Ira stood before a one-tiered building, its plain façade a stark contrast to the whimsical sign creaking gently in the breeze. Tilting her chin slightly, she read the words - Ꝉҽէ վօմɾ ƒìղցҽɾʂ ժąղçҽ.

Her grip tightened around the notebook pressed to her chest as she fidgeted with the pen cap, clicking it open and shut with her free hand.

Exhaling deeply, she finally stepped inside the building.

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The room was bathed in white light. Two rows of five computers stretched before her, eight of them occupied by students in the midst of a lively discussion.

Six boys - some around her age, some older - laughed and joked, their easy camaraderie only sharpening her sense of solitude. To her left, two girls chatted quietly, their heads bent together in conspiratorial whispers, their eyes flicking toward Ira every now and then.

Ira's gaze wandered, searching for a hint of direction, but there was no clear authority figure in sight. Unsure, she drifted toward the only empty chair in the corner. Fixing her eyes on the computer screen, she sat down and traced the keyboard's edges with quiet curiosity.

What's the big deal about typing anyway? Anybody can type.

But as she watched the students' flying fingers, her curiosity got the better of her.

How do they do that without looking at the keyboard?

Her eyes lingered on a boy with curly hair and tanned skin, his focus fixed on the screen as his fingers moved in perfect rhythm.

Would I ever be able to keep up?

"Alright, everyone!"

Her attention snapped back to the present at the sound of a firm voice.

"Pay attention here. Today, we have a new face with us," announced a man in his mid-thirties, making every head turn toward him. His eyes swept across the room-

"Yeah, you-Ms. Ira!" he said with a warm smile, extending a hand.

Ira's eyes widened.

Every head swiveled toward her.

With hesitant movements, she rose from her seat. The chair scraping against the floor made the moment even more awkward. Smoothing her kurti, she walked forward, the room seeming to shrink around her with each step.

The instructor's encouraging smile helped her relax. "Welcome, Ira. We're excited to have you join our little community. Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?"

Ira blinked, gulping. Her eyes darted toward the floor as she struggled to find her voice. In a trembling tone, she began, "G-Good afternoon, everyone."

Her gaze flickered across the room, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. "My name is Ira Kashyap," she said, pausing to take a shallow breath. "I'm here to... enhance my typing skills and learn a bit more about the system. Thank you."

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she braced for silence, or worse, ridicule.

Instead, the room filled with gentle murmurs and friendly glances. Faces that moments ago had been strangers now seemed like potential friends.

"Alright, now that we've got introductions out of the way, let's dive into today's lesson," the instructor announced, handing out sheets of paper with typing exercises.

Ira returned to her seat, feeling a little more at ease. She began to type, but her fingers stumbled clumsily across the keys. A flicker of worry crossed her face; she seemed to be the only one struggling.

The instructor noticed. "Don't worry. It's normal. Focus on the rhythm, not perfection."

With renewed determination, she tried again. Slowly, her fingers began to find a tentative rhythm, the keys clacking softly in time.

As the lesson progressed, her confidence grew. She began to enjoy the tactile sensation of typing - the rhythm, the sound, the words appearing one after another on the glowing screen.

"Time's up! Let's share our progress."

The students began to exchange screens, comparing their work.

Ira looked around, fidgeting with her fingers.

The instructor moved around the room, reviewing each student's progress.

Ira's anxiety spiked as she watched him nod approvingly at the boy with curly hair.

Finally, he reached her desk and smiled warmly, scanning her screen. "Good effort, Ira! You've made a great start."

Seventh out of eight-second to last.

A pang of disappointment hit her. She had hoped to do better, to prove she wasn't a complete beginner.

The instructor seemed to sense her dismay. "Don't worry. Progress isn't just about speed or accuracy, it's about persistence and willingness to learn."

Ira nodded, taking a deep breath.

The boy with curly hair leaned toward her and whispered, "Hey, don't worry. I was last my entire first week."

Ira flashed him a small, grateful smile.

As the session ended, students began packing up and heading out.

When Ira reached the doorway, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

Turning around, she found one of the girls who had been chatting earlier standing behind her.

"Hi!" the girl greeted enthusiastically.

"Hello," Ira replied softly.

"I love your name!" the girl exclaimed. "What does it mean?"

Ira stared at the girl, surprised by her sudden burst of energy, and forced a polite smile. "It means tranquility," she answered softly, lowering her gaze to the ground. "It's associated with the earth."

The girl's eyes glimmered, and she clapped her hands together with childlike delight. "Wow, that's such a beautiful name! I'm Navya. It means youthful and beautiful! And it's connected to Goddess Durga too!"

Ira nodded, her expression neutral.

"You're so calm and composed, Ira! I really like that about you!" Navya said with a wide smile.

Ira ducked her head, rubbing the sole of her sandal against the concrete.

"Heading home?" Navya asked, widening her round, black eyes.

Ira lifted her gaze, meeting Navya's before it slipped down again. "I... suppose so," she murmured.

Navya's smile flickered before brightening once more. "You're really quiet, Ira. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Ah, no, not at all. It's-"

"-okay, I understand," Navya finished for her, nonchalantly.

Ira's parted lips closed into a thin line.

"I know, I talk too much," Navya laughed, tossing her hands playfully. "That's why my father calls me a radio! And my brother calls me a chatterbox!"

Ira's lips curved again, small and polite, her eyelashes lowering. "No, really... it's not like that," she said gently.

Navya leaned forward a little, her tone bright. "Hey, wanna walk with me?"

Ira gave a small nod.

And without another word, they fell into step together.

Navya's chatter flowed freely, her voice skipping along the street like pebbles tossed across water. She gestured animatedly, laughter spilling out in quick bursts every now and then.

Ira walked beside her, quiet as a shadow. Occasionally, she tilted her head in a nod, her eyes drifting over their surroundings: the plaster walls peeling into pale flakes, iron gates painted in rust, windows cracked open to the hum of ceiling fans.

"...and then I told him, 'You can't seriously expect me to finish that project in two days!' I mean, come on!" Navya exclaimed, her hands carving invisible shapes in the dusky air.

"Hm..." Ira's voice trailed off.

"But at least I got an extension! That was a relief," Navya added, laughing again.

"Mhm-hm." Ira's gaze caught on the branches above, swaying against the dimming sky.

Navya tilted her head, eyes bright, waiting for some spark of response. When none came, she rushed ahead, as though Ira's silence itself nudged her forward. "So, I'm thinking of celebrating with friends this weekend! Wanna join?"

Ira blinked. "Maybe..." Her reply slipped out faintly.

Navya's grin faltered for a heartbeat before she revived it. "Great! I'll let you know!"

Ira offered her a small, practiced smile.

A faint vibration buzzed from Navya's phone. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and said, "Oh, I've got to run!" Slipping the phone back into her bag, she tugged out a pen and thrust it into Ira's hand. "Give me your number!"

Ira accepted the pen reluctantly and held Navya's palm steady. She bent close, carefully inscribing each digit across her soft skin. The red ink left a dark trail that smudged faintly under her touch.

"Talk soon, Ira!" Navya beamed and spun around. Her hair flew as she vanished into the moving crowd.

Ira lingered, her eyes following the bright figure until it disappeared. She exhaled softly, the silence folding back around her. The smile that had lingered briefly fell away, leaving behind her composed, distant calm.

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As Ira reached for the handle of her house's main gate-

"You never listen! You and your family have ruined my life - my career, my everything!"

Ira's hand froze mid-air, her shoulders tightening. Why today? Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself against the familiar heaviness that always came with these sounds.

"I'm sick of your endless complaints! And stop blaming my family all the time! Yours aren't saints either!"

Ira stood still, torn. One part of her longed to push through the door - to beg them to stop, to silence the chaos. Another part wished she could simply turn back, vanish into the street, and pretend none of it belonged to her world.

The quarrel flared further, voices colliding with fresh cruelty.

"Don't you dare bring my family into this! Yours are nothing but ra*cals and snakes!"

"Enough! If you hate it so much here, then leave! Go run to your precious family of beggars and liars - gossipers, scheming home-wreckers!"

Ira's stomach twisted. Her eyes darted toward the street, where neighbors and passersby had begun to slow, their faces marked by thinly veiled curiosity. Heat rushed to her cheeks, shame burning beneath her skin. She pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, forcing herself not to cry, and instinctively turned away.

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The market's restless rhythm wrapped around her - horns blaring, sirens wailing, the urgent cry of ambulances slicing through the air.

She slipped into the crowded road, where vendors' voices rose above the din, urgent and persuasive:

"Half kilo tomatoes for only fifty!"

"Kashmiri mela, right here in your town!"

"Banarasi sarees at the best price!"

The shouts tangled with the lively bargaining of women, their quick words sharp yet oddly playful, while children's laughter and tantrums spilled into the air in shrieks of delight and sudden wails of frustration.

Ira's steps unconsciously fell into rhythm with the market's beat. The air brimmed with mingling aromas - the sharp tang of golgappa water, the spice-laden chaat, the warmth of freshly brewed tea, and the sweetness of jalebi curling in hot oil.

Overhead, colorful banners of political parties fluttered in the breeze, their bold letters competing for attention.

Ira's eyes moved across them absently before drifting back to the life around her - the clash of colors, voices, and smells. For a brief moment, the turmoil of home loosened its grip. The market's chaos, unlike the one she had left behind, carried no poison - only energy and life.

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Aanand sat slumped on the bench outside the emergency room, elbows resting on his knees, forehead pressed against clasped hands. The posture made him look like a man carrying the weight of the world.

Beside him, Balwant, his guard, leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed blankly on the white ceiling.

The door to the emergency room swung open.

Dr. Choudhary, a man in his fifties, stepped out, pulling off his mask. His face bore the fatigue of long hours, yet his expression remained carefully composed.

Balwant straightened and bent slightly toward Aanand, touching his shoulder with respect. "Sir, Dr. Choudhary is here."

Aanand jerked his head up. His eyes were rimmed red - whether from sleepless nights or the ache of waiting, it was hard to tell.

In a rush, he was on his feet. "How is he?"

The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's stable now."

Aanand's shoulders slackened, a tremor escaping his chest before he managed a faint smile.

"Meet me in my cabin," Dr. Choudhary said, his calm tone slipping back into professionalism.

The crease returned to Aanand's forehead, his jaw tightening. "Is there... is there any problem?"

The doctor offered a faint smile. "Nothing too serious. But worth discussing." With that, he turned down the corridor.

Aanand followed, his steps quick yet heavy. Every sound around him - the squeak of shoes, the roll of stretchers, the murmur of voices - seemed distant, drowned out by the rush of questions pounding in his mind.

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"What happened?" Aanand leaned forward, breath unsteady, fingers drumming on the desk until his own urgency made him stop.

Dr. Choudhary's calm demeanor only seemed to stretch the moment thinner. He removed his glasses, wiping them slowly before placing them aside. "Maurya, relax."

Aanand's fingers curled around the cold glass paperweight, gripping it tightly. "You said he's fine. Please, be clear."

The doctor reached across, tapping his trembling hand. "He's out of danger. Be grateful for that. No shard struck a vital nerve." His tone softened, then hesitant. "But..."

Aanand's chest tightened. "But what?"

Dr. Choudhary met his gaze. For a moment, his expression carried the restraint of a man who had delivered such news many times before. Then, gently, he said, "I believe, Rudraksh is suffering from a mental breakdown."

Aanand's eyebrows furrowed, confusion shadowing his face.

The doctor leaned back, clasping his hands on the table. "I haven't spoken to him in depth yet, but even from brief interactions, it's clear he's not an expressive person. He carries himself with a fierce intensity."

He paused, watching the father's reaction. "That kind of temperament, bound tightly with unspoken emotions, can be destructive. Like pressure in a volcano. It builds silently until it can no longer be contained."

Aanand stared at the paperweight in his palm, its smooth edges pressing into his skin. "I taught him to be strong... to control his emotions. I thought that was what would keep him safe," he murmured.

Dr. Choudhary nodded, lips pressing together. "It's not surprising, Maurya. Parents often overlook their children's psychological well-being. Many assume it's less critical than physical health, because it's invisible. But in reality, psychological struggles can be far more debilitating, silently eroding one's quality of life."

He leaned back in his chair, meeting Aanand's eyes. "Neglecting mental health can have lasting consequences - affecting relationships, self-esteem, and overall well-being. It's crucial we address these issues, rather than dismissing them as mere 'phases' or 'attitude problems.'"

Aanand's gaze dropped, his shoulders sagging. "What should I do now?"

The doctor opened Rudraksh's file, his tone returning to professional steadiness. "His right palm was severely injured. The cut above his left eyebrow required stitches, but it will heal with only a faint scar. Some glass shards pierced the soles of his feet. It isn't deep, but it's painful. Walking will be difficult for more than a week."

He looked up, his voice slowing. "The pain may trigger flashes of the accident. Be gentle with him, Maurya. His mind is as fragile as his body right now."

Turning another page, his tone grew brisk. "There's also signs of hypoglycemia. His diet must be monitored carefully. He'll stay here overnight for observation; you can take him home tomorrow. No heavy lifting for a month. After that, he can gradually return to his routine."

The fluorescent light overhead flickered as the doctor lifted his gaze. "Healing will take more than medicine. He needs patience, care... and a father who listens."

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At the steps of the massive temple, Ira stood with a quiet smile curving her lips. Awe lingered in her gaze as she took in the intricate carvings and the sweeping majesty of the architecture.

On either side of the grand entrance, golden lions sat proudly, their watchful eyes seeming to welcome every devotee who passed. A gentle breeze stirred through the nearby trees, carrying the fragrance of incense and flowers, mingling softly with the chants of prayer and the faint, rhythmic chiming of bells.

Balancing her notebook and pen beneath her arm, she bowed with reverence. Her fingers brushed the stone floor, then touched her forehead and chest, eyes closing as she surrendered to the sacred gesture.

She slipped off her sandals and set them aside, stepping onto the cool white marble. Its smooth surface soothed her tired feet, grounding her in the present moment. She walked toward a nearby tap, letting the clear stream of water trickle over her hands and feet, washing away the dust of the bustling market and the heaviness of the day.

Refreshed, she crossed the threshold into the main sanctum. The temple's vastness seemed to wrap around her – a stillness that breathed serenity. She reached up to ring the massive bell that hung above and struck it—

THONGG...!!!

With folded hands, she bowed before the deities of Lord Krishna and Radha Rani. Her eyes lingered on their serene forms, and in that still moment, she sought blessings not with words, but with the silent longing of her heart – for peace, for strength, for a little light to guide her way.

Kanha ji, Radha Rani, You know everything. I'm sorry, I don't understand what to ask for. I just want peace in my life. Give me whatever You think is right. But please, give my parents enough wisdom so they don't fight all the time. I lose my mind. Also, I need Your blessings so that I can stand on my own feet. That's it, nothing else.

As she prayed, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only her breath and the divine presence before her. The soft glow of the diyas and the sweet fragrance of incense wrapped around her like a balm, quieting the restlessness in her mind.

Bowing once more, she reached up to ring the massive bell again. Its deep tone lingered in the air as she stepped backward out of the sanctum, careful not to turn her back toward the deity.

Outside, the warm evening sunlight bathed her in golden hues. The grass beneath her bare feet was cool and tender – a gentle relief after the stone floors. Around her, flowers swayed in the breeze, leaves rustled overhead, and birdsong mingled with the low hum of bees.

She paused for a moment, letting it all seep in, a soft smile brightening her face.

Near a lotus pond, cranes waded gracefully through the water while ducks splashed and played. Drawn to the sight, she settled under the shade of an old Ashoka tree. Its rough bark pressed against her back as she pulled out her notebook and pen.

The page opened like a quiet invitation, and soon her pen began to glide – capturing the pond's rippling curves, the bright blossoms, the tree's gnarled branches reaching toward the sky.

Time blurred as she sketched, each stroke carrying her deeper into the calm rhythm of nature. A group of women passed nearby, their colorful sarees fluttering like kites in the wind, their hands moving in graceful circles as they spoke animatedly.

One of them paused, her eyes kind and her smile warm. "Wah, beta... very good," she said, leaning closer to admire the sketch.

Ira looked up, her wide eyes softening as they met the woman's.

"Keep creating, beta. You have a gift." With a final nod, the woman rejoined her companions.

Ira's gaze followed the group for a moment, her chest light with quiet gratitude. Then she lowered her eyes, letting her pencil dance again, caught between the lines of reality and dream.

Suddenly, she felt a sense of being watched.

Her shoulders tightened, hand freezing mid-stroke. She tilted her head slightly, her hair slipping forward like a veil. Through its curtain, she glanced sideways.

A man, likely in his mid-thirties, stood across the courtyard, leaning against the temple's boundary wall. His eyes were fixed on her, unblinking. At first, his face was blank, unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a crooked smirk.

Ira's heart kicked hard against her ribs, her mouth suddenly dry.

The man parted his blackened lips, then slowly dragged his tongue across them.

Ira's pencil hovered above the page, her mind racing through what to do. Her eyes flicked toward the exit, then to herself, before fixing on the earlier group of women, heading toward the exit.

She quickly pulled a crumpled hundred-rupee note from her pocket and dropped it to the ground.

"Aunty?!" she called out.

The kind woman turned back. "Yes, beta?"

Ira approached, the note in her hand. "You dropped this."

The woman's eyebrows knitted. "No, beta, it isn't mine."

Feigning confusion, Ira tilted her head. "Not yours?"

The woman checked her purse, shaking her head. "No, I'm certain."

An awkward laugh escaped Ira's lips, her shoulders loosening slightly. "Oh... then it must've slipped from my pocket."

The women exchanged glances but said nothing.

"Y-you are going through the market, right?" Ira asked softly. "Could I... walk with you?"

"Of course," the kind woman said, slipping an arm around Ira's shoulder.

Relief fluttered quietly through Ira's chest as they walked together toward the market. The chatter of the group surrounded her like a protective shield. Just before turning away, she glanced back over her shoulder.

The wall where the man had been standing was now empty.

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As dusk descended, warm orange hues spilled across the landscape, casting a gentle glow over the streets.

Ira walked through the fading light, her footsteps soft against the pavement. In her hands, she clutched her notebook and pen – the two things that had become her quiet refuge.

The evening air carried the chatter of passersby and the faint calls of birds returning to their nests. The sounds wove together into a restless symphony, reminding her how endlessly the world moved forward, whether or not she was ready to keep pace.

When she reached her house, her feet paused at the threshold, her breath caught halfway. The notebook pressed against her chest—not as paper and ink, but as armor.

God, please protect me.

The stillness inside felt heavy. Her eyes darted around the quiet living room, searching for any sign of what might be waiting.

"Ira!" Her mother's voice rang out.

Ira startled, her heartbeat echoing in her ears as she met Vaidehi's fiery gaze.

"Is this the time to come home?!"

Ira's throat tightened. "I-I went to the temple," she murmured.

Vaidehi's eyes narrowed. "Have you seen your room? It's a disaster! Do you expect me to clean up after you too?! Is everything in this house my responsibility?! I work all day, and yet you people dump everything on me as if I'm the servant here! I am exhausted!"

Ira stood motionless, her head bent low. Her lips pressed together as if to hold back the ache swelling in her chest.

Why always me? Why must her anger find me first?

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