✨  Author's POV...

Morning arrived gently in Duskwood.

Hazel woke before the alarm, sunlight slipping through the curtains like it had memorized the room overnight. She stretched, still holding Mr. Cuddles for a second longer before convincing herself she was, in fact, an adult now.

The first thing she did was drink warm water, standing by the window, letting the cool morning air brush against her face. Outside, the town was already awake—birds, distant footsteps, leaves moving lazily.

She rolled out her yoga mat next.
Slow stretches.
 Deep breaths.

 A quiet promise to herself that today would be normal.

Afterward, she stepped outside with a watering can, tending to the small garden her mother once loved. The flowers looked healthier than she expected—almost as if someone had been caring for them long before she arrived.

"Good morning, dear."Hazel looked up to see Mrs. Whitmore next door, watering her own plants with the same calm routine."Good morning," Hazel replied warmly."So," the old woman said with a knowing smile, "how was your first night in Duskwood?"Hazel laughed lightly. "Peaceful. The house feels... comforting."

Mrs. Whitmore nodded, as if that answer pleased her. "It's a good place. Old, but good."They spoke for a while—about the weather, the town, Hazel's studies."I'm Hazel," she said finally. "Hazel Singhania."Mrs. Whitmore's brows lifted slightly. "Singhania... and yet your mother was from here."Hazel smiled. "My father was Indian. That's how I got the name."

"A blend, then," Mrs. Whitmore murmured. "Duskwood has always liked such souls."After a pause, she added, almost casually, "You'll hear stories here, you know. Folklore."Hazel tilted her head. "What kind of folklore?"

Mrs. Whitmore hesitated, then chuckled softly. "Vampires. Creatures of the night. People talk... but no one has seen anything in modern times. Just whispers passed down."Hazel laughed it off. "Sounds like good material for horror novels.""Perhaps," the woman replied, her eyes unreadable. "Or warnings."

Back inside, Hazel shook the thought away. A bath. Fresh clothes. Hair tied neatly. Normal things.

She made herself breakfast—French toast, a bowl of salad, a glass of milk—and video-called her grandmother.

"Aai, guess what people talk about here?" Hazel said cheerfully."What?" Varshini asked."Vampirism."There was a pause.Varshini's smile faded."What did you say?" she asked slowly.Hazel frowned. "Aai?"Her grandmother's eyes widened, as if she had seen something she wasn't ready for."Hazel—listen to me carefully—" she began.The screen froze.Then went dark."Hello? Aai?" Hazel tapped the phone. "Network?"No response.

A strange unease settled in her chest.She grabbed her jacket and stepped out, deciding fresh air would help clear her head.

Hazel walked without any particular direction in mind, letting her feet choose the path.

The park opened up quietly before her—wide, green, and breathing with life. Tall trees arched overhead like gentle guardians, their leaves whispering secrets to one another. Sunlight filtered through in soft patches, warming the benches and the stone pathways. A small fountain murmured at the center, water glinting as if it carried stories of its own.

It was peaceful.Too peaceful.

Hazel exhaled slowly, letting the tightness in her chest ease. You're overthinking, she told herself. It's just a town. Just stories. Just a bad network.

She was halfway around the fountain when she felt something brush against her ankle.She looked down."Oh—!"A small puppy—golden-brown, floppy-eared, and very determined—had attached itself to her shoe. Before she could react, it happily licked the tip of her sneaker like it had found treasure.

"Hey—hey!" Hazel laughed, crouching instantly. "Excuse me, sir, personal space?"The puppy wagged its tail harder, clearly unimpressed by boundaries.

"You're very friendly for someone I just met," she scolded gently, scratching behind its ears. "Do you belong to someone?"

"Looks like he's chosen you."Hazel looked up.

Two girls stood a few feet away, watching the scene with amused expressions.One of them—blonde, dressed effortlessly elegant even in casual clothes—smiled brightly. "He does that. Falls in love at first sight."

Hazel laughed. "Clearly. I've been here less than two days and I already have admirers."The other girl crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. She had a sharp, confident aura—dark clothes, calm eyes, the kind of presence that didn't need to announce itself.

"That's Milo," she said. "He only likes good people. Or people with snacks."

Hazel grinned. "I feel honored either way."

The blonde stepped forward and crouched beside Hazel. "I'm Christabel. Christabel Rosewood."

"And I'm Lorien," the other added. "Lorien Dravella."

Hazel straightened, brushing grass off her palms. "Hazel. Hazel Singhania. I just moved here."

Christabel's eyes lit up instantly. "You're new-new!"

Lorien tilted her head, studying Hazel with curiosity rather than suspicion. "You don't look like you belong to Duskwood."

Hazel smiled, unaware of how true that sounded. "I've been told."

Milo finally released her shoe, plopping down dramatically at her feet as if exhausted from his own enthusiasm.

Christabel laughed. "Congratulations. You've been officially welcomed by the park committee."Hazel laughed too—light, genuine.

And for the first time since the call had dropped, the unease loosened its grip on her heart.She didn't notice the way the wind stilled for just a second.

Or how, from somewhere unseen, the town seemed to be watching her meet her fate—one puppy lick at a time.

They moved to a nearby bench, Milo trotting happily beside them before plopping down at Christabel's feet like he owned the place.

Hazel sat between the two girls, tucking her hair behind her ear as the fountain continued its soft music in the background.

"So," Christabel said, turning toward her with open curiosity, "tell us about you. You don't sound local at all."

Hazel smiled, already used to that question. "My mother was from Duskwood. My father's Indian. I grew up in Odisha, in India—with my grandmother."

Lorien's gaze sharpened slightly. "And you came all the way back here... why?"

"For medical school," Hazel replied. "I cleared NEET in my first attempt and got an offer from Duskwood Town Medical College. It felt... right. My mother used to talk about this place a lot."

Christabel's mouth fell open. "Wait. Medical college?"

Hazel nodded. "Yeah. I start today, actually. Orientation."

Lorien blinked once. Then twice. "You're joking."

Christabel practically bounced on the bench. "No way. We're in the same college."

Hazel's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"Nope!" Christabel grinned. "Same medical college."

Lorien smirked. "Looks like fate's already grouping us."

Hazel laughed softly. "That's... comforting. I was worried I'd be completely alone."

Christabel waved a hand dismissively. "Not anymore. You're stuck with us now."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And tonight's orientation isn't just boring speeches, by the way."Hazel raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"My dad organized it," Christabel said casually, as if she hadn't just dropped something huge. "He's the mayor."Hazel choked on air. "Your father is the mayor?"

Lorien rolled her eyes. "She forgets that's not normal."

Christabel laughed. "Anyway, he wanted something grand. Music, lights, introductions—basically a party where everyone gets to know each other."

Hazel smiled, excitement fluttering in her chest. "That sounds... nice.""Nice?" Christabel smirked. "Try unforgettable."

The fountain splashed behind them.And somewhere, unseen, the night waited patiently—for introductions of its own.

Lorien stood up first, brushing invisible dust from her black pants. "Alright," she said, glancing between the two of them, "before orientation chaos steals our souls, how about food?"

Hazel's stomach chose that exact moment to agree with a very ungraceful growl.Christabel burst out laughing. "That answers that."

Lorien smirked. "My mom owns a café. It's a few blocks from here. Quiet, good food, and no judgment if we sit there for hours talking."

Hazel's eyes lit up. "A café run by your mom? That already sounds perfect."

"Trust me," Lorien said, already walking, "once you try her cooking, you'll understand why I never shut up about it."

They started down the path together, Milo trotting ahead like an unofficial guide."So," Christabel said, looping her arm through Hazel's, "food first, deep life talks second, shopping third?"

Hazel laughed. "In that exact order."

Lorien glanced back at them, a rare softness in her expression. "Good. Because after that, we're going shopping for tonight. Orientation party or not, we're not letting you show up underdressed."

Hazel raised both hands in mock surrender. "I trust you two completely."

"Big mistake," Christabel teased. "But a fun one."

As they walked toward the café, Hazel felt it again—that strange sense of belonging, like the town was slowly pulling her into its rhythm.

She didn't notice the shadows lengthening behind the trees.But the town did.

The path ahead unfolded like something out of a postcard.

Hazel slowed her steps without realizing it, eyes wandering everywhere at once.
Flower gardens spilled color onto the sidewalks—lavenders, roses, wild blooms she didn't know the names of. Cozy cafés lined the street, their windows fogged slightly with warmth and laughter. Diners with vintage signs. A florist arranging fresh bouquets. A small book van parked near the curb, shelves visible through open doors. Pet shops with bells chiming softly as customers went in and out.

"It's... beautiful," Hazel breathed.

"Told you," Christabel said proudly. "Duskwood has main-character energy."

Lorien glanced at Hazel. "You fit in more than you think."Hazel blinked. "What do you mean?"

Christabel stopped walking and turned her fully, studying her face like an artist judging a masterpiece. "You have Indian beauty—soft but striking. And then there's something else. Something very... Duskwood."

Hazel laughed awkwardly. "That sounds dangerously poetic."

"I'm serious," Christabel insisted. "You should participate in Miss Duskwood."

Hazel almost tripped. "What?!"

"Yes," Lorien added calmly. "They usually conduct it a few weeks into the academic year."

Christabel clasped her hands dramatically. "Imagine it—me and you. Together."

Hazel shook her head, cheeks warming. "I'm here to study medicine, not walk ramps."

"You can do both," Christabel said easily. "Beauty with brain."

Lorien smirked. "And chaos."

Before Hazel could protest further, they stopped in front of a café with warm yellow lights glowing through large windows. A small wooden sign hung above the door, swaying gently.

"This is my mom's café," Lorien said.

The bell chimed as they stepped inside.

"Christabel," a woman behind the counter greeted warmly, already smiling. "It's been ages."Christabel beamed. "I know, Mrs.Dravella."

Then the woman's gaze shifted to Hazel—curious, kind, welcoming."This is Hazel," Lorien said.

Hazel stepped forward politely. "Hello. I'm Hazel Singhania. It's really nice to meet you."

Lorien's mother smiled at her the way mothers smile at someone they instantly approve of. "Welcome to Duskwood, Hazel."

Something in her tone felt like more than courtesy.Hazel felt it settle deep in her chest.Warmth.Belonging.

They didn't even realize when the café talk turned into laughter loud enough to earn them a few amused glances.

"Okay," Christabel announced, standing up dramatically, "shopping. Immediately."

Lorien sighed, already reaching for her wallet. "You both are exhausting."

"That's rich coming from you," Christabel shot back. "You're the one who judges outfits like a disappointed fashion professor."

"Because someone has to stop you from buying sparkly things with no purpose."

Hazel laughed, slipping on her sandals. "I'm scared and excited at the same time."

They stepped back onto the street, Milo trotting proudly beside them, tail wagging like he owned the town.

The first store barely survived them.

Hazel emerged from the changing room in a soft pastel dress, and Christabel gasped like she'd witnessed a miracle.

"Oh my God. Hazel. Do you see this?"

Hazel looked at her reflection. "See what?"

"Men will forget their own names."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Please. You're the one who looks like a walking Barbie commercial."

Christabel flipped her hair. "I know."

Lorien crossed her arms. "Focus. Orientation is not a runway show."

Five minutes later, she was the one holding three outfits and muttering, "Try this. And this. And—no, not that one."

Hazel blinked. "You said focus."

"It's all the same."

Milo barked approvingly from the corner, then promptly tried to steal Christabel's shopping bag."MILO—NO—DROP IT," Christabel laughed, chasing him in tiny circles.

Hazel nearly collapsed against a rack, laughing so hard her stomach hurt.

They moved from store to store—trying clothes, judging each other, stealing mirrors. At one point, Christabel leaned in and whispered, "I swear, if boys don't stare at you, I'll personally complain to the universe."

Hazel smirked. "You're just worried I'll steal your fan club."

"Impossible," Christabel said. "But you can join it."

Lorien shook her head fondly. "Girls. Both of you."

By the time they reached the ice cream van, their hands were full and their feet sore. Three cones. Three flavors. Endless chatter. Hazel talked about her grandmother. Christabel about her father and the mayor chaos. Lorien complained about people assuming she was scary.

"I am scary," Lorien added. "But I'm also nice."

Milo sat between them, trying to lick all three cones at once.

Then Hazel paused.

Across the street, on the edge of a lamppost, the same crow sat watching her. The same dark feathers. The same stillness. For a moment, the world softened. Instead of fear, something warm bloomed in her chest. She smiled. A small, loving, peaceful smile. The crow tilted its head—then flew away.

"Hazel?" Christabel waved a hand in front of her face. "You okay?"

Hazel blinked, then laughed lightly. "Yeah. Just... happy."

And as they continued talking—about orientation, outfits, life—Duskwood watched quietly. Because some reunions didn't need words.

It only needs time...