Flames in the night

The outdoor ground was alive with a glow that cut through the darkness. The campfire crackled, sending sparks floating into the cold night air. Wooden chairs were arranged in a wide circle, the kind of setting that invited both laughter and secrets.

Aaru followed Ankita into the circle and sank into one of the chairs. The warmth of the flames soothed the night’s chill, and the soft smoke curled upward like an old storyteller’s breath. She adjusted her shawl, blinking against the sudden brightness after the dim paths leading there.

When Roop arrived, carrying an extra log of wood to feed the fire, he settled into the chair right beside her. On her other side, Ankita dropped into her seat with a playful bounce, pulling her into a quick side hug before launching into chatter with the rest of the group.

Aaru sat in the middle of them both, aware of every detail—the flicker of firelight painting Roop’s face in shifting shades, the sound of his low chuckle when someone cracked a joke, the steady way he sat even amid the noisy energy of fifteen voices.

The fire grew stronger, and soon so did the mood.

Music spilled into the night—mass songs, the kind that didn’t need perfect pitch, only loud voices and eager hearts. Chairs were pushed back as people stood, clapping, stomping their feet. Ankita was the first to pull Aaru up, spinning her around until she laughed helplessly, her earlier shyness melting away in the rhythm.

Even Roop, usually so composed, joined the chaos. He wasn’t the loudest dancer, but he moved with a quiet confidence, his smile easier now in the glow of the firelight. At one point, the circle of dancers swept close, and Aaru found herself laughing beside him, their shoulders brushing as they jumped in unison to a beat everyone had invented.

The songs shifted—first rowdy, then playful nonsense without real words, only sounds strung together until everyone was laughing too hard to continue.

And then, unexpectedly, a softer tune floated out of the speakers. Not the common playlists. Not the usual group favorites. It was a song in Aaru’s language—familiar, comforting, like a piece of home carried on the night air.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She turned slightly, and there he was—Roop, phone in hand, scrolling through a list. He glanced at her once, almost casually, as though gauging her reaction.

Aaru’s lips curved into a shy smile she couldn’t suppress. She didn’t say anything, but her heart spoke louder than words.

When the dancing slowed and laughter faded into tired breaths, the group settled back into their chairs, huddling closer to the fire. Someone suggested ghost stories, and that was enough to spark a new wave of mischief.

One by one, voices took turns—some with exaggerated theatrics, others with hushed whispers. The flames popped and hissed, punctuating the stories with eerie timing.

Ankita clung to Aaru’s arm during every “scary” part, only to burst out laughing a second later. Aaru herself listened quietly, her eyes reflecting both the fire and the shadows it cast.

When Roop spoke, his voice was lower, deliberate. He didn’t embellish with gestures or theatrics—yet his calm tone made the silence heavier, the story sharper. Even those who had laughed moments before leaned in, drawn into the picture he painted.

Aaru felt a strange chill—not just from the tale, but from the way his words carried weight even when he spoke of something unreal. She hugged her shawl tighter, sneaking a glance at him, and for just a second, their eyes met across the flickering fire.

She looked away quickly, though a faint warmth lingered beneath her skin.

By the time the last story was told, the night had stretched into midnight. The fire had burned low, glowing embers replacing the earlier roar. Voices softened, laughter mellowed into tired sighs.

“Sunrise tomorrow,” someone reminded the group. “We can’t miss it.”

There was a murmur of agreement, even as yawns betrayed their exhaustion.

The chairs scraped against the ground as everyone rose, drifting back toward their rooms in clusters of chatter and half-sleepy steps.

Aaru walked beside Ankita, the night’s coolness brushing against her face. Her body was tired, but her mind was awake, replaying flashes of the evening—the moment he played her language’s songs, the brush of his shoulder during the dance, the weight of his calm voice telling stories by the fire.

It had been just a few hours, but something unspoken had shifted in the circle of flames.

As she lay down later in the girls’ room, wrapped in blankets and whispers of laughter still faint outside, one thought lingered:

Tomorrow, at sunrise… I’ll see him again......

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