Kiaan stood quietly before the photograph.
He did not remember her voice.
He did not remember her touch.
He did not even remember her face the way it truly was.
And yet… something inside him ached.
"I'm ten today," he whispered, as if the picture needed to be reminded. "They say you would've been here if you were alive."
The room remained still.
The decorations downstairs were faint, distant. They felt like they belonged to someone else's happiness.
"I don't know what you sounded like," he said after a pause. "But I think… you would've said my name softly."
His fingers brushed the edge of the frame, careful, almost afraid.
A sound cut through the quiet.
Slow. Deliberate.
"Tsk… tsk…"
Kiaan stiffened.
Rani stood at the door, watching him with an unreadable expression. Her lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, not quite concern.
"Still staring at her?" she asked gently.
Kiaan turned. "She's my mumma."
Rani walked in, unhurried, as if the room belonged to her. She stopped beside him, her gaze settling on the photograph.
"You don't remember her," she said calmly. "You were just a baby when she died."
The words landed heavily.
"You don't even know what she sounded like," Rani continued, her tone smooth, persuasive. "Or how she held you. Or whether she would recognize you now."
Kiaan's throat tightened. "But… she's still my mumma."
Rani tilted her head, studying him.
"The dead don't come back," she said softly. "They don't answer prayers. They don't grant wishes. They stay exactly where they are."
She reached for his hands.
Too suddenly.
Too tightly.
Kiaan flinched. "Aunty, you're hurting—"
Her eyes changed.
Green seeped in slowly, unnaturally, like poison spreading through glass. Her voice layered over itself, one tone slipping beneath another.
"You should stop clinging to ghosts," the voice said. "And start accepting what is real."
Her grip tightened further.
"I am here," she whispered. "I am alive."
Kiaan tried to pull away, panic rising. "Leave me—"
Rani leaned closer, her breath cold, her smile stretching just a little too wide.
"If you don't accept reality," she said, each word drawn out, echoing, "this pishachini…"
A pause.
"…will eat you."
Tears spilled from Kiaan's eyes as he cried out, instinctively, desperately.
"Mumma…"
The diya near Kiara's photograph flickered violently.
The flame rose, steady and strong.
And somewhere beyond sight, something heard him.
The bangle on Kiaan's wrist began to glow.
At first it was faint, almost hesitant—like a warning stirring awake. Then the light deepened, sharp veins of silver-blue spreading across the metal, pulsing with restrained fury, humming against his skin.
Kiaan's breathing did not break.
It steadied.
His fingers curled into fists, not in fear—but in control. Heat surged through him, familiar in a way he could not explain, answering something ancient inside him. The fear that had trembled moments ago burned away, leaving behind clarity.
"Leave me…" he said again.
This time, his voice did not shake.
Rani stepped back.
Not because she was afraid—because she was counting.
"Leave me!" Kiaan shouted.
The air split.
A violent force tore through the room, unseen yet absolute. Rani was flung backward as though the house itself had rejected her presence. Her body crashed into the wall, the impact brutal, unforgiving. Her head struck first.
Hard.
She slid down slowly, blood blooming at her temple.
And then—stillness.
The unnatural green drained from her eyes. Her expression softened, twisted deliberately into vulnerability. The darkness withdrew like a serpent slipping into shadow, leaving behind the image of a wounded woman.
Exactly as planned.
Kiaan did not move.
He stood at the center of the room, chest rising and falling with measured breaths, eyes sharp—watching. The bangle burned brighter now, no longer struggling, but holding. Containing.
Around him, the room responded.
Pebbles lifted from the floor.
Cracks spread across the plaster before fragments tore free, hovering in the air as though the world itself had paused. The curtains whipped violently though the windows remained shut. The lamp rattled. The mirror quivered.
Kiaan tightened his fists.
Not in panic.
In resolve.
"She wanted this," he said softly, almost to himself.
Footsteps thundered outside.
"Ki—"
The door burst open.
Yuvaan, Bhoomi, Susheela—and others—rushed in, stopping dead.
Rani lay unconscious by the wall, blood streaking her forehead.
Stones floated in midair.
And in the center stood Kiaan—small, unmoving, surrounded by a power that obeyed him without question.
Bhoomi's breath caught.
Susheela swayed, clutching the doorframe.
Yuvaan's eyes searched the room wildly—then locked onto his son… and finally the glowing bangle.
Time seemed to stall.
Kiaan met his father's gaze.
There was no fear there.
Only certainty.
And for the first time—true, terrifying doubt took root in Yuvaan's heart.
Not about Rani.
But about how long he had refused to see the truth.
To be continued…