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Third Person POV:-
Place: Home
The first light of dawn slipped quietly through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the cool marble floor. Their home, usually filled with light chatter or distant music, was unusually silent—as if it too was holding its breath for what the day might bring.
Avani stood in the kitchen, her damp hair tucked behind her ears, the faint steam from her coffee rising steadily. Dressed casually, her focus was calm and steady as she stirred the mug in her hands. Her small duffel bag sat by the door, packed and ready.
Yet, something about the morning felt… surreal. Like the world had paused for a heartbeat before shifting into a new rhythm.
She turned toward the hallway, sensing movement just as soft footsteps echoed.
Saira entered, her ponytail pulled tight, trading her scrubs for a simple kurti and jeans. Her night shift had ended only hours ago, but there was no trace of fatigue on her face. Instead, she glowed—maybe from the freedom of stepping away from the relentless beeping of machines and endless patient charts.
“You’re up early,” she said, reaching for a mug.
“So are you,” Avani replied, a small smile touching her lips.
Saira leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee. “Last surgery wrapped up at 4 AM. I should be dead asleep, but… this trip. It feels different.”
Avani nodded. “It does.”
Before either of them could say more, a voice floated down from upstairs.
“Did someone say coffee, or are you two pretending to be quiet philosophers again?”
Ishika appeared on the staircase, dressed in a sleek travel co-ord. Her usual CEO sharpness was softened by the warmth of home. Around them, she didn’t need to wear her armor. Here, she was simply Ishika.
“Your coffee’s on the table, ma’am,” Avani teased.
Ishika walked over, took a sip, and sighed with contentment. “Okay, I forgive you for packing at the last minute.”
“I packed days ago,” Saira muttered.
“I meant her,” Ishika said, tilting her head toward Avani. “Miss ‘I had to recheck my bag thrice because what if I forget my phone charger and we all die.’”
Avani laughed, brushing back a strand of hair. “I like to be sure.”
Their laughter filled the house—soft, familiar, comforting.
A little while later, they gathered in the living room. Bags ready, outfits light for the warm weather, faces glowing with a quiet anticipation. It wasn’t just excitement—it was something deeper. A craving for peace, or maybe change.
When the cab honked outside, they shared one last glance.
No words were spoken. Just a silent understanding passed between them.
None of them knew what Udaipur held.
But fate had already begun its quiet work.
---
The train pulled out of the station with a low rumble, leaving behind the crowded platforms and the noise of city life. Inside their compartment, a calmness settled over the three girls, the soft sway of the coach soothing like a lullaby.
Flying would have been faster—they all knew that. Ishika had even checked the flight schedules and nearly booked one. But then Avani had said something softly, something that made them all pause.
“Let’s take the train. It’ll give us more time to breathe… to just be.”
Saira had immediately agreed. “Besides, planes are boring. No windows you can open. No wind in your face. No random memories from passing villages.”
And so, here they were—on a train to Udaipur, nestled in a corner of a second-class AC coach, surrounded by distant station announcements and the rhythmic whistle of the train.
Avani sat cross-legged on the middle berth, doodling in her journal. She wasn’t sketching anything specific—just drifting clouds, tiny windows, and fragments of faces she'd glimpsed at the station. A soft breeze played with her hair from the half-open window beside her.
Saira leaned back against the wall on the opposite berth, headphones in, scrolling through old photos on her phone. Most were of surgeries, some of her and the girls, and a few oddly beautiful shots of quiet hospital corridors at night. She had a habit of capturing moments—and in her own way, she remembered everything.
Ishika was curled sideways on the lower berth, dressed in a pastel tracksuit, her fingers tapping away on her tablet. She’d promised not to work during this trip, but clearly, she was checking emails. Still, there was a lightness to her—something more relaxed than the version of her the world usually saw.
“Still pretending to work?” Avani asked, smiling softly.
“Still pretending to sketch things that make sense?” Ishika replied smoothly.
“I’m hurt,” Avani said, clutching her chest dramatically.
“She’s not wrong though,” Saira added, pulling out one earbud.
Ishika narrowed her eyes. “Don’t test me, heart-surgeon.”
Saira grinned. “Only if you promise never to call me that again.”
They laughed—loud, genuine laughter that made a few fellow passengers glance their way.
Later, when a vendor walked by with a basket of fresh fruit, Saira bought a few oranges and guavas. They sat cross-legged on the berth, sharing fruit like school kids, sprinkling salt and laughing over who ended up with the most seeds.
“Tell me this isn’t the best decision we made,” Avani said, holding up a slice of guava like a toast.
Ishika leaned back, watching sunlight filter through the window. “Okay. You win. This… feels good.”
The landscape outside shifted slowly—from endless fields to low hills, lakes shimmering in the distance, and small towns with age-old stories whispered through their crumbling walls. Time seemed to stretch and soften, making the journey feel like a quiet dream shared between the three of them.
Hours passed in laughter, shared fruit, silly teasing, and comfortable silences. As the train began to slow, a faint announcement echoed through the coach.
“Next station—Udaipur City Junction.”
Avani looked up from her sketchbook, her eyes meeting Saira’s for a moment. Ishika sat up straighter, brushing her hair with her fingers.
“So… we’re here,” Saira murmured, a hint of excitement sneaking into her voice.
“No turning back now,” Avani whispered, sliding her notebook back into her bag.
They stepped off the train with a mix of calm and curiosity, the soft buzz of Udaipur already wrapping around them. The golden afternoon sun kissed the platform gently, while the city stretched before them—old, beautiful, and alive.
The air felt different here. Not just warmer or quieter—but slower, richer. Like the city held a secret in every breeze.
After a short cab ride through winding lanes and lake-side views, they reached the place they had chosen weeks ago during a late-night call—a quiet heritage haveli turned boutique hotel, tucked away just beyond the old city.
The gate creaked as it opened, revealing an inner courtyard filled with soft light and the scent of fresh jasmine. Walls painted in faded turquoise, hand-carved wooden balconies, and cushions in every color waited to welcome them.
“I feel like we just stepped inside a fairytale,” Avani whispered as they looked around in awe.
“This is exactly what we needed,” Ishika said, eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the stone floor.
Their rooms were cozy and full of charm—vintage furniture, flowing curtains, and windows that opened to a peaceful view of Lake Pichola in the distance. After freshening up, they met at the terrace café just as the sky began turning gold.
Below, the streets were buzzing with early festival preparations—dhol beats, marigold garlands, and families decorating their doorways.
The manager, an elderly man with a kind smile, approached with a plate of fresh snacks.
“Gangaur is coming,” he said warmly. “You girls came at the right time. The city turns magical these days.”
Avani smiled. “We’ve heard about it, but never seen it here.”
“It’s special,” he nodded. “In Udaipur, it’s not just a festival—it’s a prayer, a celebration, a promise. Unmarried girls pray for love, married women for happiness… and the city? It prays too, in its own way.”
Saira leaned against the railing, watching the tiny lanterns already floating into the dusk. “This city… it feels alive.”
Ishika said nothing, but something softened in her eyes as she watched a little girl giggle below, helping her mother tie flowers to the balcony.
That night, as stars began to scatter across the sky, the three of them sat by the window in their room, wrapped in shawls, sipping cool water and watching the slow rhythm of life outside.
“We made the right choice,” Avani said softly.
Saira nodded.
—
Their conversation slowly shifted to softer topics—childhood memories, random “what ifs,” and playful teasing about who among them would get married first. The kind of talks only close friends have when they know there’s no rush.
One by one, their laughter faded into quiet yawns as sleep started to take over.
They changed into soft cotton nightwear, dimmed the lanterns, and slipped under the cozy blankets.
Saira spoke into the dark room, her voice low. “I hope tomorrow is just as peaceful.”
Ishika let out a quiet laugh. “Let’s not jinx it.”
Avani turned toward the window, where the moonlight made silver patterns on the wall. “Peaceful or not… I feel like tomorrow will be special.”
The room grew quiet. Outside, the sounds of the city faded, and slowly, they all drifted off to sleep.
---
The next morning…
A gentle knock on the door woke Avani.
Outside, the haveli’s caretaker had left a tray with fresh juice and a small handwritten note:
“It’s Gangaur morning! Udaipur waits for your smiles.”
The air felt cool and fresh. Birds chirped outside, and the soft sound of temple bells rang in the distance.
Avani smiled and tiptoed around the room, letting her friends sleep a little longer. She opened the jharokha window and let the morning breeze fill the room.
Soon, Ishika stirred, blinking at the sunlight. “Is it morning already?”
Saira groaned from under the blanket. “Tell Udaipur we’ll come after two more dreams.”
But twenty minutes later, all three were up and ready, wearing pastel-colored kurtis with light embroidery. Nothing too fancy—just simple, elegant, and comfortable.
They had breakfast in the haveli’s green courtyard—fresh poha, toast, juicy mango slices, and coconut water.
“So…” Ishika looked up. “Where do we go first?”
“No plan,” Avani said with a smile. “Let’s just walk… and see where the day takes us.”
That’s how they ended up at the calm, beautiful shores of Fatehsagar Lake.
...
The walk to Fatehsagar Lake was calm and quiet. The streets were just starting to wake up—vendors setting up their stalls, the smell of fresh flowers and incense coming from a nearby temple, and soft traditional music playing in the background.
When they reached the lake, the morning sun made the water shine with a soft golden glow. A gentle breeze played with their dupattas, and the sound of the lake’s ripples felt like a soft song.
They walked down the stone steps barefoot and sat near the edge, the water just inches away.
Avani pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing, her fingers moving slowly as she tried to capture the sky’s reflection in the lake.
Ishika sat beside her, leaning back on her hands. “I never knew silence could feel this nice. It’s not empty… it’s peaceful.”
Avani gave a small smile while watching the ripples. “It feels like the kind of place that listens.”
After a while, a group of women walked by, carrying decorated pots on their heads and singing Gangaur songs. Their colorful leheriyas swayed as they made their way toward the temple near the lake.
“They’re all dressed up for Gangaur,” Ishika said, admiring the bright colors.
Saira nodded. “It’s such a beautiful festival… there’s so much love in the air.”
They watched quietly as the women did their rituals—offering water to the goddess and silently making wishes for their partners’ happiness or praying for future love.
Avani glanced at her friends. “Do you think people like us can even dream of such fairytales?”
There was a small pause.
“I think we deserve them,” Saira said gently.
“I think… we’re allowed to hope, even if we don’t believe,” Ishika added, surprising even herself.
They sat in silence for a while, letting the lake do the talking, each lost in thoughts they didn’t say out loud.
After some time, Ishika stood up and stretched. “Let’s explore a bit before it gets too crowded.”
Saira agreed, and Avani carefully placed her sketchbook back into her small bag.
Just as they turned to leave, a soft sound made Avani stop.
A little girl—barely five years old—stood on the steps, holding a bunch of beautiful pendants. Her eyes were wide and hopeful. She quietly held one out.
Avani bent down to her level and gave a warm smile. “Are these for sale?”
The girl nodded. “One for fifty rupees, didi… for Gangaur.”
Avani gently picked one and reached into her bag, pulling out a five hundred rupee note and handing it to the girl. “Keep the change,” she said with a soft laugh, playfully tugging the girl’s nose.
But before Avani could stand up, the little girl quickly placed a second pendant in her hand. “This one’s free. You have a good heart.”
The words surprised her.
Saira and Ishika had stopped nearby, quietly watching with soft smiles.
Avani stood up, now holding two pendants, still a bit stunned. “Why would you say that?”
The girl smiled and pointed at her sketchbook. “Because you draw the world like you love it.”
Then she ran off.
The moment stayed with them—soft, quiet, and unexpected.
As they continued walking along the lakeside, Ishika nudged Avani with a teasing grin. “Look at you, getting compliments from tiny street philosophers.”
Avani laughed, but inside, she still felt the warmth of those words. “I don’t know what just happened.”
“It was sweet,” Saira said. “And maybe a little magical.”
They kept walking until the path led them to a small, peaceful garden beside the lake. There were benches under gulmohar trees, flower petals scattered on the grass, and a soft breeze that smelled of earth and blooms.
The girls sat there for a while, enjoying the calm, sharing some inside jokes, and talking about random plans for the next day.
---
The sun was setting slowly, covering the waters of Fatehsagar Lake in a golden glow. The quiet ghat was now full of color, prayers, and the sweet scent of incense and marigolds.
After their long walk, Avani, Saira, and Ishika had returned to the haveli. They changed into simple but elegant suits—soft pastel colors with fine embroidery. Their dupattas were neatly pinned, and their bangles made a gentle sound as they moved.
This time, when they stepped out again, the air felt different—full of music, faith, and warmth.
The ghat was filled with women wearing bright lehengas and sarees. Each of them carried decorated pots as offerings for Gangaur. Little diyas floated on the water, their flames glowing like tiny prayers.
The girls walked barefoot to the water and stood silently, taking in the view.
Avani folded her hands. “Even if we don’t believe in all of this… it still feels sacred.”
Ishika nodded. “It’s not only about gods and goddesses. It’s about faith. About hope. Believing that something beautiful is waiting for you, even if it hasn’t come yet.”
Saira, who was usually the most practical, surprised them both. “It’s also about strength. These women… they’re not just praying for love. They’re making a promise to stand by it.”
A nearby priest waved for them to join the line by the ghat. The girls looked at each other and stepped forward. They didn’t have clay idols or pots, just open hearts and quiet minds.
The chants began, filling the air with prayer.
They didn’t look like the locals. They weren’t in traditional outfits. But no one stopped them. Because prayer isn’t about how you look—it’s about what’s in your heart.
They closed their eyes.
Saira wished for peace—not just for herself, but for all the broken, stormy parts of their lives.
Ishika asked for clarity. For the strength to keep moving forward, even when things felt confusing.
And…
When she opened her eyes, the soft chants still ringing around her, her gaze shifted to the water.
There, glowing with the light of the diyas, she saw something else—a figure standing at the far end of the ghat.
Tall. Strong. Dressed in black. His back faced her. He didn’t move, didn’t look around. He just stood still, like he didn’t care about the world behind him. Like he belonged in that silence, just like she did…
Her breath caught.
She couldn’t explain why, but it felt magnetic. Familiar in a way dreams sometimes feel—vague, but powerful…
She looked toward the crowd, trying to see him again but… he was gone.
Only people passed by now, unaware that something invisible had just changed.
She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t even know what she was searching for.
But something inside her stirred. And it didn’t calm down.
…
And Avani… she didn’t make any wish.
She simply listened to the chants and allowed herself to feel again.
As the last diya floated away and the chants faded, she took a deep breath, watching the flickering lights on the lake.
She hadn’t expected to feel anything—not really. She wasn’t here to wish for love or promises. Over the years, her heart had become a quiet place—organized, logical, and carefully protected.
But suddenly... she felt something.
Not a breeze. Not a sound. But a presence.
Soft. Grounding.
Like someone was nearby—not too close, not too far—just close enough to make her breath pause.
It wasn’t fear.
Not even excitement.
It was a stillness, deep inside her chest. It touched a part of her that had been quietly aching. A calm so real, her eyes filled with tears without her even knowing why.
She didn’t turn around. She didn’t see anyone.
But she knew.
Someone had been there.
Not to be seen. Not to disturb. Just to remind her—she wasn’t alone anymore...
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"Since this chapter turned out longer than expected, I’ve divided it into two parts to make the experience smoother. This was Part 1—Part 2 has also been uploaded!"
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