Hazel's POV✨

Dear Diary

I cleared NEET.

I keep writing that sentence again and again, like if I don't, it might disappear.

First attempt.
No second chances needed.

Everyone around me celebrated loudly-phones ringing, sweets being forced into my mouth, blessings pressed against my forehead. I smiled, laughed, nodded... but somewhere between all that noise, a quiet truth settled inside me.

I am leaving.

Duskwood.

A town my mother once belonged to. A name she spoke softly, like it carried memories too heavy to explain. When the admission letter came, it felt less like a choice and more like a calling-one I didn't fully understand yet.
I don't know what waits for me there.
New streets. New faces. A future that finally feels real.

All I know is this-
the girl writing this diary today will not be the same girl who returns.

Author's POV✨

The evening sun dipped low, staining the sky in shades of gold and quiet fire as Hazel sat beside the water.
The vast river lay calm before her, reflecting the heavens like a sacred mirror. Across it rose an ancient presence-towering, unmoving, eternal. Stone sculpted by faith, time, and devotion. A place where prayers didn't need words to be heard , situated in an Eastern Indian state on the coast of Bay of Bengal.

Hazel was dressed in white.
An anarkali flowed softly around her, catching the breeze as though it, too, wished to linger. Her hair was braided perfectly down her back-neat, careful, done by hands that had raised her with stories, rituals, and love that asked for nothing in return.
She looked peaceful.
Unaware of the weight of destiny hovering so close.
High above, on a silent tower, a crow watched.
It did not caw.
It did not move.
Its dark gaze remained fixed on her, ancient and knowing, as though it had been waiting-not for this moment, but for her.
The river flowed on.
The bells echoed in the distance.
And fate, patient as ever, held its breath.

Hazel had barely shifted her gaze from the water when a familiar voice broke the silence.

"Arre baba-are you planning to become a saint now or should I start telling people my granddaughter has taken sanyas by the river?"

Hazel blinked.

Before she could turn, her grandmother appeared beside her, hands on her waist, squinting dramatically at the scene as if inspecting a crime.

"Look at her," Varshini Singhania continued loudly, clearly addressing the universe. "Sitting alone. Staring at water. Wearing white. Next thing I know, she'll start giving pravachans."

Hazel sighed. "Aai-"

"Don't 'Aai' me," her grandmother interrupted. "I went to bring food for five minutes and you've already started a tragic movie scene. At least cry properly if you're going to sit like this. Where are the tears?"

Hazel laughed despite herself.
Her grandmother thrust a small leaf plate into her hands. "Eat. Before the gods think I'm starving you for your sins."

Hazel looked down at the food. "You said light snacks."
"This is light," Varshini said proudly. "Only enough to feed two people and a wandering pilgrim. Now eat."
Hazel took a bite, smiling.

Varshini softened, just a little. She sat beside her, adjusting her saree. "You know," she said casually, "people who sit alone by rivers are either very wise... or very foolish."

Hazel raised an eyebrow. "And me?"
Her grandmother snorted. "You are hungry. Now eat faster. We still have a long walk, and I'm not carrying you like last time."

Hazel laughed, the sound blending into the evening air.
Behind them, the river flowed on-unchanged.

Above them, the crow remained.

Watching.

The sky had begun to deepen into shades of dusk by the time they stood to leave.

Varshini adjusted the end of her saree, casting one last reverent glance toward the towering presence across the water. She pressed her palms together briefly, murmuring something only faith could translate.
Hazel followed her quietly.

The walk back was unhurried-filled with the sounds of bells fading into distance, vendors calling out their last sales, and footsteps that carried memories more than weight.

"Don't drag your feet," Varshini said without looking back. "I know you like walking slowly when you're emotional."

"I'm not emotional," Hazel replied.

"Haan haan," her grandmother scoffed. "And I am twenty-five."

By the time they reached home, night had settled comfortably over the small house in city famous for temples in eastern India.
The familiar scent of spices welcomed them before the door even opened.

Inside, the lights were warm. Safe.
Varshini immediately slipped into her element-complaining about her aching knees while simultaneously moving around the kitchen like she hadn't aged a day.

"Sit," she ordered. "Today you are a guest. Tomorrow you'll go back to being useless."

Hazel laughed, settling onto a chair as plates appeared one after another.

Rice. Dal. Vegetables cooked just the way Hazel liked. A little extra ghee, despite the protests.

"You're leaving soon," Varshini said lightly, as if discussing the weather. "So eat properly. Who knows what nonsense they'll feed you there."

Hazel smiled, swallowing the lump in her throat along with the food.
The night stretched on with small talk, teasing, and the quiet comfort of home-of a place that knew her before the world could change her.
Outside, unseen, a shadow passed over the moon.

And somewhere between laughter and familiarity, fate took note.

The house did not sleep that night.

It exploded.

Hazel's room looked like a storm had passed through-clothes on the bed, clothes on the chair, clothes that had absolutely no business being on the floor somehow ending up there anyway.

Hazel stood in the middle of it all, hands on her head. "How do I own this many clothes?"

Varshini leaned against the doorframe, unimpressed. "Because you never listen. I tell you-don't buy, don't buy. And you say, 'Aai it's only one dress.'"

She picked up a top between two fingers. "Is this even a dress or a handkerchief?"

"It's fashion," Hazel protested.

"For who? Ants?"

Hazel rolled her eyes and shoved clothes into the suitcase. "I don't even know what to take. What if it's cold? What if it's hot? What if-"

"What if you stop panicking and pack normally," Varshini cut in. "You're going to study, not start a new civilization."

Hazel zipped the suitcase with effort. It refused.

She sat on it.

The zip still didn't move.

Varshini crossed her arms. "See? Even the bag is protesting."

Hazel laughed, half-frustrated, half-excited. "Okay fine. I'll remove something."

She pulled out a pair of heels.

Varshini gasped dramatically. "Arre! Keep those. What if you meet a nice boy?"

"Aai!"

"What?" her grandmother shrugged. "I am practical."

Hazel shook her head, smiling as she folded the heels back in.

Later, when the chaos slowed and the suitcase finally surrendered, Hazel sat on the bed, breathing out.

Varshini entered quietly with a glass of milk. "Drink. You'll need sleep."

Hazel took it, fingers brushing against familiar warmth. "You're not even sad," she said softly.

Varshini scoffed. "Sad? I raised you to fly, not sit here tying you to my pallu."

Then, more gently, "Besides... you'll come back. Everyone does."

Hazel smiled, blinking rapidly.
That night, long after the lights were turned off, Hazel lay awake listening to the sounds of home-the ceiling fan, the distant dogs barking, her grandmother's soft cough from the other room.

She memorized it all.

Because some nights know they are the last of their kind.

Morning arrived far too early.

Hazel was dragged out of sleep by the sound of metal clanging against metal.

"Aai?" she groaned, pulling the pillow over her head. "Is there an earthquake?"

"No," Varshini's voice rang from the kitchen, loud and offended. "Worse. I can't find the lid of the pressure cooker."

Hazel sat up immediately. "Why is that my problem?"

"Because," her grandmother replied sharply, "you touched everything last night."

Hazel stumbled out of her room, hair a mess, eyes half-open. "I did not-"
She stopped.

The kitchen looked like a battlefield. Breakfast was half-cooked, bags were lined near the door, and Varshini stood in the middle of it all like a general losing patience.

"Sit," Varshini ordered.
Hazel sat.

A plate was shoved in front of her. "Eat fast. Your flight will not wait for your emotions."

Hazel took a bite, chewing slowly. "You said you wouldn't make so much food."

"I lied," Varshini said calmly. "Eat."

Hazel laughed, even as her chest tightened.

The cab horn blared outside.
Both froze.

"Oh ho," Varshini muttered. "Now he comes early."

Hazel rushed to her room, grabbing her bag, her documents, her phone-only to rush back out again.

"My charger!"

She ran back.

Then again. "My watch!"

Then again. "Aai, where is my-"

"On your neck," Varshini snapped.

Hazel looked down at the locket already resting against her collarbone.

"Oh."

They stood there for a moment.
Then Varshini pulled Hazel into a hug-tight, sudden, and warm.
"Listen," she said softly, her voice firm despite the emotion tucked underneath. "Be brave. Be kind. And don't let the world convince you to be smaller."

Hazel hugged her back harder. "I'll call. Every day."

Varshini sniffed. "You better. Or I'll come there and embarrass you."

Hazel laughed through the tears.
At the door, Varshini pressed something into Hazel's palm-a folded cloth packet. "Prasad. For strength."

Hazel nodded, unable to speak.
The cab waited.

Hazel turned once more, looking at the house. The walls. The doorway. The life she was stepping away from.

Varshini waved her off. "Go. Before I cry properly."

Hazel smiled and stepped into the morning.

Behind her, the door closed softly.
And somewhere unseen, fate followed.