Late March — Nandanpur & Devgarh
Boards Over • Aftermath Begins
The exams ended without drama.
No shouting.
No celebrations.
Just eight people riding home like survivors after a long siege.
Exhaustion wasn't loud—it was bone-deep.
Sleep came in broken pieces.
Abhay woke with a headache and damp palms. The steel tumbler on his bedside table had a thin ring of condensation around it—too much for the temperature.
Ishanvi noticed the opposite.
The room was cool, but her pillow was warm. Not uncomfortable. Just… wrong.
Their powers were coming back.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
Like muscles waking after being held still too long.
Neither mentioned it.
They were too tired to be afraid.
Days stretched weirdly.
No syllabus.
No alarm urgency.
No "paper kal hai" panic.
Raghav reorganized shelves that didn't need organizing.
Vaidehi reread novels she already knew by heart.
Meera cleaned, stopped, stared, cleaned again.
Aariv asked, "Ab school kab jayenge?"
No one answered.
The Sudarshini flowed louder at night.
Results day arrived like a storm cloud—quiet but heavy.
Phones charged. Internet tested three times. Everyone pretending not to care.
"I don't even remember what I wrote," Ishanvi muttered.
Abhay didn't reply. The water in the jug beside him trembled once, then settled.
Raghav paced. Vaidehi sat perfectly still.
Then—
The page loaded.
Silence.
And then chaos.
Perfect. Every One of Them.
Class 12th — Abhay. Perfect.
Class 12th — Ishanvi. Perfect.
Class 10th — Raghav. Perfect.
Class 10th — Vaidehi. Perfect.
Others too. Every subject. Every paper.
For a second, no one believed it.
Then Meera laughed—sharp, disbelieving, almost hysterical.
"We did it," she whispered. "We actually did it."
Aariv jumped. Vivaan whooped. Vrinda clapped with tears in her eyes.
It wasn't joy.
It was release.
Outside, the air shifted.
The Sudarshini rippled suddenly, sunlight scattering strangely across its surface.
Ishanvi felt warmth bloom in her chest—stronger than before. Not burning. Alive.
Abhay's pulse synced with the river's movement for just a second.
Their powers didn't explode.
They aligned.
Grief. Stress. Fear.
Cleared.
Not healed—but steadied.
That night, they lit two diyas on the veranda.
No rituals. No speeches.
Just light.
"For Maa and Papa," Meera said softly.
The flames burned steady.
The river flowed calm.
Fire and water didn't fight.
They watched.
Some victories come with noise.
Others come with silence so deep it finally lets you breathe.
The exams were over.
The marks were perfect.
And now—
with nothing left to distract them—
the river was ready to speak again.