Diwali arrived like a promise—lanterns swaying from balconies, rangoli blooming across doorsteps, and the scent of cardamom and ghee drifting through the air. Coorg, usually wrapped in mist, shimmered with gold.
Lakshmi insisted on hosting a small celebration at the homestay. "Love needs light," she said. "Even if it's still learning how to shine."
Aanya wore a deep maroon saree, her hair braided with jasmine. Vihaan, awkward in a kurta, kept adjusting the collar like it was trying to strangle him.
"You look like someone who's never been hugged by tradition," Aanya teased.
"I'm more of a poetry-in-pajamas kind of guy," he replied.
They helped Lakshmi light diyas around the veranda. Each flame flickered against the dark, casting shadows that danced like memories.
Later, as sparklers hissed and laughter echoed, Vihaan pulled Aanya aside.
"I've been thinking," he said. "About what comes next."
She raised an eyebrow. "You mean after the fireworks?"
"I mean after us. Or… with us."
Aanya's heart skipped. "You're not proposing, are you?"
"No," he laughed. "I'm asking. What does your future look like? And is there space for someone who still writes sad poems but wants to learn how to be happy?"
She thought for a moment. "My future has books, art, maybe a small studio. And someone who doesn't run when things get quiet."
"I don't want to run anymore," Vihaan said. "I want to stay. Even when it's quiet. Especially then."
They stood beneath the stars, the last sparkler fading between them.
Aanya reached for his hand. "Then let's build something. Slowly. Like a rangoli—one color at a time."
And in that moment, surrounded by light and laughter, they weren't haunted by the past. They were illuminated by possibility.