fluttered with the breeze from an open window. The date, February 29, shimmered faintly, as though marked not just by ink but by destiny itself.
As the afternoon sun mellowed into a soft golden glow, Sita finished her errands in town. The streets bustled with vendors calling out their wares, children chasing one another with wooden toys, and women balancing baskets filled with fresh produce. Everything felt alive, yet calm — a perfect kind of day.
Just as she was about to turn back toward the orphanage, something caught her eye.
In the window of a small bakery stood a cake. It wasn't large or extravagant, but simple and beautiful. A round sponge, its surface frosted with soft white cream, decorated with delicate swirls of chocolate and bright red cherries that gleamed like jewels in the afternoon light. A few petals of candied rose scattered on top made it look almost too lovely to cut.
Sita paused in front of the window, her gaze fixed. A gentle smile touched her lips. There was something about the cake — its simplicity, its charm — that drew her in immediately. It wasn't about the taste alone; it was the thought of sharing it.
Her mind went to Lili, waiting back at the orphanage. She pictured the little girl's eyes lighting up at the sight of such a treat, her laughter filling the room as they cut into it together. The thought warmed Sita's heart. "She'll be so happy," she whispered to herself. "And she must be bored without Uncle Vallayi around. This will cheer her up."
The weather was kind, the sky painted in soft hues of orange and pink. Everything about the moment felt right, as if it had been set up for her to notice this cake, to choose it. Almost as though it had been placed there for her.
Without hesitation, Sita pushed open the door to the bakery. A tiny bell above the entrance chimed as she stepped inside. The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread, pastries, and sugar greeted her instantly, wrapping her in a warm embrace. She walked straight to the counter, pointing toward the cake she had seen in the window.
"That one, please," she said softly.
The baker, an elderly man with kind eyes, carefully boxed it for her, tying a thin golden ribbon around the lid. "A good choice," he said with a knowing smile, as though he could sense the joy she intended it for.
Sita held the box close as she stepped back out into the fading sunlight. The ribbon fluttered lightly in the breeze. She couldn't help but think how this simple cake carried with it something more — a promise of happiness, a moment to be remembered.
TO BE CONTINUED...