(SS1) p5:- Side stories...

Have fun 😊.

Raghu didn’t like nights.

Not because they were dark.

He was used to darkness.

What he didn’t like was how sound changed after midnight.

During the day, the fair was loud in a predictable way—music, laughter, shouting, metal grinding. Everything layered together until it became background noise.

But at night, especially after closing, every sound stood alone.

A single bolt dropping could feel like a question.

A loose cable tapping metal could feel like someone knocking.

And sometimes—

There were sounds that didn’t belong to anything at all.

That night had started like any other.

The fair was closing early.

A storm had been forecast, and the managers didn’t want to risk keeping rides running.

By 11 PM, most of the stalls had shut down.

Lights flickered off one by one.

Crowds thinned.

Music died.

Raghu stayed behind near the Ferris wheel.

Grease-stained hands.

Wrench tucked into his back pocket.

He crouched near the base of the structure, tightening a panel that had been rattling all evening.

Clank.

Clank.

The metal echoed louder than usual.

He paused.

Looked up.

The Ferris wheel stood still now.

Dark.

Seats hanging motionless.

Like something waiting.

Raghu wiped his hands on a cloth.

“Done,” he muttered.

He stood and stretched his back.

The field was mostly empty.

A few workers moved in the distance.

Generators hummed low.

Then—

Creak.

Raghu froze.

The Ferris wheel moved.

Just slightly.

One seat shifting forward.

Then stopping.

Raghu frowned.

“That’s not possible.”

He walked toward the control booth.

Empty.

The power switch was off.

He checked it twice.

Still off.

“Loose gear,” he muttered.

He stepped back, watching the wheel carefully.

Nothing moved.

Silence again.

Raghu turned to leave.

“Does it always stop like that?”

The voice came from above.

Raghu’s body stiffened.

Slowly—

He looked up.

A girl sat in one of the seats.

Second row from the bottom.

Yellow scarf.

Braided hair.

Looking down at him.

Raghu didn’t speak immediately.

He just stared.

“How did you get up there?” he asked finally.

She tilted her head slightly.

“I was already here.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Neither is the wheel moving when it’s off.”

Raghu exhaled slowly.

“Get down.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

She smiled faintly.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re afraid of falling… or staying.”

Raghu frowned.

“I’m serious. Come down.”

The wheel creaked softly.

The seat shifted slightly lower.

Not enough to reach.

Just enough to move.

Raghu stepped closer.

“Who let you on?”

“No one.”

“Then how did you—”

“You ask too many ‘how’ questions.”

“That’s my job.”

“Your job is fixing things.”

“That includes understanding how they break.”

She looked down at him quietly.

“For some things,” she said,

“there is no breaking.”

Raghu felt irritation rise.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t stay up there.”

“I can.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because this place shuts down at night.”

She nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And things are quieter.”

Raghu crossed his arms.

“That’s exactly the problem.”

“Why is quiet a problem?”

“Because it makes people imagine things.”

She smiled slightly.

“Are you imagining me?”

Raghu didn’t answer.

The wind picked up slightly.

The empty seats swayed.

Metal creaked.

Finally he said,

“What’s your name?”

“Meera.”

He nodded once.

“Raghu.”

“I know.”

That made him pause.

“How?”

“You’ve been here longer than most.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

She didn’t respond.

Instead she looked out across the empty fairground.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” she asked.

Raghu blinked.

“What?”

“Leaving the fair.”

He let out a short breath.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is work.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s enough of one.”

She watched him quietly.

“People who say that,” she said,

“usually don’t believe it.”

Raghu looked away.

Toward the dark horizon.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” he said.

“And?”

“And I know how this works.”

“How what works?”

“The fair. The rides. The schedule.”

She nodded.

“And you think that explains everything?”

“It explains enough.”

The wheel creaked again.

The seat lowered slightly more.

Still not enough to reach.

Raghu stepped closer.

“You need to come down.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not a strong reason.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the safety bar.

“What if I don’t?”

Raghu hesitated.

Then said:

“Then I shut the whole system down and bring you down manually.”

She smiled.

“You can try.”

That annoyed him.

He turned toward the control booth.

Flipped the switch.

Nothing.

He frowned.

Checked the wiring.

Everything looked fine.

But the power didn’t respond.

Behind him—

Creak.

He turned.

The wheel moved again.

One slow rotation.

The seat with Meera rising upward.

Higher.

Away from him.

“Hey!” he shouted.

“Stop!”

She looked down at him.

Calm.

Unbothered.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because this isn’t funny anymore!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

The seat reached higher.

The dark sky behind her.

Stars faintly visible.

Raghu felt something tighten in his chest.

“Come down,” he said again, quieter this time.

“Or what?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The wheel stopped again.

High up now.

She looked small against the sky.

Then she said:

“You should leave, Raghu.”

He shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you up there.”

“I won’t fall.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

He hesitated.

Then said:

“This isn’t normal.”

She smiled faintly.

“Normal is temporary.”

“That’s not—”

“Raghu.”

He stopped.

Her voice had changed slightly.

Softer.

More serious.

“If you stay here long enough…”

A pause.

“…you’ll stop noticing when things don’t make sense.”

Raghu felt the weight of that sentence.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

He looked up at her.

“What are you?” he asked quietly.

She tilted her head.

“Someone who missed a ride.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It will.”

The wind picked up again.

The wheel creaked.

Then—

The power suddenly flickered.

Lights from nearby generators buzzed back on.

The wheel jerked.

Moved.

Started rotating properly again.

Raghu stepped back.

Shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness.

When he looked up again—

The seat was empty.

The next morning, everything worked perfectly.

No loose wiring.

No broken gears.

No explanation.

Raghu didn’t mention it to anyone.

Not Pintu.

Not the managers.

Not even himself, if he could help it.

He just worked.

Fixed rides.

Packed equipment.

Moved to the next town.

But after that night—

He stopped staying near the Ferris wheel after closing.

And when boys like Aarav came asking about a girl with a yellow scarf—

Raghu always said the same thing:

“You should stop looking for her.”

Because some things didn’t need fixing.

And some questions—

Only got worse the longer you held onto them.

...End of Side Story 2: Raghu’s Night Shift......

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

The fair looked newer back then.

Brighter.

Less tired.

The paint on the rides hadn’t chipped yet.

The lights blinked more evenly.

Even the music sounded clearer, like it hadn’t been dragged across towns and years.

Meera stood near the edge of the field, watching people arrive.

Children ran ahead of their parents.

Men argued about ticket prices before even reaching the stalls.

Women adjusted their dupattas, already calculating what they would and wouldn’t buy.

It was always the same.

Different faces.

Same patterns.

“You’re early.”

Meera didn’t turn.

“I like watching the beginning,” she said.

A man stepped beside her, balancing a bundle of metal rods on his shoulder.

“You say that every time.”

“And it’s true every time.”

He laughed.

“Beginning is just noise.”

“No,” Meera said softly.

“Ending is noise.”

The man frowned.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It will.”

He shook his head and walked off toward the ride area.

Meera stayed where she was.

Watching.

Waiting.

The Ferris wheel loomed behind her.

Newer then.

Stronger.

Not yet worn down by years of travel.

It turned slowly as workers tested it.

Creak.

Pause.

Creak.

A rhythm not yet broken.

Later, as the sun dipped lower, the fair filled with people.

Lights flickered on.

Music grew louder.

Voices layered over each other.

Meera moved through the crowd easily.

Not pushing.

Not rushing.

Just… passing through.

She stopped at a stall selling glass bangles.

The seller held up a set.

“Good quality,” he said.

“They always say that,” Meera replied.

“Because it’s always true.”

She smiled faintly.

“Until it isn’t.”

She didn’t buy anything.

She rarely did.

Objects felt temporary to her.

Even then.

Even before she understood why.

“Ride?”

She turned.

A boy stood near the Ferris wheel entrance.

Holding two tickets.

Trying to look confident.

Failing slightly.

Meera studied him.

“You already bought two,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He hesitated.

“Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case someone wanted to join.”

She smiled.

“That’s inefficient planning.”

“Maybe.”

A pause.

“Do you want to ride?”

Meera looked at the Ferris wheel.

The seats moved slowly upward.

People laughing.

Some nervous.

Some pretending not to be.

“Okay,” she said.

The boy looked surprised.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

They climbed into a seat together.

The metal bar clicked into place.

The wheel began to move.

Slowly.

The ground lowered beneath them.

The fair spread out.

Lights blinking.

Voices blending.

The boy glanced at her.

“I’m Sameer,” he said.

“Meera.”

“Nice name.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I am.”

“Then don’t hesitate.”

He smiled awkwardly.

“Right.”

They rose higher.

The sky turning orange.

Sun setting behind the distant trees.

“Do you come to fairs often?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“I don’t,” he said.

“It’s my first time.”

“That’s obvious.”

“Why?”

“You’re still looking at everything like it matters.”

He laughed.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” she said.

“It’s just temporary.”

The seat reached the top.

Paused.

The world felt still.

Quiet.

Different from below.

Sameer leaned forward slightly.

“This is the best part,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You can see everything.”

“For a moment.”

He nodded.

Then said:

“I wish it stayed like this.”

Meera looked at him.

“That’s the mistake.”

“What?”

“Wanting moments to stay.”

“Why is that a mistake?”

“Because they don’t.”

The wheel started moving again.

Descending.

Sameer sat back.

“You talk like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

“More.”

“That’s not possible.”

She didn’t respond.

They walked after the ride.

Through the crowd.

Past food stalls.

Past games.

Sameer talked more than she did.

About school.

Friends.

Plans.

Things that stretched forward into the future.

Meera listened.

Quietly.

Not interrupting.

Not correcting.

Just listening.

“You ever feel like leaving?” he asked at one point.

“Yes.”

“Where would you go?”

She looked toward the dark edge of the fair.

“Anywhere that doesn’t end like this.”

He frowned.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why leave?”

“Because staying is worse.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It will.”

They stopped near the photo booth.

A man stood beside a camera mounted on a tripod.

“Photo?” he called out.

“Only ten rupees!”

Sameer looked at Meera.

“Want one?”

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

They stood in front of the Ferris wheel.

Lights blinking behind them.

The photographer adjusted the lens.

“Stand closer,” he said.

Sameer moved slightly closer.

Awkward.

Careful not to touch her.

Meera stood still.

The camera clicked.

A brief flash.

A moment captured.

Later—

Near the exit—

Sameer stopped.

“I’m going to get tea,” he said.

“I’ll wait here,” Meera replied.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

She smiled faintly.

“That’s not something you can control.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“You should be.”

He ran off toward the tea stall.

The crowd swallowed him quickly.

Meera stood alone.

Watching people pass.

Watching the lights flicker.

Watching the Ferris wheel turn.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Four.

She looked toward the tea stall.

Still crowded.

Still slow.

Five minutes.

She exhaled slowly.

“Too long,” she murmured.

The wind shifted.

The lanterns flickered.

The sounds of the fair stretched strangely.

Like something pulling at them.

She glanced back at the Ferris wheel.

It had stopped.

At the top.

One empty seat waiting.

Meera looked at it for a long moment.

Then—

She walked toward it.

Not quickly.

Not hesitantly.

Just… steadily.

Like she had already decided.

The operator wasn’t there.

The gate was slightly open.

The wheel silent.

Waiting.

She stepped inside.

Climbed into a seat.

Pulled the bar down herself.

The metal clicked.

The world felt very still.

Then—

Creak.

The wheel moved.

Slow.

Unpowered.

But moving.

Meera didn’t react.

She just looked out at the fair.

At the lights.

At the people who didn’t notice.

The seat rose.

Higher.

Higher.

The sounds below softened.

Blurred.

Stretched.

At the top—

The world paused.

Completely still.

Meera closed her eyes briefly.

Then opened them.

The fair looked… different.

Not gone.

Not changed.

Just…

Further away than it should be.

She reached into her pocket.

Her fingers brushed against something cold.

Metal.

A ring.

She frowned.

She didn’t remember putting it there.

She pulled it out.

Silver.

Simple.

Cold.

She slid it onto her thumb.

It fit perfectly.

Below—

The fair flickered.

Just slightly.

Like a light about to go out.

Meera looked down.

Then back at the horizon.

The sky no longer looked like sunset.

Something about the color had shifted.

Deepened.

Slowed.

And for the first time—

She realized something was wrong.

“Sameer?” she called softly.

No answer.

Only silence.

Then—

The Ferris wheel creaked again.

And began to move.

But not downward.

Upward.

Further than it should.

Further than it could.

Beyond the height of the structure.

Beyond the limits of the ride.

Meera gripped the bar.

Her expression didn’t panic.

Didn’t change much at all.

Just a quiet realization.

“I missed it,” she said softly.

Below—

The fair continued.

Unaware.

The photograph had already been taken.

The moment already captured.

And somewhere in the crowd—

Sameer returned with two cups of tea.

Seven minutes too late.

Looking at an empty space where someone had been.

And above it all—

The Ferris wheel kept turning.

Even where it shouldn’t have been able to.

...End of Side Story 3: The Girl Before the Photograph......

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

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