Chapter 4: The One Who Didn’t Wave

The air that day had the scent of old rain and leftover cooking oil. The kind that clung to metal lunchboxes and seeped into the threadbare curtains of the orphanage dining hall. A lazy breeze rattled the window panes as clouds hovered low, thick with something unsaid.

That’s when they came.

A well-dressed couple stepped through the dusty front gates of the orphanage. The man wore a beige shirt, sleeves rolled just below the elbows, his shoes too clean for this place. His eyes held warmth—the kind that knew how to listen. The woman beside him moved with careful grace, as though she didn’t want to disturb the silence soaked into the orphanage walls. Her sari was simple, pale blue, and she carried a small leather bag clutched to her side like something fragile.

Navu had been called into the office.

Arya wasn’t told why. No one ever explained much to the children unless they were leaving.

Still, she followed, quiet and invisible, padding barefoot through the dim hallway. Her heart beat fast—not from fear, but curiosity. And a strange kind of ache she didn’t yet have words for.

She crouched behind the cracked doorframe, peeking in.

Inside, the woman was crouched down to Navu’s height, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, her voice low and kind. Navu looked at her, not smiling, but not afraid either. The man stood just behind, one large hand resting gently on the boy’s shoulder—steady, protective.

Arya watched, trying to understand. Something inside her fluttered and clenched.

And then she saw the suitcase.

A navy blue bag with wheels that squeaked on the old tile floor.

That’s when she knew.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the wall as the couple walked Navu out. His little shoes scuffed the step. His hand clutched the woman’s palm now. He turned once, just once, as the orphanage gate creaked open behind them.

Arya met his gaze.

But he didn’t wave.

He only watched.

And then he was gone.

Arya had run to the gate barefoot, tears stinging her eyes, breath coming out in broken sobs. Her voice cracked as she shouted after him.

“I’ll wait for you!” she had cried.

“I promise!”

But Navu never returned.

---

Arya jolted awake, heart hammering.

Her cot creaked as she sat up in the dim shelter, breath uneven. Her phone buzzed against the cot frame, its screen lighting up the shadows.

She fumbled to answer.

Her mother’s voice came through, soft and familiar. “Arya? Are you there? You sound breathless.”

She wiped her damp eyes. “I’m fine, Ma. Just woke up.”

“Eat something warm, okay? You sound tired.”

A door creaked on the other end. Rithin, her elder brother, took the phone.

“Ari,” he teased, “still surviving in that giant puddle they call a hill town?”

Arya chuckled, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Barely.”

“Ma’s glued to the news. She says you’re wading through floods like it’s a hobby.”

Arya smiled faintly. “Tell her I’m too heavy to be swept away.”

Rithin laughed. “Still the same. Hey… how’s the work?”

“Hard. Messy. But worth it.”

A pause.

“Rithin... do you remember that story I used to tell you? About the girl and the necklace?”

“Of course. You made it up during the Chennai floods. We were scared, and you told it to distract me.”

Arya’s throat tightened. “It wasn’t made up.”

There was a pause. Then, very quietly: “Oh.”

In the background, their mother’s voice called again.

“Here, Dad wants to say hi.”

The phone changed hands.

“Arya?” Her father’s voice was warm. Familiar. “Did you see the newspapers today?”

She blinked, still tangled in dream. “No.”

“They featured your team’s work on the southern flood basin. Your name’s in the sidebar. And that young officer—Arnav Raj. He’s leading the satellite terrain re-mapping initiative. Incredible work. They’re saying his data might shape national climate strategy.”

Arya’s breath caught.

“Dad…” she whispered.

“Yes, Ari…?”

But she said nothing.

He softened his tone. “Stay safe. You sound far away today.”

“I am,” she replied.

After the call ended, she sat unmoving in the dim shelter.

Her hand slid beneath the pillow.

The bracelet was still there.

Outside, the rain had begun again. Soft at first. Then steadier.

As if the sky, too, remembered.

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