Morning sunlight fell gently upon the Moren mansion, the sort of golden warmth that softened everything it touched. The sun filtered through sheer white curtains to fall across ivory floors and half-finished sketches and brushes scattered across the long table, waiting for their artist.
It was quiet, like a house could be yet still dignified but alive; every nook smelling of sandalwood and marigold.
Isabella Moren sat by the tall window, her sketchbook open, her chin resting lightly on her palm. Her silver anklet chimed softly each time her foot brushed the floor — a sound her father said reminded him of her mother's laughter.
Chestnut-brown hair, kissed with a golden sheen, cascaded freely over her shoulder. The morning light caught the strands like threads of caramel and honey. Her deep, honey-brown eyes were fixed on her drawing-an unfinished portrait of her late mother, Ishal Moren-the same gentle smile, the same poise.
A low hum escaped her lips, something she'd picked up from her dance teacher, Lila Banerjee. Even though the classes were over now, her final performance having been done and her graduation complete, rhythm still lived within her.
It was a rare kind of peace, the kind only found when the world hasn't yet decided to disturb you.
And then—
"Bella!"
The sharp, playful voice cut through the silence. Isabella looked up, startled but smiling, as Rumi Lurest burst through the doorway with her bag slung on one shoulder and her hair tied in a messy bun.
"Rumi!" Isabella exclaimed, half-exasperated, half-pleased. "You could have knocked!"
"Please," Rumi said with drama, hurling her sunglasses aside. "Do I look like a person who knocks? No. I'm a person who enters."
Isabella shook her head, concealing her smile. "You're impossible."
"And you," Rumi said, walking over to her sketch table, "are wasting your morning sketching. You're done with school! You're free! We are going out."
"Out?" Isabella blinked, wary. "You know my Baba—"
"Yes, yes, your precious Belrum Moren, protector of his perfect daughter," Rumi teased, flopping down onto the couch.
"Rumi....Baba just worries about me." Isabella smiled, turning to look at Rumi again.
"But Bella you have to come with me! I won't listen at all, and Uncle, I have already talked with Uncle, saying I am taking you for shopping in town, and he said okay too, but have to come till evening" Rumi sighed as she explained.
"Really? Then let's go we will come by evening then." Isabella exclaimed in excitement.
Isabella agreed to whatever her father wished for as her wish and never disagreed even if he told her to not go out or to stay home. It wasn't like Belrum liked doing that but he wanted to protect Isabella at all cost from any danger.
She had already pulled out a light, soft, yellow mini floral dress full of sunlight.
"Perfect."
"I haven't worn that in ages," Isabella murmured.
"Then it's time," Rumi said. "Put it on. The world deserves some beauty today."
---
An hour later, Isabella stood before her mirror.
Her yellow dress fit just right, with her hair loose and shining down her back, brushing her shoulders in soft waves. Her anklets-silver with small ghungroo bells-chimed faintly with every movement of hers. There was innocence in the reflection staring back at her, but something deeper, too-an old-world elegance that came from her mother, from her dance, from a quiet fire that lived in her.
Rumi appeared behind her, resting her chin on Isabella's shoulder.
"See?" she said, smiling at the reflection. "You look like sunlight pretending to be human."
Isabella laughed, her cheeks warming. "You're ridiculous."
"And you are beautiful," Rumi said. "Now let us go before you change your mind.
The drive out of town was long and golden.
Wind tangled through Isabella's hair, and for the first time in months, she felt… free. Rumi's laughter filled the car, and Isabella joined in, her eyes bright, the sound unguarded — the kind of laugh that only came from people who forgot to be sad for a moment.
They stopped at small cafes, peered through roadside stalls, lost track of time in chatter and light.
Neither of them noticed the convoy of black cars moving through the same district.
On the other side of town — the world looked very different.
The Romano brothers had arrived for a deal.
A clean and quick gun exchange, or at least that was how it was supposed to go down.
At the center of it stood Leonardo Romano, silent and sharp, his black shirt clinging to his frame, sleeves rolled up so that tattoos traced his veins like stories inked into sin.
His hazel-grey eyes scanned the area with detached calmness, like it was nothing new. And how could it be anything new. The life he had been living till now has been like this since he remembered. Lifeless, cold, unattached, and filled with the smell of blood and gunpowder.
"Brother this boxes are done. I will get the next load moving. " Alex said as he went inside the warehouse.
Leo was there sitting in the car with the car door open smoking as he released the smoke on the air. His eyes were tired and lifeless. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he tried to catch some peace, but his eyes snapped up on a sound of gun shots.
"So much for trying to get some peace" He murmured. "Peace....who am I kidding." He mumbled laughing at his thought.
"What was that? " He asked one of the guards standing nearby.
"Uh.there was a theft looks like sir Alex shot him." the guard said to Leonardo, looking down.
"Go and help him clean up" smokes out as he tells the guard off.
He takes one more cigar out. As he was going to light up the cigar he noticed a movement as a truck parked at the side of his car. A group of men lifted a large mirror to move it inside the warehouse.
And in that mirror - amidst all the chaos, smoke, and noise - a reflection flashed. He narrowed his eyes as sunlight hit on the mirror, and the moment the sunlight removed itself from the mirror, he saw a reflection.
He froze.
As his cigar fell from his hands. It wasn't the mirror that caught him; it was her.
A girl in a yellow dress, hair flowing loose, the sun folding around her as if it had chosen her alone. She was smiling, not at him, nor at anyone in particular, just smiling like she didn't know there was darkness.
The sound of the world dulled around him. He couldn't look away. The way she sipped her coffee and took a bite of her sandwich, wiping her lips.
For years, Leonardo had seen only power, blood, and deceit — men begging, dying, lying. But now, in the curve of that smile, in the shimmer of gold on her skin, something impossible stirred. Something which felt illegal to exist just showed up in his life. And in one blink, as he was dazed, the reflection was gone. He turned his head and quickly got out of the car-without a single thought, like his body moved itself-and there she was, walking down the street with another girl, her payal ringing faintly even through the crowd.
He, like an unconscious bee following a flower, followed her. Like he was under some kind of hypnosis because of her.
He was bumping into people, moving like he saw nothing but her on that heavily crowded street.
Her every step was ringing with a chim of her payal while she moved, and his world was just filled with her chim and her smile and laughter.