The day the orphanage truly knew Anaya was devastating for her— but it also brought Tara to a new path.

  Anaya splashed cold water on her face, her sobs echoing off the tiles and eyes tearing uncontrollably.

  "Why would he do this, Tara? Why would— Just… leave me alone for a while."

  But Tara was in the world of her own. She quietly stood behind Anaya— unreadable, her reflection fractured in the cracked mirror.

  She didn't hear a single whisper. Her eyes were fixed on the cracks, as if they were scars branching out of her past.

  The dripping of the faucet grew louder.

  Tara's fingers stretched, and then twitched.

  Each drop of dripping water began to echo like footsteps in her head. Each drop was like a memory.

  Each crack on the mirror was a doorway— a doorway that dragged her to the past, that she never wanted to open again.

  ——————————————

  CRACK!

  A bottle crashed on the floor, shards scattering in each corner.

  But, the five-year old Tara could only hear it— it had become a routine for the past year.

  She hid under her bed with a pillow in her hand. She sobbed slowly, like she didn't want to be heard— the pillow was not only wet, but also suffocated under her grip.

  She didn't understand what she did wrong, and why smiles turned to screams.

  It was out of her mind, how an "I love you" seemed like a threat.

  Then—

  Footsteps— slow, uneven.

  As someone approached, the smell of alcohol and smoke lingered towards the room.

  The door rattled, as if it, too, feared what came behind it. A faint shadow slid across the light under the gap.

  A woman's voice followed the creaking of the door, her words broken but soothing at the same time, with another bottle in her hand.

  "Tara…? Where are you baby?"

  Even with watery eyes, the little girl's eyes gleamed with a streak of hope.

  A tiny hand approached out under the bed, and eventually, Tara crawled out, her grip relaxing to let the pillow fall.

  "Mumma…"

  She wanted nothing more than to feel her mother's warmth again— to believe that the woman who once sang her lullabies was still somewhere.

  Tara ran towards her mother with open arms, eager to be embraced by her.

  But smiles can be deceiving— and so was hers.

  Tara's mother's face twists into something monstrous— her eyes were red and hair was messy, some strands in her other hand.

  Moments before Tara was about to hug, her mother's hands extended.

  Tara let out a small smile, expecting love from the other side too, but all of a sudden—

  SMACK!

  Tara's world spun, a ringing filling her ears. Her cheek burned with fire and her heart sank somewhere she couldn't reach.

  She was thrown in a corner, the contact between her cheeks and her mother's palm leaving a deep red imprint on her face.

  "He left because of you! You ruined my life!"

  Tara screamed, clutching her clothes out of fear.

  But, there was no one who actually heard her screams, and her descent to pain.

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  The walls swallowed her cries. The neighbours stopped asking questions long ago.

  The world moved outside, while hers kept breaking the same way, every night.

  ——————————————

  The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across narrow lanes.

  Harinarayan's scooter weaved across the congested traffic, humming against the uneven asphalt.

  Horns blared, vendors shouted and the scent of fried street food mingled with the air— but he was focused, scanning the road ahead, and cursing the traffic.

  He clutched the brakes to take a sharp turn, but as he did so—

  A small figure appeared. Tara, no older than six, standing there, clutching a small pink suitcase as if it contained the weight of her world.

  Harinarayan slammed the brakes and metal screeched against stone. He stopped just a step away from her, heart pounding and gaze fixed.

  "Hey," he called, firmly but in a gentle way, "What are you doing here alone? You could get hurt. Where is your mother?"

  Tara flinched but didn't run. Her eyes were wide and alert, but at the same time, begged for someone to save her.

  Her voice was low, trembling, "My… my mom," she whispered. "She drinks something… and then she smiles… and then hits me. Always."

  The words hung in the humid air, raw and sharp.

  Harinarayan's heart tightened, his protective instincts rising.

  He glanced at the suitcase she held with great care, her shaking hands, and her dirty shoes.

  "Come on," he said softly. "Get on the scooter. I will take you somewhere safe."

  Tara gulped, her hesitation being more than Harinarayan's protectiveness. But slowly, cautiously, she moved forward.

  The small hands gripped the handles and the suitcase was tucked at her side.

  Harinarayan's arms steadied her as she climbed on behind him. Her legs were unable to reach the footrest, but she held on tight.

  And as the scooter moved away from the bustle of the city, Tara felt something she hadn't felt in a really long time— safety.

  But, a single thought stuck to her mind:

  "Before someone hurts, they show love and kindness."

  ——————————————

  The orphanage was a riot of colour and noise. Children darted across the sunlit grounds, their shoes squeaking against the floor.

  Amidst the crowd, Tara stood still, her eyes flickering over the jumbled movement of the others, measuring distances and calculating her safety.

  Then came two voices— loud, commanding, and filled with theatrical arrogance.

  "The Great King Jay and his special Advisor Ronak have arrived to inspect the new subject!"

  The children froze at once, and began to giggle. Jay, flamboyant and exaggerated, strutted forward with his arms wide, like he gathered and invisible court.

  But Ronak's voice cut through the chaos, "I'm obviously the king, Jay. You can be the jester."

  Jay stopped, mouth open, and pouted dramatically. He pretended to clutch his chest out of the pain of mockery.

  "You? The king? You don't even know how to spell royal!"

  "Oh, you little dramatic boy, don't remember who was the one who got the ball from the tree!"

  Even when the arguement escalated, Tara seemed to have no interest. She didn't even look at them, but the commotion got on her nerves.

  "Will you two keep quiet, please?"

  The boys stopped.

  And then, Ronak noticed her.

  He felt it from the first glance— a fragile end to her presence, a spark even he couldn't explain.

  His chest heaved, tightening, a pull he never felt before. It was something deeper than mere interest.

  "Hello," he said with surprising calmness, lowering himself to her level, "Come join us for a game of tag."

  "No, if I run, mumma will—"

  "Oi, Ronak!" Jay shouted out loud. "You've never invited a girl to play. Has a spirit entered you? We need priest Jay now!"

  "Keep quiet, Jay. She's new here." Harinarayan entered, after he had parked his scooter.

  Ronak continued with a tone no one saw him use before, "You can draw, or paint… or even try the drums. There is a lot you can do."

  Tara's lips pressed into a thin line. None of it pleased her interests.

  "Tara, and Ronak, follow me." Harinarayan interrupted, "You will find what you want."

  "Really?" Tara tilted her head.

  "Just follow me. Trust me, kid."

  Tara staggered, measuring any danger before the calm affection, finally letting go of the tension and following him to the music room.

  Ronak's gaze was stuck to Tara, following her like she was a magnet. He didn't just want to watch her— he felt the same pull, quiet and insistent.

  Tara's own thoughts were sharper, colder. She stuck close to Harinarayan, like an armor, as she stepped into the room.

  Here eyes swept over the instruments, scattered notes, over the quiet hum of possibilities. It was new, and yet, it felt safe.

  She didn't notice Ronak looking at her from the doorway, impressed by the way she examined every corner of the room.

  All of a sudden—

  Tara felt a hand over her shoulder— it was Ronak, now right beside her.

  She instantly stiffened, and jolted away, like she didn't want the kindness and comfort of someone else, because it eventually meant betrayal and pain.

  Ronak didn't expect this, "I'm… sorry you didn't like it. But, would you like to join Midnight Jam?"

  "What— What's that?"

  "Oh," Ronak smirked, "That means you're interested."

  ——————————————

  After everyone left Anaya alone that day, Harshit managed to enter Tara's room.

  The door creaked softly as it swung open. Tara's head snapped towards the sound.

  Harshit stood there, calm, almost casual, leaning against the frame. His eyes swept over her— calculating, reading every flicker of unease in her posture.

  Before she began to question him, he spoke low and smooth,

  "Anaya trusted him. He simply broke it."

  Tara's jaw tightened. The hurt in her eyes flickered, raw and bright. Harshit watched it like a surgeon examining a vein.

  "He did it once, he can do it again." Harshit went on. "It's not because he's cruel. He's just careless."

  The words landed without flourish. There was no shout, no accusations— only a few syllables that rearranged the course of the room.

  "He needs spotlight more than he needs people. Listen to me, Tara. Even I know him well. I know he shows kindness, but that's just the calm before the pain."

  Those words struck Tara like an arrow, piercing through her old wounds. Her body started shivering, and she remembered her mother.

  "So now, I have a plan." Harshit continued, like he wanted exactly that, "We overthrow Ronak, blame him and take the band in the direction it should go to."

  Tara gulped. Each sentence pried something open to her— a sluice she would never expect to find. Her eyes locked into his.

  She thought of every time Ronak showed warmth— she thought how the gestures always preceded to a blow. A long silence, and then—

  "What do you want me to do?"

  ——————————————

  "What do you want me to do, Ronak," Harshit said, in the present, "I'm not going to stay like your shadow."

  The roller coaster jolted from the sudden high speed, metal groaning under the weight of the boys. Ronak's arms shook, his grips raw, but he adjusted.

  Below, the boys did not waste time. Rishabh took the lead in no time,

  "Lean slightly forward… keep your weight centred… the first turn comes in three seconds."

  Rishabh's voice cut through the roar, precise and controlled, "Tarun, the first one, take that girl with you!"

  Tarun nodded in approval, grabbed Anaya, and climbed into the coaster exactly on time.

  Her hands grabbed the safety bar, eyes wide, body tense. But when she turned, Tarun could not reach the bar.

  Ronak glanced at her, instincts screaming to protect, but his body refusing to take any action.

  Harshit, however, leaned forward, with the same deceptive tone.

  "You came here for this person? Ronak told everyone about… you know what. Think about it. Your secrets— out for all. Only because of him."

  Anaya staggered slightly, disbelief flashing across her face. Her grip on the bar tightened as she spiraled into the thoughts.

  "You see, you're trusting him again. But do you think he will not betray you again? Can you really trust him?"

  Anaya's chest tightened, her head spun slightly, her gaze involuntarily flickering towards Ronak.

  The roller coaster roared forward continuously, snapping them into motion every then and now. The wind tore around their clothes, the screams of adrenaline around them.

  And in that suspended, chaotic rush, the doubt planted by Harshit took root, leaving Anaya teetering between fear, anger and disbelief.