Heat rising through Punjab’s streets pushed them toward an uncommon choice. Not just driving into the usual calm of Muthassi’s courtyard in Kannur, but riding beyond, deep into Kerala’s southern stretch. Papa’s old village near Thiruvananthapuram pulled them in - dusty roads, memories thick in the air.

  A century ago, someone built a home that still whispers stories today. With its sloping red tiles and heavy timber bones, the old Tharavadu stood broad and proud. Its front veranda stretched so far shadows played across it like afternoon games. Stepping inside was like slipping between pages of a forgotten book.

  Wow, it feels just like a royal house, Akka! Shwetha said softly, breath caught while her fingers moved along the detailed patterns carved into each pillar.

  Floating into the scene came Nidhi, their cousin. As little ones dashed through the yard, it was Nidhi, then Dhanya, then Shwetha who stuck close, like shadows at dusk. Outside, the sky played tricks - heat so thick it stung, followed by rainstorms crashing hard enough to shake leaves loose.

  Frozen spoon halfway to her mouth, Shwetha lingered behind, chasing the last sweet bites. Out ahead, Dhanya stepped barefoot onto the porch - restlessness tugging at her shoulders. Sky swallowed every star, thick as tar; then - a jagged spark far off cracked the dark.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Pst... Hello?”

  A whisper came out of the dark by the edge of the building. Not one to back down, Dhanya moved ahead instead of turning away. From between the dim shapes, a figure appeared - slouched, still, a boy propped up along the stone. The night held him like it meant to hide him.

  "I'm George," he said, his voice friendly. "You're the relatives from the North, right? I've not seen you around."

  "I'm Dhanya," she replied, curious. "Why is it so dark at your place?"

  "Fuse problem," he laughed. "The brothers are fixing it. I’m George Mathews. My brother Franklin is somewhere inside probably breaking things further."

  Out of nowhere, laughter floated between them, two neighbours tucked into the hush of a Kerala evening. Then silence softened again, thin and warm, until sound broke it - Amma’s call spilling through the open doorway. A name tossed into the air like jasmine on breeze: Dhanya. Followed by an offer wrapped in steam - sweet milk simmering with rice, waiting inside