April 12th, 1919 — Amritsar

The smell of burnt flour lingered in the air.

"Noor, roti gol banani hai. Tumhare baba jab thake hote hain na, tab unhe gol roti sabse zyada pasand aati hai," Parvati said, her voice a strained whisper, as she pressed another ball of dough onto the chakla.

Noor nodded, her hands slow, distracted. Her braid was slipping from behind her ear, flour stuck to her cheek, and yet her eyes were fixed on the door.

"Shaam ho gayi maa..." she murmured. "Ab tak aaye kyun nahi?"

Parvati looked at the dying sunlight filtering through the lattice, then at the clock ticking on the wall. Her fingers moved rhythmically, rolling, flipping, pressing. But her heart had long slipped into the street outside, wandering in worry.

"Woh keh ke toh gaye the ke bas kuch hi der lagegi. Kya pata kahin arrest—"

"Chup kijiye maa!" Noor's voice cracked. "Aisa mat boliye. Baba ko kuch nahi hoga."

But both of them knew the city wasn't the same anymore.

The air had changed — it crackled now, with tension, with fear, with resistance. The British had banned gatherings, yet meetings still bloomed in secret. People whispered about Gandhi ji. About hartals. About azaadi. And among those whispers, danger moved like a shadow.

Just then, the latch clicked.

The door creaked open.

Noor dropped the belan. Parvati nearly burned her fingers.

"Baba!"

"Dev..."

Her father stood in the doorway, his kurta damp with sweat, his turban loosened, a tired smile barely tugging at his lips.

"Main aa gaya, meri raaniyo," he said softly.

Noor ran first, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face into the familiar scent of dust, sweat, and sandalwood. Parvati followed, touching his face, checking for injuries without asking.

"Kya hua tha? Itni der laga di?"

"Sab theek hai?" Noor asked, her voice muffled.

He nodded, lowering himself to the floor as though his legs could no longer carry the weight of the day.

"Kuch samajh nahi aa raha, Parvati. Log gusse mein hain. Kal Jallianwala Bagh mein ek sabha hai. Doctor Saifuddin Kitchlew aur Doctor Satyapal ko arrest kar liya gaya hai. Logon ko jawab chahiye."

Parvati froze. "Jallianwala Bagh? British ne toh hukam diya hai ke koi bhi bheed ikattha na ho."

Noor looked between them. "Baba, aap ja rahe ho?"

He met her gaze.

"Main jaa raha hoon. Chhup kar nahi, dikh kar. Humein dikhana hoga ke hum dar ke nahi jee sakte."

Parvati's eyes welled up. "Yeh sab theek nahi lagta. Mujhe darr lagta hai..."

He took her hand gently. "Agar hum darr ke jeeyenge, toh hamare bachchon ko kab azaadi milegi, Parvati? Noor ke sapne poore kab honge?"

Noor sat still, watching her parents. Two people who had lived through the turning of history, now standing at its edge.

She placed her hand on her father's.

"Sab theek hoga, maa. Baba sach ke saath hai. Aur sach kabhi nahi haarta."

Parvati closed her eyes, whispering a prayer.

That night, they slept in the same room... the old way, like before the world had grown heavy. Noor rested her head on her father's shoulder. He hummed a broken lullaby. Parvati sat against the wall, fingers slowly running through Noor's hair until they all drifted into a fragile sleep.

April 13th, 1919 — The Next Morning

The sunlight filtered through the neem leaves, casting dappled shadows across the old library wall.

Arthur waited there, sitting on the bench near the rose bush — the place where silence had always felt kinder.

Noor arrived slowly, her dupatta pulled tight around her head. Her face was pale, her eyes ringed with shadows, but she still smiled when she saw him.

"Tum aaye..." she said softly.

He nodded, eyes searching her face for the girl who used to laugh at clouds and collect words like treasures.

"Tum theek ho?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she sat beside him.

They didn't speak much. Just sat, her elbow brushing his, his hand clenched around a crumpled letter in his pocket.

"Tumne abhi tak pehna hai," she said suddenly, glancing at his wrist.

Arthur blinked, then pulled down his sleeve instinctively, hiding the frayed red thread she had once tied. " Mai bhul gaya tha ki ye yaha hai ."

Noor gave him a small, knowing smile. "Jhooth."

Flashback-

It was a day unlike any other. The sun was high, and the heat hung thick in the air as they walked together through the narrow alleyways, hand in hand, the temple rising in the distance.

Noor had led him to the gates of the temple, where incense floated through the air, mixing with the sound of chanting. The smell of marigolds and incense was rich, enveloping them as they stepped onto the sacred grounds.

Arthur had looked around, nervous and unsure, feeling the weight of his foreignness. But Noor was by his side, guiding him, her hand warm in his.

"Yeh hai mandir, jaha mai har din pooja krti hu... vese bhagwan to har jagha hote hai, hum sab me bhi unka hi toh vas haina" she said softly, eyes sparkling with pride as she motioned around them. "Jab bhi mai yaha aati hu, toh sab kuch sahi lagta hai, yaha jaise mai azad hu, voh azadi jo bhar nhi hai."

She led him toward a small corner where a group of women were preparing the sacred offering. With gentle hands, she picked up a piece of red thread from a nearby basket.

"Noor?" Arthur asked, confused, as she moved to his side, holding the thread up to him.

"Ye lo esse apni kalayi par bandh lo, ye humesha tumhari rakhsha krega... ye ek mera aur ek tumhara" 

Arthur hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft red thread. "I don't... I don't understand."

"Aasan hai," she said, looking up at him. " Esse apni kalayi par bandh lo, aur jab bhi esse dekho toh humare bare me sochna, kaise hum saath na hoker bhi humesha saath honge"

"Saachi Noor?"

"Mucchi"

He stared at her, then, with a tentative hand, took the thread from her. He carefully tied it around his wrist, watching as the ends were neatly secured.

Noor smiled, a little mischievous, but tender too. "Ab tumhare paas hamesha ek hissa rahega humara."

Arthur had looked down at the thread, a tiny piece of red that seemed to hold all of India's warmth and history within it. For a moment, he had felt at peace.

Flashback ends

Arthur's fingers unconsciously traced the edge of his sleeve where the thread once was, even though it was hidden from her view. He could almost hear her laugh in the temple garden, the sound of her voice calling him back to the days when their worlds were simpler, before the violence and the changes began to tear them apart.

Another pause.

"Kash mai tumhe aur samajh pata Noor," Arthur murmured.

She turned toward him. "Tum toh samajhte ho."

She looked down. Her fingers curled into her dupatta. " Kabhi kabhi lagta hai tum... is mitti se door ho. Par phir kabhi lagta hai... tum woh sab sun lete ho jo main keh bhi nahi paati."

Arthur didn't know what to say. So he just said, "I'm here."

And that, somehow, was enough.

Then came the sound — hurried footsteps, voices raised, a distant shout.

"Jallianwala Bagh... goli chali hai!"

Noor froze.

Her head snapped toward the noise. The blood drained from her face.

"Baba..." she whispered, before she even realized she had stood up.

Arthur grabbed her wrist. "Wait—what happened?"

She turned to Arthur, panic rising in her throat.

"Mere Baba—woh gaye the wahan..."

Before she could finish she was already running. Through the library gates. Past the banyan tree. Down the street where the silence had shattered.

Her dupatta flew behind her like a flag of something long lost.