📅 Late November — Devgarh & Nandanpur
Winter arrived quietly.
No announcements.
No sudden change.
Just fog.
The mornings in Nandanpur grew pale and cold, the kind where breath turned visible and fingers went numb on scooter handles. Scarves wrapped tighter. Hands stayed in pockets longer.
Abhay and Ishanvi rode with the others as usual.
Same four scooters.
Same road to Devgarh.
Yet the space between them felt colder than the weather.
Fog on the Road
The fog thickened near the fields.
Abhay slowed instinctively. The water in the canals beside the road lay frozen still — unnaturally calm.
Ishanvi glanced at him.
"You should ride carefully."
He nodded but didn't look at her.
Her chest tightened.
The warmth she usually felt inside — that faint comforting heat — flickered weakly, like embers buried under ash.
Why does everything feel so distant?
School in Winter
Devgarh school looked washed out in the fog. Voices sounded muted, footsteps dull.
In class, everyone huddled into sweaters.
The science teacher rubbed his hands.
"Winters are early this year," he muttered.
Ishanvi sat by the window. Frost traced the glass in delicate patterns.
She rested her palm against it.
For a second, the frost melted beneath her hand — then stopped, leaving a half-formed mark.
She pulled back quickly.
Across the room, Abhay noticed.
His water bottle had fogged completely from the outside, condensation beading unnaturally fast before slowing again.
He tightened his grip on his pen.
Not now.
A Cold Distance
During recess, the siblings gathered under the weak winter sun.
Vivaan complained, "It's so cold I can't even run properly!"
Vrinda laughed.
"Drama."
But Ishanvi barely spoke.
Abhay sat across from her, hands wrapped around a steel cup of tea.
The steam rose — then curved slightly toward him before vanishing.
Vaidehi frowned.
"Why is the steam moving like that?"
"Wind," Abhay said quickly.
But there was barely any.
Ishanvi watched him, hurt flickering across her face.
He's shutting me out.
And with that thought, the warmth inside her dimmed even further.
Dimming Powers
By afternoon, the fog returned.
The lab heaters struggled.
Ishanvi's Bunsen burner refused to stay lit — the flame shrinking again and again, as if tired.
The teacher scolded, "Gas pressure is low today."
Abhay's experiment produced too much condensation, droplets sliding down the glass too fast.
Both of them felt it.
Not control.
Not strength.
Exhaustion.
Emotion weighing heavier than winter coats.
The Ride Back
On the way home, the sky turned pink and grey.
Cold air burned their lungs.
At the bridge, Abhay slowed unconsciously.
Ishanvi slowed too.
They rode side by side for a few seconds.
The river below was silent, its surface barely rippling.
"I don't like winters," Ishanvi said softly.
"Why?" Abhay asked without thinking.
"Because everything feels… paused. Like it's holding its breath."
He understood that too well.
"So am I," he admitted quietly.
Their eyes met.
Just for a moment.
And in that moment—
The water below rippled faintly.
A warmth stirred weakly in her palms.
Then the road curved, and the moment passed.
Night Cold
That night, Abhay couldn't summon even a tremor in water.
Ishanvi couldn't warm her hands no matter how hard she tried.
From their separate rooms, both stared at the same fog-covered moon.
Winter wasn't cruel.
It was patient.
And somewhere beneath the cold, nature waited — watching them drift apart, testing how much distance fire and water could survive.