(SS1) p4:- Wandering (4)...

Have fun 😊.

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

Aarav’s hand tightened around the metal bar.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t even blink.

Then—

“Hey,” Pintu said, tapping the side of the seat. “You planning to live up there?”

Aarav snapped out of it and looked beside him again.

Empty.

Completely empty.

He climbed out slowly.

His shoes hit the dusty ground with a dull thud.

Pintu gave him a curious look.

“You alright?”

Aarav ran a hand through his hair.

“There was someone sitting here.”

Pintu snorted.

“Yeah. You.”

“No. Meera.”

Pintu’s expression didn’t change.

“Brother,” he said, “you’re alone.”

Aarav turned sharply toward the surrounding workers.

“Did anyone see her?” he called out.

A few men looked up briefly.

One of them shrugged.

Another kept tying ropes.

No one answered.

Aarav stepped away from the ride, scanning the area quickly.

Trucks.

Crates.

Half-packed stalls.

No yellow scarf.

No braid.

No silver ring.

He turned back to Pintu.

“She was just here.”

Pintu raised both hands.

“I believe you believe that.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” Pintu agreed.

“It’s not.”

The Ferris wheel creaked again as workers began removing another section.

Aarav stepped back slowly.

His heart was still racing.

“She talked to me.”

“What did she say?”

Aarav hesitated.

Then quietly:

“She said she disappeared from time.”

Pintu gave a low whistle.

“That’s a new one.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Pintu leaned closer slightly.

“Listen,” he said.

“You’re not the first person to chase her.”

Aarav looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean?”

Pintu nodded toward the trucks.

“Every few years, someone like you shows up.”

“Like me?”

“Curious.”

“Restless.”

“Convinced there’s something bigger going on.”

Aarav’s jaw tightened.

“And?”

Pintu shrugged.

“And then the fair leaves.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

A worker shouted loudly from across the field.

“Pintu! Hurry up!”

Pintu glanced over his shoulder.

“Coming!”

He looked back at Aarav.

“You going to Kherwadi?”

Aarav didn’t answer immediately.

He looked around the fairgrounds.

At the dismantled stalls.

At the trucks.

At the Ferris wheel, slowly being taken apart piece by piece.

Then he said quietly,

“I don’t know.”

Pintu smiled slightly.

“That’s progress.”

“Progress?”

“Yesterday you were sure.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re thinking.”

Pintu clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Thinking is dangerous around here.”

Then he jogged off toward the workers.

Aarav stood alone.

The sky was fully lit now.

Morning had arrived.

The fair was almost gone.

He reached into his pocket.

The folded note.

He opened it again.

Seven minutes late.

Aarav stared at the words.

Then slowly, he turned the paper over.

Something new caught his eye.

On the back—

Faint.

Barely visible.

Another line.

Like it had been written lightly, or perhaps appeared later.

He squinted.

Then read it.

Next time, don’t stop for tea.

Aarav let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Next time?”

He looked up sharply at the empty field.

But there was nothing left to see.

Only tire tracks in the dust.

And a few scraps of paper blowing in the wind.

The Ferris wheel let out one final groan as another section was lowered.

Aarav folded the note carefully and slipped it back into his pocket.

He stood there for a long moment.

Then—

He turned away from the empty field.

And started walking.

Not toward home.

Not toward the highway.

Just walking.

Because somewhere between the fair lights and the morning silence—

Something had shifted.

Not resolved.

Not explained.

Just… shifted.

And behind him, the last truck engine roared to life—

Carrying the fair, and its unanswered questions, into the distance.

...End of Part 10 — The Quiet Truth......

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

The first time the fair came, Nikhil didn’t plan to go.

He had exams the next week.

His mother had already warned him twice not to “waste time roaming around useless places,” which usually meant anything remotely interesting.

But by evening, the music reached his house anyway.

A faint rhythm at first.

Then louder.

Then impossible to ignore.

By 8 PM, he was standing at the gate, pretending to check his phone while staring toward the glowing lights beyond the trees.

“Nikhil,” his mother called from inside, “are you studying or dating the streetlight?”

“I’m studying outside,” he replied.

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

She didn’t come out to argue.

That was enough permission.

The fair smelled like dust and sugar.

Nikhil noticed that first.

Then the noise.

Children shouting.

Vendors yelling.

Music clashing with itself.

He walked in slowly, hands in his pockets, trying to look like someone who belonged there.

He didn’t.

Not really.

He was the kind of person who noticed things too much.

The way one ride squeaked louder than the others.

The way a man at the ring toss stall kept missing on purpose to make customers feel better.

The way the lights flickered slightly out of sync.

It made everything feel… temporary.

Like a place pretending to be real.

“First time?”

Nikhil turned.

A man stood beside a tea stall, pouring steaming chai into small cups.

Gray beard.

Sharp eyes.

“You look like someone doing research,” the man added.

“I’m just looking around,” Nikhil said.

“Same thing.”

The man handed him a cup without asking.

Nikhil hesitated.

“I didn’t order this.”

“You looked like you needed it.”

That didn’t make sense.

But Nikhil took it anyway.

“Thanks.”

The man nodded.

“Don’t stay too long,” he said.

Nikhil frowned.

“Why?”

The man smiled faintly.

“Because fairs are better in small doses.”

“That’s not very good marketing.”

“I don’t sell tickets.”

Nikhil sipped the tea.

It was strong.

Too strong.

By the time he looked up again—

The man had turned away, already talking to someone else.

He found the stall by accident.

Or maybe not.

It sat slightly away from the brighter lights.

Red cloth.

Dim lantern.

A wooden sign:

Find What You Seek

Nikhil stopped.

“That’s vague,” he muttered.

“Most honest things are.”

He looked inside.

A girl sat there.

Yellow scarf.

Braided hair.

Watching him like she had been expecting him.

“Come in,” she said.

He hesitated.

“Do I have to?”

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

She smiled slightly.

“Because you’re curious.”

Nikhil sighed.

“That’s getting annoying.”

“Then stop being predictable.”

He stepped inside and sat down.

The stool creaked.

The lantern light made everything feel warmer than it should.

“What do you do here?” he asked.

“Help people find things.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever they’re missing.”

Nikhil nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“What are you missing?”

“Nothing.”

She tilted her head.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“You’re just not sure yet.”

Nikhil leaned back slightly.

“You say that to everyone?”

“Only the ones who stay.”

“Stay?”

“Most people walk away.”

Nikhil glanced behind him.

The fair continued outside.

Loud.

Alive.

Temporary.

He looked back at her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Meera.”

He nodded.

“Nikhil.”

“Good name.”

“Why?”

“Sounds like someone who leaves eventually.”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

She smiled again.

“Everything here is.”

They walked through the fair together.

Not like strangers.

Not like friends.

Something in between.

She pointed out things he hadn’t noticed.

“That ride stops for exactly three seconds at the top.”

“That stall changes prices depending on your face.”

“That dog follows people who look lost.”

Nikhil laughed once.

“You’ve been here a while.”

“I’ve been here before.”

“Before what?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead she asked:

“Would you leave your town?”

Nikhil shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe isn’t real.”

“What is real then?”

“Doing it.”

They stopped near the Ferris wheel.

It turned slowly above them.

Metal creaking.

Lights blinking.

“Ride it,” she said.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Nikhil looked at the long line.

“That’ll take forever.”

She shook her head.

“Not if you don’t wait.”

That didn’t make sense.

But somehow—

They were sitting in a seat a minute later.

Nikhil didn’t remember how.

The wheel began to move.

The ground dropped away beneath them.

The fair spread out below.

Smaller.

Quieter.

“Do you ever feel like this place isn’t… normal?” Nikhil asked.

Meera looked out at the horizon.

“Normal is just what people agree on.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

The seat reached the top.

Paused.

The world felt still.

Then she said:

“If you left tonight… would you come back?”

Nikhil frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She didn’t answer.

The wheel started moving again.

Later, near the exit, she stopped walking.

“I’ll wait here,” she said.

“For what?”

“For you.”

“I’m just getting tea.”

“Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

He stepped into the crowd.

It took longer than expected.

The tea stall was busy.

People pushed.

Someone argued.

Someone spilled something.

By the time he got the cup—

It had been at least five minutes.

Maybe more.

He turned back quickly.

Walking faster now.

Then faster.

Then almost running.

The spot where she had been—

Empty.

He stopped.

Looked around.

Nothing.

“Meera?” he called.

No answer.

He searched.

Every stall.

Every corner.

The Ferris wheel.

The back area.

Nothing.

Finally, he returned to the red stall.

Empty.

On the table—

A note.

He picked it up.

You took too long.

Nikhil stared at it.

Then laughed once.

Short.

Confused.

“Very funny,” he muttered.

But something felt off.

He checked the time.

It had been ten minutes.

Only ten.

The next morning, he came back.

The fair was gone.

Completely.

Just an empty field.

Dust.

No stalls.

No rides.

No sign it had ever been there.

Nikhil stood in the middle of it.

Holding the note.

“You took too long.”

He looked around slowly.

Then toward the road.

Then toward the distance.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“I’ll be faster next time.”

He packed that same day.

Told his mother he was going to a friend’s place.

Didn’t mention the fair.

Didn’t mention the girl.

Didn’t mention the note.

By evening, he was already on the road.

Following rumors.

Following directions.

Following something he couldn’t explain.

Years later—

Some people said they saw him at different fairs.

Standing near the Ferris wheel.

Talking to someone who wasn’t there.

Waiting.

Always waiting.

And once—

A long time after—

Chacha Imtiyaz poured tea for a quiet boy at a fair.

The boy asked:

“Have you seen a girl with a yellow scarf?”

Imtiyaz looked at him carefully.

Then asked:

“How long have you been looking?”

The boy smiled faintly.

“Not long.”

Then after a pause—

“…just a few years.”

And in the distance—

The Ferris wheel creaked slowly in the dark.

...End of Side Story 1 — The Boy Who Didn’t Come Back......

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

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