Chapter 5: The Rain Beneath the Leaves

The forest had begun to shift into twilight, the last golden threads of sunlight slipping behind the tall trees. Krish and his mother packed their small bundle of belongings, ready to move on toward the next forest in search of a deity who might hold the key to the Golden Flower’s truth.

Just as they stepped past the mossy stones lining the riverbank, a voice squealed behind them.

“Wait! You can’t just leave!” Nira, the river spirit, floated dramatically above the water, her arms crossed like a stubborn child.

Krish turned, puzzled. “We said goodbye, didn’t we?”

“I didn’t accept it!” she huffed.

Krish scratched the back of his head. “I… didn’t know goodbyes needed approval.”

Nira pouted. “Most don’t. But mine do.”

His mother smiled knowingly. She saw the truth behind Nira’s eyes—not just magic, but loneliness. “Krish,” she whispered gently, “maybe we can rest one more night. We’ve been walking all day.”

Krish blinked. “But Amma—”

“No buts,” she said firmly, winking at Nira behind her son’s back. “I’m not going to argue in front of a spirit. Besides, she might turn me into a frog.”

“I wouldn’t!” Nira gasped—then added with a mischievous grin, “...unless you asked nicely.”

And just like that, their journey paused once more.

By nightfall, rain came down like soft threads from the heavens, weaving through the leaves above. Nira invited them to her hidden home, nestled in the branches of an ancient banyan tree that overlooked the river—a comy place carved from roots and woven with glowing moss, wildflowers, and hanging lanterns filled with fireflies.

They all sat on leaf-woven mats, sipping warm herbal tea brewed from forest herbs. The scent was earthy and calming.

“So…” Nira began, pulling her knees to her chest, “no one has ever stayed this long near the river of reflection. Most come wanting quick answers. You two came with questions… and kindness.”

Krish leaned back against a thick branch. “We didn’t come to impress the river.”

“That’s what impresses it,” she said softly.

The rain whispered against the canopy, a lullaby of the wild.

Krish’s mother rested her head on his shoulder. “You know… sometimes the universe sends the right people not to change your fate—but to remind you that you're not alone in it.”

Nira smiled.

And for the first time in years, her little tree home felt like home again.

A Whisper in the Rain

The cozy treehouse was glowing with warm lantern light, the scent of herbal tea still lingering in the air. Outside, rain poured like silver threads from the heavens, drumming gently on the leaves.

Wrapped in a shawl, Nira leaned forward with twinkling eyes. “Did I ever tell you… the Golden Flower was not just powerful, but devastatingly handsome? His hair shimmered like sunlight on a river, his eyes held galaxies, and—ugh, that jawline—”

Krish blinked. “I didn’t ask.”

His mother chuckled. “He sounds alright, I guess.”

“Alright?! Amma, he made armies bow just by smiling!”

“Smiling is polite. Doesn’t mean he’s better looking than my Krish.”

“Oh, come on! Be real,” Nira snorted. “He’s a sweet village boy, yes, but he’s not Golden Flower gorgeous.”

Krish sighed loudly and buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t compare me to some dream god.”

Nira giggled. “It’s not a comparison, Krish. It’s a reminder you still have a long way to go in the jawline department.”

His mother gasped dramatically. “How dare you insult my son under my roof—oh wait, it's your roof, but still!”

Their playful argument echoed through the wooden walls, laughter bubbling like warm soup on a cold night. Krish sat in the middle, caught between two fierce women who clearly enjoyed poking at each other.

But then… something shifted.

From the corner of his eye, Krish caught it—a glimmer outside. A faint gold, barely visible through the rain-soaked window, like a star fallen into the river.

The women's voices became distant. Something was calling.

Without a word, Krish slipped away—his feet silent on the wood, heart drawn by that glow. He stepped down the twisted root stairs and into the forest, the rain soaking into his clothes as the storm whispered secrets to the trees.

The river had changed.

Where once it flowed calmly, now a swirl of golden light pulsed beneath the surface. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming—it was quiet, like a heartbeat. Gentle. Calling only him.

Krish knelt, the rain sliding down his face like tears. As he reached toward the light, something stirred in the depths—a presence, ancient and calm.

The River of Reflection had finally chosen to speak.

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