On the rooftop, the lone LED bulb's glow had almost drowned out the sun's soft, fading evening light. Open plastic and cotton bags lay scattered around, their contents peeking through - unfolded shimmering sarees, colourful bangles, silver jewellery, and the clatter of new brass and bronze utensils waiting to be sorted.

Apoorva lifted an orange saree with red circular designs, holding it up near Vaidehi's face. "Vaidehi ji, this one suits you more. It will look lovely with your fair complexion."

Vaidehi pushed aside the pair of silver anklets she had been holding and traced her fingers along the saree's border. She draped a corner over her shoulder, testing its weight and fall. "Yes, didi." Her eyes lit up. She turned toward Raghav, who was sitting a little away on a plastic chair among his brothers-in-law and Bhushan, casually sipping chai while laughing at something.

"Hey?" she called out, raising her voice just a little.

Raghav kept talking, nodding along to someone's joke, the smile glued to his face.

"Hey?" she tried again, sharper this time.

Urmila, who had been watching both sides with growing amusement, looked from her irritated sister to her completely oblivious brother-in-law.

"Oh jija!" she called out.

Raghav's head snapped toward her instantly, the smile still intact.

Urmila jerked her eyebrows toward Vaidehi in an exaggerated, silent cue.

Raghav finally followed her gaze. "Yeah?" he asked, noticing at last.

Vaidehi shot him a glare that lasted barely a second before melting into a shy smile. She lifted the saree slightly, letting it gleam under the bulb's glow. "How does this saree look on me?"

Without glancing at it, Raghav exclaimed, "Ah, everything looks good on you!"

A chorus of "Oye-hoye!" rose from the women around, and the men beside Raghav chuckled under their breath.

Vaidehi's cheeks warmed as she rolled her eyes, trying and failing to hide her smile.

Urmila picked up a pair of earrings, holding them high between her fingers. The tiny gold pieces dangled and sparkled as she tilted her head toward her husband. "A-ji! I've kept this pair of gold earrings for myself. Any problem to you?"

Her husband took a slow sip of his tea, letting the cup linger near his lips before answering with an easy smile. "My whole property belongs to you, and I've no problem with that."

The rooftop burst into another warm ripple of laughter - women pressing their lips to hide their giggles, men shaking their heads in a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

Just then, the younger aunt stepped out of the kitchen, holding a tray full of cookies, nuts, and dry fruits toward the men. "Ayin-ji, is there some competition going on for who is best at giving the worst compliments?"

"You teach us then," Panchhi's father replied, leaning back slightly with a smirk, his eyes glinting with playful challenge.

The younger aunt smirked right back, shifting the now-empty tray to one hand while the other settled confidently on her waist. "Just wait till one of your children's marriage. I'll dedicate a whole gaari-geet album to you."

Her words set off another wave of laughter, louder this time.

"Okay..." Bhushan set his empty cup aside with a soft clink and pushed himself up from the chair, his palms pressing against the armrests. Pulling a soft, polite smile over his face, he said, "You all enjoy your buying, I have to meet some people."

"I'll also leave," Raghav said instantly, adjusting the hem of his shirt as he stood.

One by one, all the men made their way downstairs, their footsteps thudding with measured calmness on the steps. Behind them, the women's voices rose again - squeals, laughter, and the rustle of glossy shopping bags.

"Mummy..."

"Mummy...!"

Vaidehi's face snapped toward the trembling, voice. A faint crease formed between her brows, worry rising faster than her breath. "What happened?"

Ira stood at the doorstep of one of the rooms, wearing a full-sleeved white cotton shirt and trousers. Her nose was red, eyes glassy, and lips trembling as she scratched the back of her head with the restless confusion of a lost child.

The women's chatter died at once, as if someone had pressed a pause button on their playful chaos.

"What happened, beti?" Urmila reached out and gently caught Ira's wrist, giving it a soft squeeze, trying to coax her forward.

But Ira stayed rooted to the spot, her feet glued to the cold floor. Her gaze didn't flicker toward anyone else; it remained fixed on her mother, as if the world had narrowed into a single person.

Apoorva's eyes travelled slowly across Ira's trembling face - the tightened jaw, the excessive blinking, the way her shoulders rose and fell in uneven breaths, as though she was holding back something too heavy for her petite body. "What happened, beta? Did anyone say anything?" she asked, her voice full of worry and affection.

In the next moment, Ira's legs gave up their stiffness. She sank to her knees beside Vaidehi, almost collapsing into her. Lowering her head into her mother's lap, she buried her face in the familiar softness of her pallu. Both arms slid around Vaidehi's waist, holding on as if anchoring herself. Her shoulders quivered, and a soundless sob escaped through her shaking breath.

Vaidehi's fingers instantly found the back of her daughter's head, stroking gently. "Ira... what happened, beta?"

Ira didn't answer. She only curled further into Vaidehi's lap, pressing her forehead deeper into the folds of her saree as if trying to disappear inside it. Her arms tightened around her mother's waist.

"If you won't tell, then how will I know?" Vaidehi murmured, leaning slightly to the side, searching for anything that might calm her child. She picked up an anklet lying nearby - a delicate silver piece with tiny letters forming L-O-V-E across its chain. The metal chimed softly as she lifted it.

"See, I got this pair for you," she said gently, letting the anklet dangle before Ira's eyes, hoping the familiar sparkle might coax a reaction.

Ira raised her hand weakly and shoved the anklet aside without lifting her face. The metal clicked against the floor as it fell back into the pile of jewellery.

"Aey, ji!" the younger aunt's voice sliced through the quiet tension. "Are you planning to latch onto your mother's milk once again, that you're snuggling so deep?!"

Her lips twisted into a teasing smirk as she planted her hands on her hips.

"You go drink your mother's milk!" Ira burst out, then hid her face deeper in Vaidehi's shawl, as though trying to shut out the entire rooftop. Her breath came in short, shaky bursts against the soft wool, and her body curled inward, trembling with leftover anger and embarrassment.

Vaidehi instinctively wrapped an arm around her, a shaky, awkward laugh slipping out as she tried to ease the tension.

"What happened?!"

Nakul's desperate voice boomed across the rooftop, sharp enough to make all the ladies snap their heads toward him.

Beside him, Siddharth stood still - shoulders squared, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes flickered between their tense faces and the trembling figure curled in her mother's lap.

"Ira..." Nakul's voice thinned as he stepped closer and dropped to his knees. He leaned in and reached out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of the shawl hiding her face.

Ira's grip tightened instantly around the warm fabric. "Go!" She slapped his hand away with a sharp, defensive shove.

Nakul's lips pursed, and a stubborn smile tugged at his face, refusing to fade. He gently caught both her forearms and, with one sudden, jerky movement, pulled her toward him.

Ira lurched forward, a startled cry tearing out of her throat. "Aeyhn!" Her face came into view at once - tear-stained cheeks, lashes clumped together, eyes swollen and red, her nose flushed and running.

The boys' mouths twitched, trying and failing to hide their amusement; Siddharth tilted his head away, his shoulders shaking with a quiet, helpless laugh.

Mortified, Ira immediately shoved herself back into her mother's lap, burrowing her face into Vaidehi's shawl like a tortoise retreating into its shell. Tiny, wet sounds of her blowing her nose and sniffling echoed across the rooftop.

"She'll not tell it like this," Nakul muttered under his breath, his restless eyes sweeping across the rooftop. "Panchhi! Panchhi!!" His voice rose, sharp and impatient, carrying that familiar strain of helplessness he despised showing.

Urmila smoothed the wrinkles on her cotton saree. A delighted spark lit up her face. "Hmm, now we'll know." Her gaze drifted from Apoorva to Siddharth, then slid back to her sister and trembling niece. "Both know each other like their own reflections."

Siddharth's lips lifted into a soft, warm smile at the mention of the bond between the two cousin sisters. But as soon as his eyes returned to Ira, the smile faded and his brows twitched. The warmth in his gaze dimmed into something heavier, fogged with concern.

He had sensed something off the very first time they met - a strange quiet around her that didn't feel shy, but tired. Worn. As if she was constantly holding herself together with invisible stitches.

Even this morning, when he had tried talking to her, her face kept shifting - a flicker of a smile quickly swallowed by fear; a brief moment of ease immediately stiffened into discomfort. As if she was scared of letting herself feel even a drop of happiness.

Siddharth exhaled slowly, helplessly.

The girl is carrying far more than she can bear.

"Yeah, bhaiya." Panchhi walked out from the other room. Her confused gaze swept across the rooftop before settling on her sister. Her face tightened. "What happened? Di!" She dropped to her knees beside her aunt, one hand instinctively sliding to Ira's back, rubbing gentle circles. "What happened? Why is she crying?" Her eyes darted around, scanning every face for an answer.

Nakul stared back at her, utterly baffled. "What do you mean-you don't know? You both were together the whole time."

Panchhi shook her head quickly, her open hair swishing. "No. I was watching a movie, and she was scrolling through her phone. Then she walked into the other room. She looked a little tense, but I thought to give her some space. She was already angry with me," she blurted everything out in one breath, leaving everyone blinking in confusion.

Without another word, Nakul shot to his feet. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as he stormed into the room.

The rooftop fell into a hush.

Siddharth raised his eyebrows in a silent question, to which Panchhi only shrugged with a small shake of her head.

After a while, Nakul returned. His face had lost its sharp edge, replaced by an expression hovering somewhere between "not surprised" and a tired "what can we even do". His shoulders sagged the slightest bit as he exhaled, rubbing a weary hand over his face before looking at the others.

"The competitive exam she was preparing for..." he exhaled, exhausted, "its paper leaked. Students are protesting, police are using force against them as per government orders. Some are severely injured... a few have committed suicide."

A loud sigh escaped Siddharth's lips. He slid his hands into his pockets and straightened his spine, rolling his shoulders back. His eyes lifted toward the ceiling, or perhaps toward nowhere at all, and the tight line of his pressed lips stretched at one corner.

Vaidehi's mouth fell open. Her hands hovered uncertainly over her daughter's trembling form, as though even touching Ira might shatter her further. Beside her, Panchhi, Apoorva, and Urmila froze in place, their expressions mirroring one another - wide eyes, parted lips, stunned breaths trapped midway in their throats. The aunt, however, stood with her lips twisted to one side.

An unguarded, loud sob tore out of Ira's throat.

Vaidehi's face pinched, a deep line forming between her brows. "Stop crying, Ira!" Her voice snapped, sharp and impatient. "Didn't I tell you to stay on that medical path and not wander anywhere else?"

The emotionless reprimand struck harder than the words themselves.

Ira's head jerked up from her mother's lap, her hair falling messily around her swollen, tear-stained face. She blinked at Vaidehi, as if making sure it was really her mother. More tears spilled, tracing hot paths over her flushed cheeks. Her lips quivered, parting soundlessly; her throat moved, but the words strangled somewhere inside, trapped by that invisible, tightening vice she could never name.

"You're so bad!" she burst out, the words shaky, childish.

Before anyone could react, she pushed herself to her feet and, with uneven, stumbling steps, hurried back into the room. The door slammed shut with a hard thud, followed by a sharp click.

"Have you gone insane, Mummy?!" Nakul jerked his head toward Vaidehi. The veins on his temple stood out, his chest rising and falling in quick, furious breaths. "Why are you always triggering her with the same talk again and again?! Do you want your daughter dead?!"

"Shut up, Nakul!" Vaidehi shot up from the floor, her saree rustling sharply around her ankles as she lunged toward the closed door. The thud of her palm hitting the wooden frame made a few women flinch. "Ira! Open the door-stop being dramatic, Ira!"

The door didn't move. No reply came.

An uneasy silence settled over the rooftop. One by one, everyone drifted closer to the doorway.

"Ira," Urmila said softly, knocking with a steady rhythm. "Beti, open the door. Nobody will say anything to you. I promise. Come outside."

Vaidehi's heart thrashed against her ribs; her breaths came quick and uneven. She slapped the door again, harder this time, her voice unflinching. "Open the door, Ira! Are you the only one suffering from this?! Everyone has problems in their life! Come out!"

Apoorva winced, pressing her lips together.

Siddharth shifted his weight uneasily, his hand half-lifted as if he wanted to step forward but wasn't sure if he should. He finally took a step-

-when the younger aunt's voice cut through. "Panchhi, oh Panchhi."

Panchhi turned to her, brows furrowed. "What?"

"The window is open." The aunt arched her brows with pointed intent.

For a second, Panchhi didn't understand. Then the hint registered, and her eyes flew wide. "For the first time, Mami-I love you." She blew her a dramatic flying kiss and rushed off, her steps light and quick.

She dragged a plastic chair over and positioned it beneath the high window. The aunt instinctively held the chair steady as Panchhi climbed onto it.

Balancing herself, Panchhi rested her palms on the windowsill and slowly pushed the wooden pane with her fingertips, just enough to widen the gap, just enough to see inside-

And there she was.

Curled deep inside the thick white blanket, her body pressed into a tight ball in the far corner of the bed. The blanket rose in a trembling mound, like a heap of sand shifting with uneven, broken breaths.

The sight made Panchhi's chest cave in. "Di..."

"What happened?" Nakul blurted out, pushing forward so fast that the women behind him shuffled back in surprise, then regrouped, crowding near Panchhi in a tight, anxious circle.

"Uh-hmm..." Panchhi's lips parted, then closed again.

"Get down," Nakul ordered, his voice clipped.

Panchhi stepped off the chair immediately, her hands lingering on the edge for just a second.

Nakul took her place in one swift climb and shoved the window open in a single, sharp motion. "Ira! Oh, Ira! Open the door!"

"Go from here!" Ira's voice cracked through the tense silence.

"Shut up and come out!" Nakul shot back, leaning in further.

A stuffed red bear came hurtling out of the darkness and smacked him square in the face. "GO!"

"Leave her!" Vaidehi snapped. "She has made this a habit-creating drama every time!" Her nostrils flared; her jaw clenched so hard that the muscles in her cheek twitched. "Doesn't this girl have a fraction of sense? This is festival time! She shouldn't create a ruckus and bother everyone." She gripped the pleats of her saree near her stomach, furious, and muttered harshly, "Die. What will you take from me?"

Then she stormed toward the staircase.

Everyone froze where they stood, stunned into breathless, unmoving silence.

Nakul clicked his tongue. His eyes lingered on Siddharth, who was still staring at the staircase Vaidehi had stormed down, lips slightly parted as if trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

Shaking his head lightly, Nakul tore his gaze away and looked toward Panchhi and their aunt. Panchhi was clutching the back of the chair; the aunt wrung the end of her saree pallu.

"Leave her," Nakul said, his voice dropping to a low, steady rumble. "Once she cries it all out, she'll automatically come outside. Don't worry." He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking with the familiar helplessness of knowing this was the most he could do.

💥💫💥💫💥💫💥💫

A heavy exhale slipped past Siddharth's lips as he made his way up the stairs. Hiding his hands in his jacket pockets, he stretched his spine until a soft crack travelled down his back. His eyes moved lazily, adjusting to the vague glow spilling across the open rooftop and the dark, shut doors of the rooms around him.

"Everybody is already asleep?" he murmured to himself, slipping out his phone. The screen lit up his face in a pale blue wash. "Oh, it's half past 12." The device clicked shut as he pushed it back into his trousers pocket, then turned and continued upward to the top floor.

He was about to cover the remaining five steps when a childish voice floated into the quiet, clear but hoarse:

"385, 386, 387, 388, 389, 400, 401, 402, 403..."

His eyebrows drew together, lips curving without his permission. With silent steps, he climbed the rest of the way, following the scattered trail of numbers.

The moment his gaze fell upon the small figure sitting on the cold concrete floor, he stopped mid-step.

She looked almost weightless, head lifted toward the heavens, wrapped awkwardly in a thin fur blanket that barely clung to her shoulders. A faint breeze ruffled her open hair, brushing the strands across her shoulders as she continued her quiet mission.

His lips stretched into a full smile.

One of her hands was raised toward the glittering sky, forefinger trembling slightly in the cold as she traced the constellations, counting the stars.

The stars.

He leaned one shoulder against the wall, eyes fixed on her raised hand, on that trembling forefinger trying to touch skies far too big for her tiny frame.

Something about her stillness, her earnest little count, felt too delicate to disturb.

A soft chuckle escaped him, more air than voice. His gaze softened, and for the first time that night, the exhaustion that had been sitting between his ribs loosened.

He pushed himself off the wall quietly and took a step toward her, careful not to break the magic she had unknowingly woven around herself.

"417, 418, 419, 42-"

Her counting faltered, the number hanging unfinished on her lips as she sensed the faint warmth of another human breaking the cold air around her.

She blinked once, twice, and slowly lowered her hand. Her head turned just enough for her eyes to find him in the dim rooftop light.

"420." He offered her a small, easy smile.

Without any reply, she slipped the blanket off her body, the soft fabric pooling on the cold concrete of the rooftop. Pulling the attached cap of her thick, fluffy maroon jacket over her head, she felt the fur lining brush against her cheek.

Siddharth noticed the way the blanket spread oddly beneath her. She was sitting on half of it while the other half clung to her shoulders like a loose, uneven shawl. His brows lifted when she silently rolled the whole thing open, the blanket unfurling wide across the floor, leaving enough space for three people to sit comfortably.

"Is this for me?" he asked quietly, a soft laugh tucked beneath his breath.

Ira looked up, meeting his expectant eyes for a second before her gaze wandered around the empty rooftop - the dim white bulb flickering above, the occasional howl of wolves and other wild beings from the fields, the thin fog curling at the edges of the night. Then she looked back at him and simply shrugged.

Siddharth blinked, trying to decode the entire paragraph her silence carried. "Will you not use words?" he asked, tilting his head, watching her fingers fidget restlessly inside her sleeve.

She sniffled and rubbed the tip of her reddened nose with her jacket's cuff. Then, still wordless, she pointed at the other end of the blanket and patted the space beside her twice.

For a few seconds, both remained still.

Then, carefully, Siddharth lowered himself onto the blanket. He sat with a respectful gap between them - enough to not crowd her, but close enough that shed know he hadn't taken the spot out of mere formality. His hands rested on his knees; he made himself easy to read, easy to approach, if she wanted.

Ira sniffled again and blinked up at the sky, counting silently - her lips moving faintly, like a child reciting numbers to calm herself.

Siddharth followed her gaze upward.

Dark sky. Sharp stars. A moon that looked as tired as she did.

"Is this what you do when everything gets too heavy?"

Ira's fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. She didn't answer, just let out a shaky exhale that fogged the cold air.

He nodded as if she had answered. "Hmm," he murmured, eyes still on the stars. "Makes sense."

Another pause came, one that didn't press.

Siddharth shifted only slightly, adjusting his jacket as a gust of wind swept across the rooftop. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ira's shoulders tremble - not from the cold, but from leftover tears she was still swallowing down.

Very gently, he tried again. "Did you eat anything?"

Her head moved. A tiny nod.

"Good," he said softly, even though he didn't believe her.

A quiet sigh from him filled the silence that followed, drifting into the cool night like a soft ripple across still water.

"You know, life rarely unfolds according to our plans," Siddharth whispered. "Challenges are inevitable. But the world's great achievements are born out of adversity, not out of comfort."

He briefly glanced at her before leaning back on his palms and looking up again at the sky. "Challenges are uncomfortable because they disrupt routines and expose our vulnerabilities. Our first instinct is to avoid them, always. But every tough moment carries a lesson, an opportunity, a motivation to build new skills, an invitation to evolve."

Ira lowered her head, her finger tracing a slow, uncertain circle on the dusty floor. Her breaths were quiet, her face expressionless.

After a pause, he continued, his tone turning thoughtful. "Yellapragada Subbarow. He passed the medicine degree from Madras Medical College. But his professor-M. C. Bradfield-handed him a lower degree instead of an MBBS. The reason was simple - Subbarow ji was an Indian and a follower of Gandhiji."

The faint crease between Siddharth's brows deepened, as if the injustice still stung despite the years. "But content and unaware of his professor's deeds, Subbarow ji moved to America with the dream of becoming a doctor. Yet his degree had no value there. As a result, he worked at Boston Lying-in Hospital as a servant - cleaning, mopping, collecting patients' bedpans."

His voice faded. The silence stretched again, softer this time. Ira slowly turned her head toward him, her movements cautious, almost hesitant.

Siddharth felt her gaze, and a gentle smile curved his lips as his eyes wandered back to those scattered yellow sparkles in the night sky. "He didn't have a degree, but he had knowledge. Subbarow ji completed his diploma from Harvard Medical College and joined the same institute as junior faculty. Later, he made discoveries that even a group of scientists might have struggled with."

His warm eyes flickered toward her again as he added with that soft smile, "Methotrexate - the one used in chemotherapy for cancer patients. The cycle of chlortetracycline synthesis - which stops bacterial infections in humans, dogs, and horses. He was the one who first said that ATP is the source of energy in mitochondria. He even synthesised ATP in the lab. And he made many more discoveries that continue to help mankind today."

His smile widened, quiet pride glowing in it. "And as they say - one doesn't need a degree to decide their worth. Subbarow ji even had knowledge in Ayurveda. When he came back to India, he became a lecturer at the Madras Lakshmipati Ayurvedic College."

Ira blinked at him, her eyelashes lowering and lifting as though trying to absorb every word. Her expression stayed neutral, but her posture had softened.

"Challenges may break our comfort," he said gently, "but they build our character. And it is character that leads us to triumph." He turned his head fully toward her, his voice barely above a murmur. "Always remember - when the going gets tough, the tough get going."

A/N: Two empaths - one vulnerable, the other a bit mature. What kind of relationship do you feel emerging from their interactions so far?