The fair had arrived without warning.

In Aarav’s town, things usually announced themselves weeks in advance. Weddings were whispered about months earlier. Political rallies appeared on loudspeakers three days before they happened. Even the ice-cream cart rang its bell long before it reached your street.

But the fair simply appeared.

One afternoon the empty field beside the highway was just a field. Goats grazing. Dust moving lazily with the wind.

By evening, it had become a glowing island of noise and color.

Aarav noticed it while closing the shutter of his uncle’s stationery shop.

He froze halfway through pulling the metal shutter down.

Beyond the buildings, above the rooftops, something spun slowly in the sky.

A Ferris wheel.

The lights blinked red, blue, yellow. The metal frame creaked as it turned, like some giant mechanical flower opening.

Aarav frowned.

“That wasn’t there this morning.”

From inside the shop his uncle shouted, “If you keep staring at the sky, the shutter will close itself?”

Aarav pulled the shutter down with a clang.

“Chacha,” he said, stepping inside again, “when did the fair come?”

His uncle barely looked up from counting notebooks.

“What fair?”

Aarav pointed outside.

His uncle walked to the doorway and leaned out.

The Ferris wheel lights blinked lazily in the distance.

“Huh,” his uncle said.

A pause.

“Must’ve come today.”

“That’s it?” Aarav asked.

“What else do you want? A parade?”

His uncle waved a dismissive hand.

“If you’re curious, go look. Just don’t come asking me for money.”

The field smelled like dust, popcorn, and frying oil.

Music blasted from different directions, all slightly out of sync. Somewhere a loudspeaker screamed an old Bollywood song.

Children ran between stalls carrying balloons shaped like cartoon animals.

Aarav walked slowly through the entrance arch made of cheap flashing lights.

He wasn’t even sure why he came.

Maybe because nothing interesting ever happened in his town.

Maybe because the Ferris wheel had appeared like it had dropped from the sky.

Or maybe because he simply had nothing better to do.

A man selling roasted peanuts shouted as Aarav passed.

“Garama garam! Fresh peanuts!”

A small boy tugged his mother toward a toy gun stall.

Someone argued loudly over the price of cotton candy.

Everything felt loud and alive.

And slightly temporary.

Like the whole place might disappear by morning.

Aarav wandered past a ring toss stall, a shooting gallery, and a spinning ride that looked mildly dangerous.

He stopped near a stall covered in red cloth.

A hand-painted board hung above it.

"Find What You Seek."

Aarav squinted.

“That’s vague.”

The stall looked half-abandoned. A single lantern hung from the corner pole, casting a dim orange glow.

Inside sat a girl.

She was leaning forward with her chin resting on her palm, watching the crowd like someone watching fish in an aquarium.

Her hair was braided loosely over one shoulder.

A faded yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.

A silver ring gleamed on her thumb.

She noticed Aarav staring.

Without moving her head, she raised one eyebrow.

“You’ve been standing there for ten seconds,” she said.

Her voice was calm. Slightly amused.

“Either come in or charge me rent for the view.”

Aarav blinked.

“Oh. I was just reading the sign.”

“You finished reading it five seconds ago.”

He stepped closer to the stall.

“What exactly does this place do?” he asked.

The girl gestured lazily toward the empty stool across from her.

“Sit.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Neither does standing there.”

After a moment, Aarav sat down.

The wooden stool creaked.

Up close he noticed something odd.

She didn’t look like the other workers at the fair.

Most of them shouted or waved people over.

She just sat there like she had nowhere else to be.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Aarav.”

“Aarav,” she repeated thoughtfully.

“Good wandering name.”

“I’m not wandering.”

“You’re at a traveling fair on a Tuesday night.”

“That’s because it appeared next to my shop.”

She smiled slightly.

“Things usually appear where people are meant to notice them.”

Aarav frowned.

“Are you always this cryptic?”

“Only with strangers.”

“You just asked my name.”

“That’s step one of making strangers less strange.”

A breeze moved through the stall, lifting the edge of her yellow scarf.

For a moment Aarav caught the faint smell of roasted peanuts and incense.

He looked around the stall.

There were no cards. No crystal ball. No fortune-telling props.

Just a small wooden box on the table between them.

“So what does this stall actually do?” he asked again.

The girl tapped the wooden box with one finger.

“People come here looking for things.”

“Like lost keys?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you help them?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

She laughed quietly.

It wasn’t loud.

Just a small sound, like someone tapping a glass bottle.

“Why did you come here, Aarav?” she asked.

“I told you. I was curious.”

“No,” she said gently.

“You were bored.”

Aarav leaned back slightly.

“That too.”

“Bored people are the easiest to guide.”

“Guide where?”

The girl shrugged.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

She leaned forward slightly, studying his face like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“On whether they’re brave enough to follow something strange.”

A loud cheer erupted from somewhere near the Ferris wheel.

Aarav glanced toward the noise.

When he looked back at the girl, she was still watching him carefully.

Almost like she had been waiting for him specifically.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She paused for a moment.

Then she said:

“Meera.”

And outside the stall, the Ferris wheel lights flickered slowly in the dark.

Aarav closing shop.

...End of Part 1 — The Fair Lights......

Outside the stall, the Ferris wheel lights flickered slowly in the dark.

Aarav glanced toward it again, watching the metal seats rise and fall against the night sky. Every few seconds the structure groaned like it had old bones.

When he turned back, Meera was still studying him.

Not casually.

Carefully.

Like she was measuring something.

“You look like someone who asks too many questions,” she said.

“That’s a problem?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether the answers exist.”

Aarav folded his arms on the small wooden table.

“So people come here looking for things,” he said. “And you help them find it.”

“Sometimes.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Give me an example.”

Meera leaned back on her stool, stretching her arms behind her head.

“Yesterday a man came looking for his wallet.”

“And?”

“He had left it in his scooter.”

Aarav stared.

“That’s not mysterious.”

“He didn’t know where it was.”

“So you guessed?”

“I asked him how careful he usually is.”

“And?”

“He said extremely.”

“So you assumed he didn’t lose it randomly.”

“Exactly.”

Aarav nodded slowly.

“That’s just logic.”

Meera smiled.

“Logic feels magical to people who don’t use it.”

A group of teenagers walked past the stall laughing loudly. One of them tried to peek inside but lost interest immediately when he saw there was no flashy game.

The music from the loudspeaker shifted into another song.

Aarav leaned forward again.

“So what do people usually look for?”

“Money.”

“Predictable.”

“Sometimes lost dogs.”

“Okay.”

“Once a missing uncle.”

“What happened to him?”

“He had run away with someone’s aunt.”

Aarav snorted.

“That sounds like this town.”

Meera tilted her head.

“And what are you looking for?”

“Nothing.”

“Everyone is looking for something.”

“I was just walking.”

She pointed toward the entrance of the fair.

“You could have walked anywhere.”

“That stall had a weird sign.”

“Yet you sat down.”

Aarav hesitated.

“Fine. I was curious.”

“That’s still a kind of searching.”

“For what?”

Meera shrugged.

“Maybe something new.”

He laughed softly.

“In this town? Good luck.”

She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table.

“You think nothing interesting happens here.”

“That’s because nothing does.”

“Then why are you still sitting here?”

Aarv opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Meera watched him struggle for a moment.

Then she smiled.

“See?”

“You’re annoying.”

“I hear that a lot.”

A breeze pushed through the stall again, making the lantern sway slightly.

Shadows moved across Meera’s face.

Aarav suddenly noticed the silver ring on her thumb more clearly.

It had tiny patterns carved around it.

“Nice ring,” he said.

She looked down at it.

“Oh.”

She twisted it slowly.

“I’ve had it a long time.”

“Gift?”

“No.”

“Bought it?”

“No.”

“Then how did you get it?”

She looked back up at him.

“Found it.”

“Where?”

Meera smiled faintly.

“At a fair.”

Aarav raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds like the start of a ghost story.”

“Most good stories start at fairs.”

“Why?”

She gestured around them.

“Because everything here disappears.”

A child screamed with delight somewhere near the spinning ride.

Firecrackers popped briefly near the food stalls.

Aarav followed her gaze across the fair.

“Disappear?”

“The stalls move. The workers leave. The lights go somewhere else.”

She tapped the wooden table again.

“Tomorrow this place will look like nothing ever happened.”

“That’s how traveling fairs work.”

“Yes.”

“But tonight people treat it like the center of the universe.”

Aarav looked back at her.

“You talk like you’ve been to a lot of these.”

“I have.”

“You work for the fair?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re doing that again.”

“What?”

“Answering like a riddle.”

Meera leaned forward slightly.

“Let me ask you something instead.”

“Okay.”

“If you could leave this town tonight, would you?”

Aarav blinked.

“Leave where?”

“Anywhere.”

He hesitated.

The question felt strangely serious for a casual conversation.

“I guess,” he said slowly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“My uncle would murder me.”

“Hypothetically.”

Aarav shrugged.

“Yeah. Probably.”

Meera watched his face closely.

“You don’t sound very excited.”

“Well it’s not like someone’s offering me a free adventure.”

“You never know.”

Aarav laughed again.

“You talk like you’re recruiting me for a pirate ship.”

She tilted her head.

“That would be more fun than a stationery shop.”

“That’s a low bar.”

The lantern flickered again.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Meera suddenly stood up.

“Come on.”

Aarav blinked.

“Where?”

“Walk.”

“You’re abandoning your stall?”

“No one was visiting anyway.”

“That’s harsh.”

She stepped out of the stall and looked back at him.

“You’re curious about the fair, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let me show you the interesting parts.”

Aarav hesitated for about two seconds.

Then he stood up.

“Alright.”

They stepped into the moving crowd.

The fair felt louder out here.

Children ran past them holding glowing toys.

A man shouted about lucky lottery numbers.

The smell of fried pakoras drifted through the air.

Meera walked slowly, hands in her scarf pockets.

“First rule of fairs,” she said.

“There are rules?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

She pointed toward the Ferris wheel.

“Never trust the quiet rides.”

“Why?”

“They’re always the oldest.”

Aarav glanced up at the towering metal structure.

It groaned again as it turned.

“That’s comforting.”

She smiled slightly.

“Second rule.”

“What?”

“Never believe the first story someone tells you.”

“Why?”

“Because fairs collect liars.”

Aarav raised an eyebrow.

“And the third rule?”

Meera stopped walking.

She turned toward him.

The yellow lights from a nearby stall reflected in her eyes.

“The third rule,” she said quietly,

“is that if you meet someone interesting at a fair…”

She paused.

A strange expression crossed her face.

“…you shouldn’t assume you’ll see them again.”

Before Aarav could respond, a loud shout came from behind them.

“Chai! Garam chai!” (*Vender selling fresh tea )

Aarav turned instinctively toward the tea stall.

“Hold on,” he said. “I’m getting tea.”

Meera nodded casually.

“I’ll wait here.”

Aarav stepped into the small crowd around the stall.

It took less than a minute.

But when he turned around again—

Meera was gone.

...End of Part 2 — Seven Minutes......

Meera was gone.

Aarav blinked once.

Then again.

The space where she had been standing—next to a stall selling plastic toys and glowing bracelets—was now occupied by a family arguing over the price of a balloon.

He stepped sideways, scanning the crowd.

Yellow scarf.

Braided hair.

Silver ring.

Nothing.

“Bhaiya, chai,” the tea seller said, pushing a small paper cup toward him.

Aarav took it automatically.

“Thanks.”

He turned again, lifting himself slightly on his toes to see over people’s heads.

Still nothing.

That was strange.

She had been standing right there.

Ten seconds ago.

He walked quickly to the spot where she had been.

“Excuse me,” he said, squeezing past a man holding a giant stuffed panda.

The toy stall owner glanced at him.

“You buying something?”

“No, I—”

Aarav looked around again.

The crowd moved constantly, people sliding past each other like water.

Maybe she just moved a few steps away.

He walked toward the nearby food stalls.

No yellow scarf.

He circled the toy stall once.

Then again.

The tea in his hand had already gone lukewarm.

“Maybe she went back to the stall,” he muttered.

That made sense.

She had said she was just stepping away.

Aarav turned and started walking quickly toward the red-cloth stall.

The fair suddenly felt larger than before.

Every stall looked similar.

Every voice overlapped with the next.

He passed the shooting gallery.

Then the ring toss.

Finally he saw the red cloth hanging from wooden poles.

The stall with the sign.

"Find What You Seek."

He stepped inside.

The wooden stool was still there.

The lantern still swayed gently.

The small wooden box still sat on the table.

But Meera wasn’t there.

Aarav frowned.

“Hello?”

No answer.

He looked behind the stall.

Just empty space and stacked crates.

A man selling balloons walked past outside.

“Excuse me!” Aarav called.

The man stopped.

“What?”

“The girl who was sitting here—where did she go?”

The balloon man looked into the stall.

“What girl?”

“The one working here.”

“No one’s working there.”

Aarav pointed at the stool.

“She was sitting right there five minutes ago.”

The man shrugged.

“I’ve been here all evening. That stall’s been empty.”

Aarav stared at him.

“That’s not possible.”

The man adjusted the bundle of balloons tied to his wrist.

“Look, brother, I sell balloons. I don’t track missing girls.”

He walked off.

Aarav turned back toward the stall.

The lantern flickered.

The wooden box sat quietly on the table.

He stepped closer.

For a moment he considered opening it.

But something about it felt oddly personal.

Like opening someone else’s drawer.

“Okay,” he said quietly to himself.

“She probably just went somewhere.”

He stepped back outside.

The fair seemed louder now.

More chaotic.

He walked quickly toward the Ferris wheel.

If she had wandered anywhere, it would probably be there.

The huge metal structure creaked as it turned slowly.

A man sat in a small control booth chewing gum.

He wore a bright blue shirt with grease stains.

“Hey,” Aarav said, approaching him.

The man glanced over.

“Ride?”

“No. I’m looking for someone.”

The operator kept chewing.

“Join the club.”

“A girl. Yellow scarf. She was at a stall near the entrance.”

The man shrugged.

“Half the girls here wear scarves.”

“She had a braid.”

“Very helpful.”

“She was running a stall called ‘Find What You Seek.’”

The operator paused.

Then he looked toward the entrance.

“That weird empty one?”

“It’s not empty.”

“Brother, it’s been empty since afternoon.”

Aarav felt irritation rising.

“No, it hasn’t.”

The operator popped his gum loudly.

“You from this town?”

“Yes.”

“Then relax.”

He gestured lazily toward the spinning Ferris wheel seats.

“Girls wander off all the time here.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Oh?”

“She was waiting for me.”

The operator grinned.

“They all say that.”

A group of teenagers climbed into one of the seats.

The ride jerked slightly as it started moving again.

Aarav ran a hand through his hair.

“Did you see her leave?”

“Nope.”

“Did you see her at all?”

The operator leaned back in his chair.

“Maybe.”

Aarav straightened.

“When?”

“Earlier.”

“Doing what?”

“Sitting on the Ferris wheel.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Alone?”

The operator shrugged.

“Everyone’s alone up there.”

Aarav glanced up at the slowly rotating seats.

They rose into the darkness above the fair lights.

“Which seat?” he asked.

The operator laughed.

“You think I memorize that?”

Aarav sighed.

“Forget it.”

He turned away.

The fair music continued blaring.

Kids ran past with glowing sticks.

A dog barked somewhere near the food stalls.

But Aarav felt strangely disconnected from it now.

Like he had missed something important.

He walked slowly back toward the entrance again.

The red stall sat quietly under its lantern.

Still empty.

He stepped inside once more.

The stool creaked when he sat down.

The wooden box remained on the table.

He stared at it for a moment.

Then he spoke softly into the empty stall.

“Very funny.”

No response.

The lantern swayed gently again.

Aarav leaned forward and tapped the wooden box with his finger.

Exactly the way Meera had earlier.

“People come here looking for things,” he said quietly.

Still nothing.

He leaned back with a sigh.

Then he noticed something.

On the table, near the edge—

A small folded piece of paper.

Aarav frowned.

He was almost certain it hadn’t been there earlier.

He picked it up slowly.

The paper was warm, like it had been sitting under the lantern light.

He unfolded it.

Three words were written in neat handwriting.

Seven minutes late.

Aarav stared at the message.

Then he looked up sharply at the empty entrance of the stall.

The crowd outside continued moving.

Unaware.

Normal.

But suddenly the fair didn’t feel random anymore.

And somewhere in the distance, the Ferris wheel groaned again in the dark.

Meeting Meera.

...End of Part 3 — The Disappearance......

Happy 😊 reading...

And somewhere in the distance, the Ferris wheel groaned again in the dark.

Aarav stared at the piece of paper in his hand.

Seven minutes late.

He read it again.

Then again.

The handwriting was neat, slightly slanted. Calm. The kind of writing someone does when they aren’t in a hurry.

It felt very… Meera.

He turned the paper over.

Nothing else.

No explanation.

No name.

Just those three words.

“Seven minutes late,” he muttered.

The lantern above him flickered softly.

Aarav checked his phone.

9:43 PM.

He tried to remember exactly when he had stepped away for tea.

The memory came back in pieces.

The tea stall shout.

The small crowd.

The man handing him the cup.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute.

Two minutes, maybe.

Certainly not seven.

He leaned back on the stool and stared at the entrance of the stall.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“If this is a joke, it’s a weird one.”

A loud bang exploded somewhere outside.

A balloon popping.

Someone laughed.

The fair continued like nothing unusual had happened.

Aarav stood up abruptly.

“Fine.”

If she wanted to play mysterious, he could play detective.

He folded the note carefully and slipped it into his pocket.

Then he stepped out of the stall.

The night air felt cooler now.

The crowd had grown thicker.

A group of children ran past him waving sparklers.

A man pushed a cart full of pink cotton candy.

Aarav walked quickly toward the Ferris wheel again.

The operator was still there, leaning lazily in his chair and chewing gum.

“Hey,” Aarav said.

The operator glanced over.

“You again?”

“Yes. I have another question.”

The operator sighed dramatically.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Aarav pulled the note out and showed it to him.

“Did you see anyone leave this in that stall?”

The operator squinted at the paper.

“Nope.”

“Did you see the girl come back there?”

“Nope.”

“Did you see anyone go near that stall?”

The operator leaned back farther.

“Brother.”

“What?”

“I operate a Ferris wheel.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t run surveillance.”

Aarav clenched his jaw slightly.

The operator studied him for a moment.

Then he grinned.

“You really liked her, huh?”

“I just met her.”

“Even worse.”

Aarav ignored that.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The operator blinked.

“Why?”

“So I can stop calling you ‘guy chewing gum.’”

The operator chuckled.

“Pintu.”

“Aarav.”

Pintu nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Aarav Who Lost His Mystery Girl.”

“I didn’t lose her.”

“Sure.”

Aarav leaned slightly closer.

“You said you might have seen her earlier.”

Pintu shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“What time?”

“Before sunset.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“She was riding the Ferris wheel.”

“You said that already.”

“Then why are you asking again?”

Aarav exhaled slowly.

“Did she come alone?”

Pintu popped his gum again.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did she talk to anyone?”

Pintu scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Actually…”

Aarav leaned forward.

“What?”

“She talked to Raghu.”

“Who’s Raghu?”

“The mechanic.”

“Where is he?”

Pintu pointed toward the darker edge of the fairgrounds.

Near the back of the rides stood a row of large metal containers and equipment trucks.

“Back there somewhere,” Pintu said.

“Probably fixing something.”

Aarav nodded.

“Thanks.”

Pintu called after him as he started walking away.

“Hey!”

Aarav turned.

“If she ran away from you,” Pintu said with a grin, “don’t take it personally.”

Aarav rolled his eyes and kept walking.

The back of the fair felt completely different from the front.

The bright lights faded.

The music became distant.

Here the ground was rougher, scattered with cables and metal parts.

Generators hummed steadily.

A tall ride towered above him, half-lit by a flickering work lamp.

A man crouched near a metal panel with a wrench in his hand.

He wore a dark shirt and greasy gloves.

Aarav approached carefully.

“Excuse me?”

The man didn’t look up.

The wrench clanked against metal.

“Ride’s closed,” the man muttered.

“I’m not here for the ride.”

The man kept working.

“What then?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

Now the man paused.

Slowly, he straightened up.

He was taller than Aarav expected.

Broad shoulders.

Tired eyes.

“You lost?”

“No.”

“You look lost.”

“I’m looking for a girl.”

The man sighed heavily.

“Brother.”

“What?”

“Half the boys here are.”

“She was talking to you earlier.”

That made the man’s expression change.

Only slightly.

But Aarav noticed it.

The man wiped his hands on a cloth.

“Who said that?”

“Pintu.”

The mechanic muttered something under his breath.

“Of course he did.”

“So you remember her?”

The man looked at Aarav carefully now.

“What did she look like?”

“Yellow scarf. Braid. Silver ring on her thumb.”

The mechanic went very still.

A generator hummed loudly beside them.

A metal cable creaked overhead.

Finally the man spoke.

“Kid.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Kid,” the man repeated calmly, “listen to me.”

Aarav waited.

The mechanic tossed the cloth onto a nearby crate.

Then he said quietly:

“If you met that girl…”

He paused.

“…you should probably stop looking for her.”

Aarav frowned.

“Why?”

The mechanic looked back at the ride he’d been fixing.

He picked up the wrench again.

Metal clanged softly.

After a moment he said,

“Because boys who chase her…”

Another pause.

“…usually don’t find what they expect.”

Aarav crossed his arms.

“That’s not an answer.”

The mechanic glanced at him one last time.

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because answers here are rarely helpful.”

Then he crouched down again and returned to fixing the ride.

Conversation over.

Aarav stood there for several seconds.

The generators hummed.

The Ferris wheel groaned faintly in the distance.

Finally Aarav reached into his pocket again and unfolded the note.

Seven minutes late.

He stared at it thoughtfully.

Then he looked back toward the glowing lights of the fair.

“Fine,” he said quietly.

“If this is a game…”

He folded the note again.

“…I’m still playing.”

...End of Part 4 — The First Search......

...----------------...

“…I’m still playing.”

Aarav folded the note again and slid it back into his pocket.

Behind him, the mechanic—Raghu, apparently—continued working without looking up. The clanging of metal against metal echoed in the dim back corner of the fairground.

Aarav waited a few seconds.

Nothing.

No more cryptic warnings.

No dramatic explanation.

Just the steady hum of generators and Raghu tightening bolts like the conversation had never happened.

“Alright,” Aarav muttered under his breath.

He turned and started walking back toward the lights.

The difference between the back area and the main fair was immediate.

Darkness gave way to color.

Generators faded into music.

The smell of machine oil turned back into fried snacks and sugar.

For a moment Aarav wondered if he had imagined Raghu’s reaction.

But the note in his pocket reminded him he hadn’t.

Seven minutes late.

He walked slowly this time, scanning every face in the crowd.

A girl with a scarf walked past.

Wrong color.

Another with a braid.

Too short.

Someone laughed loudly near the shooting gallery.

Someone else argued about change.

Meera was nowhere.

Aarav returned to the red stall again.

Still empty.

The lantern burned quietly, its light swaying in the night breeze.

He stepped inside.

The stool creaked when he sat.

The wooden box sat exactly where it had before.

For a moment he just stared at it.

“Okay,” he said.

“If you’re hiding nearby and laughing at me…”

Nothing.

“…this isn’t very funny.”

Still nothing.

Aarav leaned forward.

His fingers hovered over the wooden box.

Earlier it had felt personal to open it.

Now it felt necessary.

“Sorry,” he murmured to no one.

Then he lifted the lid.

The box creaked softly.

Inside was…

Empty.

No cards.

No notes.

No hidden compartments.

Just bare wood.

Aarav frowned.

“That’s disappointing.”

He closed the lid again.

The lantern crackled softly overhead.

A shadow moved outside the stall.

Someone stepped in.

“Looking for something?”

Aarav looked up.

An older man stood in the entrance holding a kettle and a stack of clay cups.

Gray beard.

Kind but sharp eyes.

He smelled faintly of cardamom tea.

“The tea stall guy,” Aarav said.

The man smiled slightly.

“Chacha Imtiyaz.” (*Chacha refers uncle here.)

“You remember me?”

“I remember everyone who stares at my chai like it insulted their ancestors.”

Aarav rubbed the back of his neck.

“Fair.”

Imtiyaz stepped into the stall and set the kettle down on the table.

“You look confused.”

“I met someone here earlier.”

“The girl.”

Aarav blinked.

“You know her?”

Imtiyaz shrugged.

“I know many people.”

“She works here.”

The old man chuckled quietly.

“No one works here.”

Aarav pointed around the stall.

“Then whose stall is this?”

“Depends on the year.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Imtiyaz poured tea into a clay cup and slid it across the table.

“Drink.”

Aarav stared at it.

“I didn’t order tea.”

“Tonight you need it.”

After a moment, Aarav took the cup.

The tea was hot.

Strong.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Imtiyaz leaned against the stall pole.

“You spoke to her how long?”

“Maybe ten minutes.”

The old man shook his head slowly.

“That’s more than most.”

“What does that mean?”

Imtiyaz didn’t answer immediately.

Instead he watched the crowd outside the stall.

The music changed again.

Some kind of fast dance song now.

“Tell me something,” the old man said finally.

“What?”

“Did she ask you strange questions?”

“Yes.”

“About leaving town?”

Aarav froze slightly.

“…Yes.”

Imtiyaz nodded like that confirmed something.

“Did she walk with you through the fair?”

“Yes.”

“Did she disappear when you turned away?”

Aarav lowered the tea cup slowly.

“How do you know that?”

The old man shrugged.

“It happens.”

“To who?”

“Boys like you.”

Aarav frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Imtiyaz took the kettle again and poured himself tea.

“Curious boys,” he said.

“Restless boys.”

“Boys who don’t belong in small towns.”

“That’s a weirdly specific category.”

The old man smiled faintly.

“You’d be surprised.”

Aarav leaned forward.

“Where did she go?”

Imtiyaz blew on his tea before answering.

“Probably nowhere.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Exactly.”

A group of kids ran past the stall shouting.

A sparkler hissed in the darkness.

Aarav felt his patience thinning.

“Look,” he said. “The mechanic told me to stop looking for her.”

Imtiyaz raised an eyebrow.

“Raghu said that?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should listen.”

“I’m not going to.”

The old man chuckled softly.

“Of course not.”

“Why does everyone talk like she’s some kind of ghost?”

Imtiyaz took a slow sip of tea.

Then he pointed toward the Ferris wheel.

“See that?”

Aarav looked.

The wheel turned slowly against the night sky.

Lights blinking.

Metal groaning.

“Yes.”

“That ride leaves tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

“Every ride leaves.”

“So?”

“So does the fair.”

Aarav blinked.

“What?”

Imtiyaz looked back at him calmly.

“This fair stays only three days in each town.”

Aarav’s stomach tightened slightly.

“And then?”

“Then the trucks load everything.”

“The rides.”

“The stalls.”

“The lights.”

“And they go somewhere else.”

The old man took another sip of tea.

“Next town.”

“Next field.”

“Next group of curious boys.”

Aarav stared at him.

“You’re saying she’s leaving tomorrow?”

Imtiyaz shrugged.

“If she was here at all.”

The music swelled louder outside.

The Ferris wheel creaked again in the distance.

Aarav stood up slowly.

“Where does the fair go next?”

Imtiyaz smiled faintly.

“Now that…”

He pointed toward the highway beyond the lights.

“…is the first useful question you’ve asked tonight.”

...End of Part 5 — The Traveling Fair......

...----------------...

“…is the first useful question you’ve asked tonight.”

Aarav followed the direction of Chacha Imtiyaz’s finger.

Beyond the edge of the fairgrounds, past the flickering lights and food stalls, the dark highway stretched into the distance. Trucks rumbled past occasionally, their headlights cutting bright tunnels through the night.

“Where does it go?” Aarav asked again.

Imtiyaz didn’t answer immediately. He finished his tea slowly, like a man who had nowhere urgent to be.

Finally he set the empty clay cup down.

“Next town is Kherwadi,” he said.

Aarav frowned.

“That’s like forty kilometers away.”

“Forty-two,” Imtiyaz corrected.

“That’s not exactly walking distance.”

The old man chuckled.

“Most people don’t follow fairs.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Yes,” Imtiyaz said calmly. “That’s becoming clear.”

A truck horn blared somewhere down the highway.

The Ferris wheel groaned again behind them.

Aarav folded his arms.

“When do they leave?”

“Early morning.”

“How early?”

“Before sunrise.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“That’s logistics.”

Aarav rubbed his forehead.

He imagined the entire fair disappearing by morning.

The stalls.

The lights.

The Ferris wheel.

And Meera.

Gone.

“Do you know her?” Aarav asked.

Imtiyaz studied him for a moment.

“I know stories.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It rarely is.”

Aarav leaned forward again.

“How long has she worked here?”

The old man shook his head slowly.

“That’s the interesting part.”

“What?”

“No one seems to remember hiring her.”

Aarav stared at him.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes.”

“But she’s there.”

“Sometimes.”

Aarav felt a faint chill run down his back.

The lantern swayed above them again.

“You’re messing with me,” he said.

“I sell tea,” Imtiyaz replied.

“I don’t have the energy for elaborate jokes.”

Aarav reached into his pocket and pulled out the note again.

Seven minutes late.

He placed it on the table.

“Does this look like her writing?”

Imtiyaz leaned closer and examined it.

“Maybe.”

“That’s not helpful.”

The old man shrugged.

“I’ve seen worse clues.”

Aarav sighed.

“So what do I do?”

Imtiyaz smiled faintly.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re serious.”

“I came back to this stall three times.”

“True.”

“You think I’m doing that for fun?”

“Possibly.”

Aarav exhaled slowly.

“I want to talk to her again.”

“Why?”

“Because she disappeared.”

“That happens.”

“Because she left this note.”

“Also happens.”

“Because everyone keeps talking about her like she’s a myth.”

Imtiyaz nodded thoughtfully.

“Now that’s a better reason.”

A loud burst of laughter erupted near the shooting gallery.

Somewhere a child began crying.

The fair felt chaotic again.

Normal.

But Aarav felt like he was standing just outside of it.

Watching something strange unfold.

“So,” Imtiyaz said.

“You’re going to Kherwadi?”

Aarav hesitated.

Then he said, “Yes.”

The word surprised even him.

Imtiyaz studied his face carefully.

“You have work tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Family?”

“Yes.”

“Responsibilities?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still going?”

Aarav shrugged.

“Probably.”

The old man chuckled.

“You remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“A boy from years ago.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“He also followed a fair.”

“And?”

Imtiyaz smiled faintly.

“Good tea story.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It rarely is.”

Aarav rubbed his face again.

“Is there a bus to Kherwadi?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Six in the morning.”

“That’s after the fair leaves.”

“Correct.”

“So I’d miss them.”

“Unless,” Imtiyaz said slowly, “you leave earlier.”

“How?”

The old man nodded toward the highway.

“Trucks.”

“You want me to hitchhike?”

“Truck drivers like company.”

Aarav stared at him.

“You’re surprisingly supportive of terrible ideas.”

“I’m supportive of interesting nights.”

A generator coughed loudly somewhere behind the stalls.

The Ferris wheel lights flickered.

Aarav stood up.

“Alright.”

Imtiyaz raised an eyebrow.

“That was quick.”

“I need to get home first.”

“Pack a bag?”

“Something like that.”

The old man picked up his kettle again.

“Before you go.”

Aarav paused.

“What?”

Imtiyaz looked toward the crowd.

Then back at Aarav.

“If you see her again…”

“Yes?”

“Ask her about the ring.”

Aarav frowned.

“The silver one?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Imtiyaz smiled faintly.

“Because that answer is never the same twice.”

“That’s… weird.”

“Fairs are weird.”

A group of fireworks suddenly burst near the entrance, showering sparks into the air.

People cheered.

The music got louder.

Aarav stepped out of the stall.

He turned back once.

Imtiyaz was already pouring tea for another customer.

Like their conversation had ended hours ago.

Aarav walked slowly toward the fair exit.

The Ferris wheel loomed above everything.

Still turning.

Still groaning.

He stopped for a moment and looked up at it.

Seats rising.

Seats falling.

For a strange second he wondered if Meera was up there somewhere.

Watching the fair from above.

Watching him leave.

Aarav shook the thought away and stepped onto the dark road leading home.

Behind him the fair lights flickered against the night sky.

And somewhere in the distance, engines of heavy trucks had already begun starting.

...End of Part 6 — Following the light......

...----------------...

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And somewhere in the distance, engines of heavy trucks had already begun starting.

Aarav stopped walking.

The sound rolled through the night like distant thunder—deep diesel engines turning over, one after another.

He turned around slowly.

From the road, the fair looked different now.

Less magical.

More mechanical.

Behind the bright stalls and blinking lights, large transport trucks sat in the darkness like sleeping animals. A few workers moved between them carrying tools and crates.

So it was true.

The whole place would vanish by morning.

Aarav shoved his hands into his pockets and stood there for a moment, staring at the Ferris wheel.

It turned slowly.

As if it had all the time in the world.

“Thinking about riding it?”

The voice came from behind him.

Aarav turned.

Pintu, the Ferris wheel operator, walked toward him with a bottle of soda in his hand.

“You again,” Pintu said.

“You again,” Aarav replied.

Pintu leaned against a nearby metal pole and took a long drink.

“You look like someone deciding whether to do something stupid.”

“That obvious?”

“Extremely.”

Aarav glanced toward the highway again.

“When do the trucks leave?”

Pintu wiped his mouth.

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Some already left.”

Aarav frowned.

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

“But the fair is still open.”

Pintu shrugged.

“Smaller stuff goes first.”

Aarav looked back toward the glowing stalls.

“So everyone just packs up in the middle of the night?”

“Welcome to traveling life.”

Aarav rubbed his chin.

“Do you go to Kherwadi too?”

Pintu nodded.

“Of course. I run the wheel.”

“Do you know the girl with the yellow scarf?”

Pintu sighed.

“Oh boy.”

“What?”

“You’re still on that?”

“Yes.”

Pintu studied him for a moment.

“Alright,” he said.

“You want stories?”

Aarav nodded.

Pintu pointed toward a nearby crate.

“Sit.”

Aarav sat.

Pintu leaned against the pole again.

“Story number one,” he said.

Aarav folded his arms.

“Go on.”

Pintu held up one finger.

“Some people say she’s a runaway.”

“From where?”

“Who knows.”

“That’s a weak story.”

“I didn’t say it was good.”

Pintu held up a second finger.

“Story number two.”

“Yes?”

“She used to work here years ago.”

“And?”

“And she never left.”

“That’s vague.”

“Everything about her is vague.”

Pintu held up a third finger.

“Story number three.”

Aarav leaned forward slightly.

“She’s bad luck.”

Aarav blinked.

“What?”

“Some workers think if you get too close to her, things start going wrong.”

“That sounds like superstition.”

“Of course it is.”

“Do you believe it?”

Pintu shrugged.

“I believe fairs attract weird stories.”

A worker pushed a cart of metal rods past them.

The rods clanked loudly as they moved.

Aarav thought for a moment.

“Have you talked to her before?”

Pintu hesitated.

“Once.”

“What happened?”

“She asked me a question.”

“What question?”

“If I ever thought about leaving the fair.”

Aarav blinked.

“She asked me that too.”

Pintu smiled faintly.

“See?”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I like the wheel.”

“That’s not a deep answer.”

“Exactly.”

Aarav leaned back slightly.

“Did she say anything else?”

Pintu looked up at the Ferris wheel.

“She said people who stay in one place too long forget how big the world is.”

Aarav felt something twist slightly in his chest.

“That sounds like something she’d say.”

Pintu chuckled.

“You really liked her.”

“I just met her.”

“Sure.”

The Ferris wheel groaned again.

A metal seat reached the top and paused briefly before continuing down.

Aarav watched it carefully.

“Did she ride today?” he asked.

Pintu nodded.

“Yes.”

“Earlier?”

“Before sunset.”

“Alone?”

Pintu thought.

“Not exactly.”

Aarav straightened.

“What do you mean?”

“She got on alone.”

“And?”

“But she talked the whole time.”

“To who?”

Pintu looked at him.

“That’s the weird part.”

“There was no one else in the seat.”

Aarav stared.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Welcome to fairs.”

A truck engine roared to life nearby.

Headlights flashed briefly through the darkness.

Workers shouted instructions.

Pintu glanced toward the sound.

“Looks like loading started.”

Aarav stood up.

“I need to go home.”

“Packing a bag?”

“Probably.”

Pintu nodded.

Then he added casually,

“You won’t find her, you know.”

Aarav paused.

“Why?”

Pintu pointed at the trucks.

“Because she doesn’t stay in one place.”

“That’s the whole point of a traveling fair.”

“No,” Pintu said.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Aarav frowned.

“What did you mean?”

But Pintu had already started walking back toward the Ferris wheel controls.

“Hey,” Aarav called.

Pintu turned briefly.

“If you do find her,” he said with a grin,

“ask her why she always rides the Ferris wheel at sunset.”

“Why?”

Pintu shrugged.

“Because she never answers that question.”

Then he climbed back into the control booth.

The Ferris wheel creaked again as it turned.

Aarav stood there for a few seconds longer.

Then he looked one last time at the glowing fair.

At the stalls.

At the rides.

At the red-cloth stall near the entrance.

Still empty.

He reached into his pocket again.

The note felt warm in his hand.

Seven minutes late.

Aarav folded it again and turned toward the road leading home.

Behind him, another truck engine roared to life.

And slowly, piece by piece—

The fair began to disappear.

...End of Part 7 — Stories About the Girl......

And slowly, piece by piece—

the fair began to disappear.

Aarav walked the narrow road back toward town, the distant engines fading behind him. The music from the fair became softer with every step until it blended into the night insects and the occasional passing motorcycle.

The sky was unusually clear.

Stars scattered across it like someone had thrown a handful of salt into black water.

Aarav shoved his hands into his pockets.

The folded note pressed against his fingers again.

Seven minutes late.

He took it out once more while walking.

The words felt strangely heavier now.

Not like a joke.

More like a clue.

Or maybe a complaint.

“Seven minutes,” he muttered.

He tried to replay the moment again.

Meera waiting near the toy stall.

Her yellow scarf catching the lantern light.

Her voice saying: If you meet someone interesting at a fair… you shouldn’t assume you’ll see them again.

He had turned away.

Bought tea.

And when he came back—

Gone.

“Maybe she actually waited,” he said quietly.

The idea bothered him more than the disappearance.

He had made it sound like nothing when he told Pintu.

But what if she had actually stood there waiting?

Watching the crowd.

Counting the seconds.

Waiting for him to come back.

And he hadn’t.

The thought made him walk faster.

The road curved toward town.

A few small shops were still open.

A mechanic’s garage.

A paan stall.

A dimly lit photo studio with old sample pictures hanging in the window.

Aarav slowed down.

Something about the window caught his eye.

Inside the glass display were dozens of photographs.

Wedding portraits.

Family pictures.

School groups.

But in the corner of the window—

There was a photograph of a fair.

Not this one.

An older one.

The colors had faded slightly.

The Ferris wheel in the picture looked smaller.

Older.

But unmistakably the same design.

Aarav stepped closer.

The shop door creaked open behind him.

“Closing time,” a voice called.

A thin old man stepped out, wiping his hands with a cloth.

Then he noticed Aarav staring at the window.

“Ah,” the man said.

“You like old photos?”

Aarav pointed.

“That fair picture.”

The old man squinted.

“Which one?”

“That one. With the Ferris wheel.”

“Oh.”

The man nodded.

“That’s from many years ago.”

“How many?”

“Maybe twenty.”

Aarav blinked.

“Twenty?”

“Something like that.”

The man stepped beside him and looked at the photo.

“That fair used to visit this town often back then.”

Aarav leaned closer to the glass.

In the photograph people stood in front of the Ferris wheel smiling at the camera.

Children.

Couples.

Workers.

The lights were different.

But the structure was clearly the same ride.

His eyes moved slowly across the image.

Faces blurred slightly with age.

Clothing from another time.

Then—

His stomach tightened.

Near the left side of the photograph stood a girl.

Half turned toward the camera.

Yellow scarf.

Braided hair.

Aarav leaned closer.

His nose nearly touched the glass.

“No way,” he whispered.

The old man chuckled.

“You recognize someone?”

Aarav pointed.

“That girl.”

The old man squinted harder.

“Hmm.”

“You see her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who she is?”

The man scratched his chin.

“Hard to say.”

“She works at the fair.”

“Maybe she did.”

Aarav shook his head slowly.

“No.”

“What?”

“She works there now.”

The old man looked at him.

Then back at the photograph.

Then back at Aarav.

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because this photo is at least twenty years old.”

Aarav felt the strange chill again.

“She looks the same.”

“That’s just your imagination.”

Aarav studied the photo again.

The girl stood slightly apart from the others.

Not smiling.

Just watching the camera.

The same calm expression.

The same scarf.

“Can I see it closer?” Aarav asked.

The old man hesitated.

Then unlocked the display case.

He carefully removed the photo frame and handed it over.

Aarav held it with both hands.

The paper felt thick and slightly rough.

Definitely old.

But the girl—

The girl looked exactly like Meera.

Same eyes.

Same posture.

Same braid.

Even the silver ring on her thumb was faintly visible.

“That’s her,” Aarav said quietly.

The old man frowned.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“That would mean…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Aarav looked up.

“Do you know her name?”

The old man thought for a moment.

“Actually…”

“What?”

“There was a story about that fair.”

Aarav waited.

The man rubbed the back of his neck.

“A girl used to travel with them.”

“Meera?”

“I don’t remember the name.”

“What happened to her?”

The old man looked uncomfortable.

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“They said she disappeared.”

Aarav’s grip tightened slightly on the frame.

“When?”

The man glanced at the photograph again.

“Right after this picture was taken.”

The street suddenly felt very quiet.

A scooter passed slowly.

A dog barked somewhere down the road.

Aarav looked back at the girl in the photograph.

The same calm expression.

Watching the camera.

Watching the future.

Watching him.

And for the first time that night—

Aarav wondered if the mystery of Meera wasn’t just strange.

But something much older than he thought.

...End of Part 8 — The Old Photograph......

But something much older than he thought.

Aarav stood frozen on the dimly lit street, still holding the photograph.

The girl in the picture stared back at him with the same calm expression he had seen only hours ago at the stall.

Yellow scarf.

Braided hair.

Silver ring.

Twenty years old… and yet not aged at all.

“That can’t be right,” Aarav said quietly.

The photo shop owner crossed his arms.

“Old photographs do strange things to memory.”

“This isn’t memory.”

“What else would it be?”

Aarav didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

He handed the photograph back slowly.

“Where did you get this?”

The man slid the photo back into its frame.

“A photographer took it when the fair came one year.”

“What photographer?”

“My older brother.”

“Does he still have the negatives?”

The old man chuckled.

“That was the nineties.”

“So?”

“So the negatives are probably in a dusty box somewhere.”

“Could you check?”

The man studied Aarav for a moment.

“You’re serious about this girl.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The man shrugged.

“Come back tomorrow.”

“I might not be here tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“The fair is leaving.”

“That happens.”

“I might follow it.”

The old man raised an eyebrow.

“That’s dedication for a girl you met tonight.”

Aarav gave a small, tired smile.

“Trust me, I know how crazy it sounds.”

The man locked the display case again.

“Well,” he said.

“If you do find her…”

“Yes?”

“Ask her where she’s been for twenty years.”

Aarav nodded slowly.

“I will.”

He turned and continued walking home.

Aarav barely slept.

The photograph kept replaying in his head.

Meera standing beside the Ferris wheel.

Twenty years ago.

Looking exactly the same.

Around four in the morning he finally gave up trying to sleep.

He packed a small backpack.

A change of clothes.

Phone charger.

Wallet.

Then he quietly stepped out of the house.

The sky was still dark.

The air cool.

Streetlights hummed softly above empty roads.

By the time he reached the fairgrounds, the place looked completely different.

Most of the stalls were already gone.

Metal frames lay dismantled on trucks.

Workers shouted instructions as they tied ropes and loaded equipment.

The Ferris wheel still stood tall.

But several seats had already been removed.

Aarav walked toward it quickly.

Pintu sat in the operator booth drinking tea.

He blinked when he saw Aarav.

“Well,” Pintu said.

“I’ll be damned.”

Aarav stopped below the booth.

“You’re leaving soon?”

“Another hour maybe.”

“Can I ride it?”

Pintu laughed.

“At five in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Aarav hesitated.

“Because she rode it yesterday.”

Pintu leaned back.

“You’re chasing ghosts now.”

“Maybe.”

Pintu studied him carefully.

Then he sighed.

“Fine.”

He stood up and climbed down from the booth.

“One ride.”

“Thanks.”

They climbed into one of the remaining seats.

Pintu secured the bar and stepped back.

“Don’t jump off halfway,” he said.

“Tempting.”

Pintu chuckled and returned to the controls.

The Ferris wheel creaked as it began to move.

Slowly.

The fairgrounds spread out beneath Aarav.

Half dismantled.

Trucks lined up like a convoy.

Workers moving like ants.

The wheel climbed higher.

The sky had begun to turn faint shades of blue.

Morning approaching.

At the top, the seat paused.

Aarav looked out over the empty field.

The town beyond it.

The quiet highway.

Then a voice spoke beside him.

“You’re earlier this time.”

Aarav froze.

Slowly… he turned his head.

Meera sat in the seat next to him.

Yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.

Braided hair resting over her shoulder.

Silver ring catching the pale morning light.

Aarav stared.

“You—”

“You followed the fair,” she said calmly.

“You disappeared.”

“You were seven minutes late.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

Aarav ran a hand through his hair.

“Okay, maybe two minutes.”

She smiled faintly.

“That’s still seven minutes in fair time.”

He shook his head.

“You left a note.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you came back.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

The Ferris wheel creaked softly as it held them near the top.

The sun began to glow faintly at the edge of the horizon.

Aarav looked at her carefully.

“I saw a photograph.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“Did you?”

“Twenty years old.”

She nodded slightly.

“That sounds about right.”

“You were in it.”

“Yes.”

“You look exactly the same.”

“People say that.”

Aarav felt his pulse quicken.

“Who are you?”

Meera looked out at the sunrise.

For a long moment she didn’t answer.

Then she said quietly:

“Someone who missed a ride.”

Aarav frowned.

“What does that mean?”

The Ferris wheel began moving again.

Slowly descending.

Meera glanced back at him.

“You asked about my ring earlier.”

“Yes.”

She lifted her hand slightly.

The silver ring glinted softly.

“I found it at a fair.”

“You told me that.”

“I found it the night I disappeared.”

Aarav felt the strange chill again.

“Disappeared from what?”

Meera looked back at the horizon.

The sun was rising now.

Painting the sky orange.

“From time,” she said softly.

The Ferris wheel creaked as their seat moved lower.

Workers below continued loading trucks.

Unaware of the conversation above them.

Aarav stared at her.

“You’re saying you’ve been… what?”

“Traveling.”

“For twenty years?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s impossible.”

Meera smiled gently.

“So is meeting someone once and deciding to follow them to another town.”

Aarav opened his mouth—

But the Ferris wheel jerked slightly.

The seat reached the bottom.

Pintu walked toward them.

“Nice view?” he called.

Aarav looked back at Meera quickly.

But her seat was empty.

Only the faint smell of incense lingered in the morning air.

...End of Part 9 — The Sunset Ride......