As ananya was lost in thought, The last of the vadas vanished into Dev's mouth like stolen treasure when a voice cut through the courtyard:
"Move aside, citizens! Rangoli queen has arrived to save this lane from disgrace!"
Leela stormed in with a basket under her arm, powder stains already smudged across her cheek like war paint. She tossed her hair back, surveyed the courtyard tiles as if inspecting a battlefield, and planted herself in the center.
"Leela!" Ananya laughed, standing so quickly her chair scraped. They hugged tight, laughter spilling from both of them. "You haven't changed at all."
"Of course not," Leela declared. "Why improve perfection?" She spun dramatically, nearly colliding with Nana's newspaper. "Besides, this lane's rangoli was begging for my return. Last year's looked like an amoeba(a type of cell or unicellular organism)."
Ajja snorted. "That was your rangoli."
The courtyard erupted in laughter. Leela clutched her chest in mock agony. "Lies! Defamation! Elder abuse!"
A softer voice followed from the doorway. "Don't listen to her, Ananya. She's been rehearsing her entrance speech all morning."
Meera entered, balancing a tray of colored powders. Where Leela blazed, Meera flowed. Her smile was steady, her steps calm, her eyes warm with a gentleness that had not changed since school days.
Ananya's grin widened. "Meera!" She hugged her too, feeling the contrast—Meera cool and grounding where Leela was all sparks. "I can't believe how much I've missed you both."
"You mean how much we've missed you," Meera corrected softly. "This one wouldn't stop bragging that you'd return with Academy secrets to help her win the contest."
Leela tossed her head. "Well, obviously. Ananya, quick—what's the formula for making rangoli powders shine brighter than my uncles bald head?"
"Coconut Oil," Kalki murmured from the neem's shadow. "And maybe a little honesty."
Leela rolled her eyes. "Trust Kalki to make rangoli sound like philosophy."
"Better than your spirals that looked like a dizzy cobra last year," Dev piped up, still chewing.
Leela lunged at him. Dev squealed and darted behind Ananya, who shielded him like she had a hundred times before. The courtyard rang with laughter.
Meera set the tray down carefully. "Contest rules say limited space designs this year. But Leela thinks rules are for people with no imagination."
"Correct," Leela said smugly. "Besides, why settle for squares when you can summon fire with circles?" She flicked powder across the tiles, a burst of red that landed at Kalki's feet.
"Akka," Dev whispered in her ear, "if Leela wins, she'll demand free laddus from every house in the lane. Save us."
Ananya laughed until her eyes watered. The noise, the colors, the smell of powders mixing with sambhar and incense smoke—it was everything she had missed, pressed into one festival moment.
Leela was still sketching defiant swirls with her fingers when a boy on the opposite balcony shouted down, "Leela! Don't waste the powders, you'll run out before contest starts!"
"Mind your own balcony, Patel!" she yelled back. "And tell your kite to stop crying every time the wind changes!"
Everyone burst into laughter. Even Amma leaned out from the kitchen window, shaking her head at the bickering.
Meera sighed and smoothed a patch of white powder into a neat square. "Ignore her. She thrives on noise."
"Noise is half the festival," Ajja declared, thumping his staff. "Without arguments, Sankranti is just breakfast outdoors."
As the commotion settled, Ananya noticed Meera's gaze shift toward her. "Akka," she said gently, "how was the Academy? Truly?"
Ananya hesitated. Words pressed against her chest. How to explain the vast lecture halls, the endless equations, the thrill of feeling small in front of something so big—and yet how cold it all felt compared to this courtyard?
Before she could answer, Leela cut in, smirking. "She'll say it was wonderful, because that's what scholars say. But tell us the truth, Ananya—do their boys at the Academy even know how to hold a reel properly?"
From the roof across the lane, someone shouted, "Ask them to cut kites, not cut essays!" Laughter echoed again.
Ananya laughed too, shaking her head. "The Academy is… different. Bigger than anything here. But nothing tastes like Amma's sambhar there, and no one argues like you do."
Leela grinned, satisfied. "Exactly. We should open our own Academy of Rangoli and Kite Wars. Much more useful."
Meera tilted her head toward Kalki, who had been quiet, the reel in his lap spinning slowly between his fingers. "What about you? Applications open next week."
The words dropped into the courtyard like a pebble into still water. Conversations dipped. Even the neighbors above leaned a little closer, pretending to adjust garlands.
Kalki didn't look up. He wound the thread tighter, eyes fixed on the spinning line. "Applications? Maybe. If they bore me, I'll just start a new subject."
Leela groaned. "Here it comes. Tell us, philosopher—what great subject will you invent this time? Last month it was 'Forestry and Fairy Tales.'"
A snicker floated from a nearby balcony. "Make him founder of 'Department of Daydreams!'"
The laughter rolled across the lane. Dev nearly toppled over from giggling.
But Kalki only smiled faintly, shoulders loose. "Better than becoming an expert in boredom." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough weight that the chuckles faltered.
Ananya's heart squeezed. To the neighbors, it was just another joke. To her, it was the mask he always wore—light words hiding something heavier. She wanted to reach across and tell him it was all right, that he didn't need to fit their mold. But the moment passed, carried off by another gust of laughter and the cries of vendors selling sesame sweets down the street.
The courtyard filled again with colors and voices, but Ananya held onto the look in her brother's eyes. He hasn't failed yet, she thought. But the world is already preparing to call him failure if he doesn't walk their path.