"Happy birthday, Arush," his mother's voice resonated through the phone, a sentiment that should have brought joy. However, irritation clouded Arush's expression as he disconnected the call without a second thought. Walking past the table, he noticed a bunch of vibrant red roses accompanied by a note.

The note read, "Happy birthday, son. I love you so much, and I miss you. Hope to see you soon again."

Arush's reaction was far from celebratory. In a moment of discontent, he callously tossed the flowers into the dustbin. The maids, silent witnesses to this emotional outburst, stood quietly near him. In a fit of frustration, Arush redirected his anger toward them.

"Why can't anything be done properly in this house? Lazy and incompetent!" he shouted, his words echoing in the cavernous silence.

Later in the day, he received another call. "I won't be able to make it this week, Arush. Business demands," his father informed him.

"But it's my fifteenth birthday!" he argued.

"Sorry, beta," his father said. "Why don't you visit your grandmother instead? Won't it be a mini-tour for you? Also, you haven't seen her in years!"

The isolation deepened as Arush confronted the emptiness of his big house. Alone with his thoughts, he decided to seek solace in his grandmother's home, a place of comfort on the outskirts of Assam.

****

The memories of his grandmother's love and care tugged at Arush's heartstrings as the train chugged along the tracks towards his destination. The rhythmic clattering of the train wheels against the tracks provided a comforting lull.

After twelve hours and eleven minutes, the train eventually pulled into the station at Haribhanga. A rickshaw van awaited him, the only means of transport in this quaint village. Reluctantly, he agreed to travel by it, the bumpy roads reminding him that he was far from the smooth pavements of Kolkata.

Upon reaching his destination, a familiar scent enveloped his senses. The air was saturated with the intoxicating aroma of blooming flowers, a fragrant melody that should have welcomed him home but instead only served to irritate him further.

"Dear Arush, no matter how far away I am from you, you will always be close to me. Just like this flower, our love will always blossom," she had written in a letter that Arush found years ago, a bitter reminder of the love he had lost.

"Arush baba," an elderly woman greeted him with a warm smile as he arrived at his grandmother's house. She was dressed in a traditional white and black saree, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "How are you?" she asked. "Do you remember me?"

Arush frowned, unable to place the face. It had been more than seven years since he visited this place, and all his memories were on the edge of oblivion.

"Uhm, no," he replied awkwardly as he stood by the entrance of the house, his eyes drawn to the surrounding garden. His grandmother's house was surrounded by trees and flowers, a gate adorned with a floral arch leading to the two-story house.

However, in the middle of the garden, exactly right opposite the house stood the giant old tree that he remembered clearly. It was where he used to play hide and seek with his mother. The memory was both beautiful and painful at the time. He quickly composed himself out of the thought when another cheer approached him.

Unexpectedly, Arush was welcomed by a shower of flowers, a gesture of hospitality from his grandmother's workers. Oblivious to his allergies, they began to welcome him in a way he never imagined. Arush's grandmother was a well-known businesswoman in the flower industry, and the workers adored her. To them, Arush was like a little prince of the garden, the beloved grandson of their employer.

"What are you doing?" Arush exclaimed in irritation, finding himself buried under the petals.

"Welcome, Arush baba," the workers chorused, their smiles radiating warmth. Oblivious to his discomfort, they continued showering him with fragrant blossoms.

Suddenly, a group of young girls emerged from the crowd, their eyes bright with innocence as they extended a bouquet of red roses towards Arush. Oblivious to his allergies and irritation, they offered the fragrant gift as the welcome gift. Their smile was genuine and pure.

"Welcome," one of them said, her voice soft and melodious, her eyes reflecting the innocence of a child. The one in the white dress and untamed hair. Something about the girl had left him stunned. A little shorter than him, with an infectious smile, her onyx eyes bore secrets of the ocean he longed to explore.

Wait, what the hell am I thinking? A mental reprimand echoed within him. Gazing at the vibrant crimson blooms, irritation welled up inside Arush even more. Why does the world seem so enamoured by flowers?

Arush's reaction was swift, his hands pushing the roses away in a mix of annoyance and discomfort, the delicate petals floating down like fragments of a broken dream. As he finally manoeuvred past them, he hurried toward the sanctuary of his grandmother's home.

In his haste, he barely noticed the girl in white, her face falling in disappointment as she looked down at the scattered crimson petals. The once beautiful bouquet now lay scattered like secrets upon the earth, its petals bearing witness to Arush's unspoken battle.

"My dear little babu," his grandmother greeted him halfway. She was almost around 70 years of age, yet she still looked as beautiful as ever. Long curly hair framed her wrinkled face, adorned with a beautiful smile, and her evergreen athpourey saree added to her grace. "Look at you, you are as tall as a giraffe now," she teased Arush.

For the first time, despite his irritation, Arush smiled. He hugged his grandmother immediately, letting go of all his anger and frustration. His grandmother took him inside, her warmth and familiarity providing a comforting embrace. As he walked away, he looked back one last time and saw the girl in white standing silently, her eyes fixed on the scattered flowers, an enigmatic sadness lingering in her gaze.

It irritated him, but something about the girl intrigued him. She could be a year younger than him, with a delicate frame, dusky skin, and a smile that seemed almost too perfect. Her black wavy hair cascaded down like a waterfall, and despite her simplicity, there was a magnetic charm about her that captivated Arush's attention.

What was she so happy about? Arush couldn't fathom the source of her unshakable joy, especially considering the quiet surroundings and the isolated life she seemed to lead. As he observed her from a distance, a nagging curiosity settled in his mind, planting the seed of a mystery he felt compelled to unravel.

****

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow upon the world, Arush found himself engrossed in a book, seated on the veranda. Suddenly, his attention shifted as he noticed the same girl once again near the entrance. This time, she delicately gathered the discarded roses.

Intrigued by her action, Arush watched closely. Her fingers, slender and graceful, cradled the fragile blooms as if they were wounded birds. Tears welled up in her eyes as she buried them beneath the soil, her actions cloaked in mystery and purpose as she whispered something to them.

Arush watched, his irritation melting into intrigue. The girl, with skin kissed by the sun, hair as dark as midnight, and eyes that held the secrets of the universe, possessed a kind of allure he couldn't ignore. Her actions, so delicate and deliberate, spoke of a deeper understanding, a connection with nature that transcended the ordinary.

"Can a person really talk to flowers?" Arush muttered to himself, bewildered by her behavior. Is she mad? Perhaps she's an illiterate who doesn't know we don't bury flowers.

His contemplation continued as he observed her unconventional ritual. Instead of dismissing her as eccentric, Arush found himself questioning the boundaries of understanding. Perhaps there was a beauty in her actions that eluded the pragmatic mind. A subtle poetry in the way she treated each petal as if it held a secret conversation only she could decipher.

****

The following day, Arush embarked on a walk around the village, seeking to clear his mind from the peculiar events of the previous day. Haribhanga had transformed subtly with the touch of modernity—electricity now reached every corner, a few bricked houses and ponds dotted the landscape, yet the charm of the village lingered in its essence.

As he strolled, Arush stumbled upon the same girl from the day before, surrounded by her companions, facing harassment from a group of boys by the roadside. The bullies, motivated by ignorance and prejudice, taunted them, mocked their work in the garden, and questioned their sanity. Arush hesitated but chose to stand at a distance, an observer in the unfolding drama. He didn't want to intervene, at least not yet.

The girl from yesterday, with her delicate frame and an unyielding composure, endured their cruelty in silence. Despite their derisive words, she maintained a serene smile, her eyes reflecting wisdom beyond her years.

"Tell us, what kind of black magic do you do?" one of the boys sneered.

"Can you really speak the language of demons?" another chimed in. "Is that why you all are the orphan girls?"

Instead of retaliating, the girl and her group chose silence. Her refusal to engage only seemed to fuel their taunts. As the verbal assault continued, the bullies escalated, pushing a few of them to the ground. Among them was the girl with onyx eyes, her basket of flowers scattered, the once vibrant petals now crushed and lifeless on the ground.

Arush's heart ached for her. The cruelty of the world rested heavily on her fragile shoulders, yet she bore it with grace and strength that he found both admirable and heartbreaking.

Although she kept looking at them without uttering a word, surprisingly, the boys didn't argue any further. With their bullying mission seemingly accomplished, they left.

Why didn't she fight back? He wanted to ask, but alas, he remained a silent observer, unable to breach the wall of cruelty surrounding them. Before he could muster the courage to intervene, the girls, resilient and unbroken, stood up, leaving for their usual work, seemingly unbothered by the torment they had endured. Arush's intrigue had transformed into genuine interest—a desire to understand the silent strength that fueled the girl's resilience and the secrets concealed behind her enigmatic smile.

****

That evening, Arush found himself seated with his grandmother, the soft flicker of candlelight casting an illuminating glow on the room. The air was infused with the aroma of fragrant oils, creating a serene atmosphere. His grandmother's hands, weathered with time, moved with practiced grace, massaging the oil into his scalp. The rhythm of her fingers was gentle, lulling him into a state of drowsiness. However, sleep eluded him, his thoughts consumed by Meera's plight.

"Grandma," Arush began hesitantly, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "Who are the young girls working with you? Isn't it illegal to employ underage workers here?"

His grandmother chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the tranquility of the room. "Underaged?" she questioned. Arush frowned in confusion, his curiosity piqued. "They are orphans, my dear Babu, who lived by the orphan house near the lake," his grandmother replied, her voice carrying the weight of their shared history. "They work here to manage their daily lives."

"Orphans?" Arush's voice dripped with shock and empathy.

His grandmother paused, her hands stilling on his head. She sighed softly, a touch of sadness in her eyes. "These girls have witnessed more sorrow in their young lives than many do in a lifetime. Some were found near the riverside orphanage house, and a few lost their parents at a very young age. They mostly live alone and believe that the flowers are their only family now."

Arush listened intently, the weight of these girls' stories settling heavily in his heart. But why does she talk to the flowers? And why didn't she react when those boys bullied her today?

His grandmother smiled sadly, her hands resuming their soothing motion. "People here believe that each flower has a soul, a spirit that understands the language of love. To those who have once been abandoned, they no longer mourn for what they've lost. Instead, they have let go of the pain and found a new ray of hope to live for."

Arush looked up in confusion as his grandmother continued, her words carrying the wisdom of ages. "Sometimes, we hold onto the past too much to see the beautiful future that lies ahead of us. It's not always blood that makes a family. It's the love and trust that bind us together. The people working here have found a family within themselves. They love and care for each other as much as they love and care for the flowers surrounding them."

"What about their families? Don't they have anyone to live for other than spending time in this garden?" Arush asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Some do. Some do not," his grandmother replied gently. "As I told you, my dear, love is unconditional. Love knows no boundaries of body, blood, or face. Love can extend to a bird, a flower, or a soul. You just need to see through the eyes of your heart rather than the ones you used to look with."

A few things had complicated Arush's mind that evening, but a few had also become clear.

Arush felt a pang of empathy for the girl. He could now feel the pain and loneliness she must have endured all these years. If not for his grandmother, where would she have been?

She must be a worrier here, but somehow her heart seemed as delicate as the petals she cherished so dearly. What is her name? What is her story? Why would she love the flowers more than her life? Arush thought in his mind.

He was determined to understand her better, to unravel the mystery behind her unique connection with the flowers. As sleep finally claimed him that night, his thoughts remained entwined with the enigmatic girl with deep onyx eyes, stirring emotions he hadn't known existed within him.

****

The next day, Arush went for a walk in the village, thoughts of the mysterious girl still swirling in his mind. Questions crowded his thoughts – What was her solitary life like? How did she endure the cold nights? What else did she do besides selling flowers?

At the same time as the previous day, Arush spotted the girl with her group, a shawl wrapped around her petite figure in the chilly October morning. Her messy low bun and strands of hair escaping framed her delicate features, enhancing her natural beauty.

In the soft morning light, she looked ethereal, a fragile flower touched by the morning dew. Mesmerized by her beauty, Arush stood rooted, unable to tear his gaze away from her graceful movements.

As they went about their daily chores, offering fresh flowers to the villagers, Arush observed their bare feet, marked by struggles on the rough ground. The girl, resilient and barefoot, moved gracefully, her spirit unbroken by the hardships.

A woman stopped them, captivated by the vibrant flowers. The girl explained each bloom's meaning with a melodious tune, and the woman, filled with admiration, selected a few flowers, her face illuminated by genuine joy.

In that moment, Arush realized the depth of his discontent. Despite his privileged life, the girl, with so little, radiated simple joy. Determined to learn more about her, he decided to follow her.

The girl led her group to the market, displaying their flowers as people eagerly purchased them. Arush patiently watched, intent on understanding her world beyond the flower garden.

As night fell, the girl and her friends prepared to go home. Arush discreetly followed them to their village. The girls divided, stopping at the orphanage house, except the one who had captured Arush's heart.

Curiosity intensified as he followed her. She navigated the village with ease, leading him to a large open ground with a giant old oak tree. With astonishing agility, she climbed the tree, making it her sanctuary, her refuge, and perhaps her only home.

Questions haunted Arush – Why would she choose to live here all alone? Wasn't she scared of the darkness that enveloped the village at night? What about her safety, her comfort, and the warmth of a proper bed? Why did she not stay in the orphanage with the others, where at least there was a semblance of communal living?

The image of her perched on that sturdy branch stirred a profound ache in his heart, igniting a newfound warmth within him. He yearned to understand her world, to provide solace and companionship. Yet, in the silence of the night, there was no one to answer, leaving Arush with a deep longing for the resilient girl who had touched his soul.

****

Day by day, Arush found himself increasingly captivated by the enigmatic girl. It became a daily ritual for him to watch her, his fascination deepening. Sometimes, he discreetly followed her to the market, marvelling at her resilience. Despite evident hardships, she and her friends managed only one meal a day. Yet, even in adversity, the girl wore a smile, her spirit unbroken.

Today, Arush's eagerness to see her held a different motive. The previous night, he had placed a pair of new slippers near the tree, secretly hoping she'd wear them.

As he spotted her, a faint smile graced his lips. She wore a pink knee-length dress, the fabric slightly faded but still beautiful. Her hair was pulled back, and a muted-coloured shawl enveloped her slender figure. What caught his eye was the new pair of slippers adorning her feet.

Had she noticed? Did she wonder where they had come from? Would she be happy if she knew they were a gift from him?

Arush's mind buzzed with conflicting thoughts. He wanted to talk to her, bridge the gap, but hesitated, haunted by their initial encounter. Would she entertain a conversation? Or be angry once she discovered the source of the slippers?

That is when he noticed the same boys from the other day approaching her and her friends in bicycles. 

As the boys attempted to scare the girls by cycling dangerously close, their actions backfired. One boy lost balance and fell near the lake, panicking as he couldn't swim. Arush grappled with an internal struggle – be the hero or let them suffer for past actions. To his surprise, the girl with onyx eyes swiftly put down her basket, fearlessly climbing down to rescue the struggling boy. She approached without fear, pulling him to safety.

As the boy regained strength, his behaviour took an unexpected turn. His eyes darted around, whispering something to a friend. Though too faint for Arush to hear, the shock on their faces spoke volumes. The boys retreated without gratitude, leaving the girl standing by the lake, a mix of relief and concern on her face. Arush watched in disbelief at their callousness, struggling to comprehend their arrogance.

The girls too, dispersed, but the girl with onyx eyes by the lake emerged with her basket, walking after the group. Arush noticed a pair of red roses had fallen from his basket during the commotion. Among the scattered petals, Arush picked them up and approached her.

"Wait," he called out. She halted, her onyx eyes meeting his gaze. "This... has fallen from the basket."

She acknowledged with a smile, her gratitude evident. "Thank you," she said, her voice resonating with Arush's soul. As she walked away, Arush couldn't resist calling out again.

"Wait," he urged, and once more, Shiuli paused, turning to face him.

"What is it this time?"

Arush hesitated, a swirl of nervousness in his eyes. "Uh... What is your name?" he managed to ask.

She looked at him with surprise. "I, Uh..." Arush's voice carried nervousness. "Shiuli," she replied, her voice carrying gentle reassurance.

"Oh," Arush responded after a brief pause. "I am A-Arush."

"I know," Shiuli interrupted, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I know who you are."

Feeling somewhat awkward, Arush struggled with silence until Shiuli, sensing his hesitation, took the initiative.

"Do you want to accompany me today instead of following me?" she asked, breaking the tension.

Caught off guard, Arush fumbled for words. Shiuli, with an understanding smile, addressed his unease.

"Thank you for the slippers," she said, acknowledging the small act of kindness.

"So you knew?" Arush questioned, genuinely surprised.

As they walked side by side, Shiuli revealed, "I notice everything happening around me. That's why they call me a witch."

"Witch?" Arush furrowed his brow in confusion.

Shiuli nodded, reaffirming the label that had been unfairly attached to her.

The revelation sparked questions in Arush's mind. Why was this enchanting girl considered a witch? Was that the reason she lived alone in a tree? The need for answers intensified, and Arush realized that perhaps today marked the beginning of unravelling the mystery that surrounded Shiuli.

**** 

Shiuli countered, "Why do you hate them so much?"

"I don't hate them! I have allergies," Arush retorted.

"Is that the only answer?" Shiuli probed.

Seizing the conversational reins, Shiuli persisted, "Is there any particular person behind your hatred for the flowers?"

This time, Arush nodded silently.

"Then, I think it is not hatred; it's a grudge against someone," Shiuli observed with empathetic insight.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange, yellow, and grey, Shiuli encouraged Arush to let go of the pain he held onto. Arush confessed his inner turmoil, revealing his complicated relationship with his mother.

In this moment of vulnerability, sitting beside Shiuli, Arush felt a cathartic release. "She chose others over me!" Arush's voice broke, tears threatening to spill. "For five years, she's been missing. No contact. I cried every night, longing for her warmth, yearning to understand love. But all she could give me was unclipped roses after five years."

Shiuli listened quietly, absorbing his pain. Arush continued, recounting his childhood scars, "I was only seven when she left, and almost twelve when she contacted me again. Her picture with another man beside her. I saw how my mother had turned into a stranger overnight, and then among the others, one unclipped thorn stung my fingers, making me bleed."

Shiuli, understanding the weight of his story, finally spoke, "Life has always been cruel, Arush. But what keeps us going is hope. A hope for love. To love and be loved."

Today, Arush discovered facets of Shiuli's life that painted a poignant picture of her existence. At the age of fourteen, she had her fair share of traumas and problems. She had endured criticism for being an orphan, residing alone in a tree because the villagers shunned her presence among them.

"My father was a mortician. People never liked him for his profession. It's considered among the lowest professions, and he was often shunned among people," Shiuli recounted. "But he loved us and wanted to provide a better life. My mother died when I was little, so I never knew her. My father told me she was buried right under this tree, surrounded by wildflowers. Then, one day, when I returned from work, I found my father lying on the bed, not moving. That night, he died."

Arush looked at her pained face, gazing into the patterns of the sky. "As his last wish, he wanted to be buried right under this tree, beside my mother," Shiuli continued. "Thus, this is where I stay now, with them. They wanted to be loved and remembered, and so I did. Even after they are no more, I have continued to love them and remember them."

Arush found it odd, yet when Shiuli spoke of her unconditional love for her late parents, it touched a chord deep within him. "Someday I will make my name in this world by touching people's hearts, rising from ashes, and I will be remembered and loved."

Her thoughts resonated with depth. Sadly, in this village, she had gained nothing but a name as the girl who could speak the language of flowers.

Arush's grandmother had extended an invitation for Shiuli to live with them, an offer she declined, citing her comfort amidst nature.

"They are gone, yet they remain close to me. Love transcends boundaries, Arush. Just because they're not physically present today doesn't mean we forget the love they bestowed upon us when they were with us. Love persists beyond time. It's eternal," Shiuli had imparted these heartfelt words. "I will love them even if they aren't here with me anymore. At least they deserve it."

Her wisdom stirred Arush, prompting him to ponder his own relationships. It resurrected memories of his mother, a once beautiful bond now clouded by her departure for a new family. He had struggled to harbour a love for her after that.

Shiuli's words lingered in his mind, prompting a question he had long buried. Did he still love his mother, knowing she had chosen others over him?

In an attempt to unravel this emotional web, he cautiously posed a query to Shiuli, "What if someone we love leaves us behind?"

Shiuli responded with laughter, a melodic sound that echoed through the air. "Abandonment, Arush, always has a reason. Every act of leaving, every misunderstanding, and every story has another side waiting to be heard. We must strive to discern the piece that fits accurately into our puzzle."

That is when Arush's mind was struck with questions. What was her mother's side of the story? What was the reason she had left them?

"See, you no longer have allergies from the flowers!" Shiuli giggles as she made him wear the Shiuli flower garland made by her.

Together, under the serene moonlight, they discovered the healing power of shared stories, realizing that understanding the past was the first step towards embracing the present. As Arush wore the Shiuli flower garland, a symbol of acceptance and connection, the fragrance of their newfound friendship blossomed in the tranquil night air.

****

Day by day, Arush found himself growing more affectionate toward Shiuli. They often sat together on the branches of the giant oak tree, where Shiuli enchanted him with stories about flowers. Sometimes, she would accompany him on trips to the village.

Arush discovered a profound happiness in Shiuli's company, and he felt an unspoken desire never to part from her. In the exchange of skills, Shiuli taught him the art of making garlands, while Arush helped her learn the alphabet.

The last six days had been a transformative journey for both of them.

As days turned into weeks, Arush found himself irresistibly drawn to Shiuli's presence. Despite his initial irritation and skepticism, he became captivated by her quiet strength and unwavering kindness. Arush delved deeper into the world of flowers, learning about their language and the hidden stories they held.

In the serene setting of the garden, Shiuli shared her philosophy with Arush one day. "Life, much like a flower's journey, unfolds in a series of delicate moments. We are born into the world, we blossom with vibrant vitality, and eventually, we gracefully fade away. Yet, the profound beauty lies in those who understand the enduring nature of love—the kind that persists even beyond the fading bloom.

Just as flowers teach us about resilience and growth, they also whisper about the timeless power of love. The last petals, though no longer in full bloom, hold the essence of a love that transcends the boundaries of time and mortality. Love, like the fragrance that lingers even after the petals have fallen, never truly dies.

In the face of life's inevitable changes, love remains an eternal force, weaving its way through the fabric of existence. It's a testament to the enduring spirit that outlasts the transient nature of life, a reminder that, even in the quiet farewell, love continues to bloom."

Arush found himself mesmerized by her words, his heart swelling with admiration for this remarkable girl who had discovered solace in the embrace of nature. Slowly, he began to see the world through her eyes, gaining a newfound appreciation for the intricacies of life that he had previously overlooked.

He realized that he had been holding grudges against his mother, but he never truly hated her. In fact, there was still a soft corner in his heart where he loved his mother more than anything, longing for her warmth and love.

But sadly, there was nothing he could do.

"Maybe I will never be able to see her again," Arush confessed to the truth he had been hiding in his heart. "She has a new life, new people to love her. Maybe she doesn't need me anymore."

To which, Shiuli replied, "You could be wrong, Arush. Love will always find its way, no matter how many obstacles it has to dodge to reach you."

****

As the days unfolded, Arush found himself increasingly entangled in the intricate tapestry of emotions that Shiuli effortlessly wove around him. Their shared moments under the ancient oak tree became the highlights of his days, and her resilience, coupled with an uncanny ability to discover beauty in the seemingly mundane, had become a source of both fascination and warmth for him. In the quiet corners of his heart, a realization dawned — Arush was falling in love with Shiuli.

"I think I love you, Shiuli."

The confession hung heavy in the air, a fragile bridge between two hearts. But instead of the jubilant response he anticipated, Shiuli met his words with a different expression — sadness etched across her delicate features. Concern etched Arush's brow as he asked, "What's wrong?"

Shiuli nodded her head, a melancholic smile playing on her lips.

"Tell me," Arush pressed, his own heart echoing the solemnity of her mood.

"What is love for you?" Shiuli posed a question that echoed through the rustling leaves above and the soft murmurs of the breeze.

"Love... Uh..." Arush stammered, caught off guard. He pondered for a moment, his thoughts racing to find words that captured the essence of what he felt. "Love means affection. Love means that I want to spend all my time with you."

A gentle laughter escaped Shiuli's lips, a sound that carried both wisdom and a touch of sorrow. Arush stood perplexed, the weight of her question lingering in the air. "You haven't realized the meaning of Love, Arush," she replied, her footsteps carrying her away, leaving him with a puzzle to unravel.

Since that day, Arush embarked on a quest to decipher the enigma of love as Shiuli perceived it. He shared with her the newfound meanings he discovered in the language of flowers and promised to reveal the wonders of Kolkata, a city bursting with life and stories. Arush vowed to return for her, to fight for her and provide a life adorned with beauty. "I have lost my mother's affection and love, but this time I won't lose you," he passionately declared.

Yet, Shiuli's heart remained guarded, her confession eluding him. "Find me when you truly know the meaning of love, Arush," were her parting words, leaving him with an uncharted path to traverse.

One evening, as the golden hues of the setting sun painted the sky, Arush felt a gentle breeze whispering secrets of its own. Walking alongside Shiuli, the air seemed pregnant with unspoken words, and he decided it was time to express the burgeoning feelings within him.

"Tomorrow," Arush began, his voice carrying the delicate vulnerability of petals fluttering in the evening breeze, "my grandmother is organizing a Kirtan in our house. Will you be coming?"

The usual radiant smile that adorned Shiuli's face seemed to falter, replaced by a fleeting expression Arush couldn't quite decipher. Her onyx eyes, usually reflecting the calm depths of the night sky, now held a mysterious flicker. "Tomorrow, I can't visit you, Arush," she replied in a subdued whisper.

Perplexed, Arush furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

Shiuli hesitated, her gaze momentarily drawn to the ground as if concealing a secret woven into the roots of the giant oak. "Tomorrow, I have to be somewhere."

Arush, grappling with confusion, couldn't fathom the sudden change in her plans. For the past eight days, not once had she taken a day off from their meeting.

His frown deepened as he tried to decipher the enigma behind her denial. As an orphan with no apparent commitments, what could be so significant about tomorrow? The absence of her usual openness left a void of understanding, and Arush, though respectful of her privacy, couldn't shake off the nagging curiosity that lingered like a shadow beneath the ancient branches.

****

The next day unfolded according to plan, with the village enveloped in preparations for the Kirtan on the auspicious occasion of Purnima. The air buzzed with a sense of community as Arush's grandmother extended invitations to a few locals for the evening ceremony. Arush, however, found himself caught in the vortex of approaching exams, and his mind seemed more adrift than anchored in his studies.

Unbeknownst to him, whispers had circled the village about Arush being ensnared by the claws of a witch. Concerned for her grandson's well-being, his grandmother wasted no time in taking action, arranging the Kirtan as a protective measure. Arush remained oblivious to the true motive behind his grandmother's efforts.

Haribhanga village had a tradition of organizing Kirtans during every Purnima(Full Moon), a ritual believed to ward off bad omens, witches, and evil spirits from the village. On this day, the entire community engaged in the sacred ceremony, chanting hymns to invoke divine blessings. The light would always defeat the darkness, they believed. 

A few saints and priests had come to his grandmother's house.

Arush found himself immersed in the holy proceedings, his grandmother ensuring there was no escape for him. Yet, amidst the prayers and rituals, Arush's heart lingered with thoughts of Shiuli.

As the day progressed, and the evening hues painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, Arush's anticipation grew. During the distribution of Prasad by his grandmother, his eyes lit up with happiness as he noticed Shiuli's friends among the attendees. However, a shadow of disappointment crossed his face when he realized Shiuli was not among them.

Puzzled, he wondered why she wasn't there, questioning the absence of the one person who had become a source of solace for him. He wanted to see her, to know if she was well, and to understand where she might be at that moment.

Determined to unravel the mystery of her absence, Arush decided to approach Shiuli's friends.

"Hi," Arush approached the group of girls standing together, immersed in laughter and animated conversation. However, the moment their eyes fell upon Arush, their expressions shifted, their faces losing colour. Arush felt a chill down his spine but pushed the unease aside, determined to find Shiuli.

"Do you know where Shiuli is?" he inquired, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the group.

Instead of offering a straightforward reply, the girls exchanged surprised glances, an unspoken tension filling the air. Puzzled, Arush probed, "What's wrong?"

"Shiuli?" one of them asked, her voice carrying a tone of genuine surprise.

Arush couldn't fathom the reason behind their reaction. Is she safe? Is something wrong? A sudden wave of concern washed over him.

"Yes, Shiuli. Your friend," Arush clarified. "Is she fine?"

Once again, the girls exchanged glances, heightening Arush's anxiety. "What's wrong?" he insisted. "Will you tell me?"

Breaking the silence, one of them spoke in a low whisper, "Shiuli... is not our friend."

Arush's brow furrowed in confusion. How could they say that? Shiuli was a constant presence in their daily lives, sharing the journey to the village. Just because she had a difficult past, it didn't justify denying her existence and the bond they shared. Arush couldn't comprehend the callousness of their words.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Taking a deep breath, the girls exchanged glances, as if trying to convey a somber truth. "Shiuli is not our friend because she died three months ago!"

The words hung in the air, and Arush felt a crushing weight descend upon him. "What?" he almost yelled, shock and disbelief gripping his senses. "How is that possible? I just saw her yesterday!"

****

How can this be true? Shiuli died three months back? Then who is the one he has spent all these days with? How can they say that to her? Arush had felt her presence, Arush had felt her love, warmth, and affection. Then how...? His mind reeled in confusion.

"What nonsense?" Arush argued, his voice trembling with disbelief.

"It's true," one of the girls insisted. "Shiuli died three months back by attempting suicide in that old oak tree. Despite her difficult past, she was strong. Yet, the villagers always hated her. On one Amabasya (No moon) night, she was found hanging on the tree, right where her parents are buried."

The words hit Arush like a shockwave. The ground beneath him seemed to shift as the reality of Shiuli's absence settled in. So, all this time, was it her spirit?

"No," Arush whispered as he ran. He recalled all the incidents that had happened in these days with him and Shiuli. The first day she gave him the bouquet of roses that he threw on the floor. The meeting was in the village outskirts where she and her friends were being bullied. How she saved the boy that day, how they became friends, and he fell in love. All those moments spent together. All those promises. Were they all fake? No, they can't be!

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sprinted towards the tree where Shiuli stayed. He wanted to bring her here and tell them that they were all liars. Their love wasn't fake. She wasn't fake!

"Shiuli!" he called as he approached the giant tree. "Shiuli? Where are you?"

He waited for her response, but unlike any other day, Shiuli's smiling face didn't appear. Her girlish laughter remained absent. She didn't reply.

Meanwhile, his grandmother arrived along with the priests and other villagers. "Arush!" she called when she spotted him under the tree.

"Grandma!" Arush almost cried. "Shiuli... she... They..." He couldn't find the words as he sobbed. In this short duration of time, Shiuli was the one who had made him smile again. How could all those moments be fake? "They say..." He couldn't complete his sentence.

"Shhh..." His grandmother tried to console him. "Shiuli is dead, my dear. She is believed to be a witch now. You have been under her influence!"

"No...!" He yelled. "This can't be true. I... we have been meeting every day since I came here. She told me so many stories about flowers, her life, and..." He sighed. "I told her everything about me. And she helped me cure my allergies from flowers, and..."

"Witches have many powers, Arush!" one of the priests told him. "Shiuli has always been a good child. But somehow she had always been mistreated. The pain and hatred from the people had made her what she is now. She chose the path of darkness and sacrificed herself in the hands of the dark lord. She is nothing but an evil spirit now who wanted to take advantage of you, Arush!"

"That's nonsense!" Arush argued. "Shiuli has never harmed me. Neither did she harm anyone ever. In fact, that day when the boys were bullying her and her friends but ended up falling in the lake, it was Shiuli who helped them!"

The villagers gasped at his words.

"And... she lives right here. I come here often to meet her. Why are you all lying?"

"If so, then where is she now?" the priest asked. "Call her to come before us if she was human!"

"Shiuli...." He called one last time, realizing that maybe something might have happened to her. Or maybe...

But he couldn't find any more reasons as his head began to spin. Shiuli never came.

Her laughter echoed in his head. Her melodic voice rang in his head. Everything began to spin. It was too much, and before he could comprehend, darkness engulfed him in its embrace.

****

By the time he regained consciousness, Arush found himself in a sterile hospital room. His parents sat beside him, their faces etched with concern.

"Arush, how are you feeling, son?" His father inquired.

Arush, disoriented, glanced around. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, dear. You had a bit of a fall," his mother explained.

The doctor entered the room, wearing a reassuring smile. "Arush, good to see you awake. How's your head feeling?"

"Headache," Arush replied, rubbing his temples.

After a thorough examination, the doctor suggested, "Let's take a stroll, shall we?"

They made their way to the hospital garden, adorned with various flowers. As they walked, the doctor gently broached the subject.

"Arush, do you remember when we first met a few years ago?"

Arush nodded faintly.

"You came to me with allergies to flowers. We worked on a treatment plan, but the psychological aspect intrigued me. You seemed to have a complex relationship with flowers, especially roses."

Arush furrowed his brow, sensing a revelation.

The doctor continued, "Arush, you developed a psychological condition called confabulation. It's a memory disturbance where your mind fills in gaps with fabricated information. You've created a detailed scenario, complete with characters and events, to cope with certain traumas in your life."

Arush looked puzzled, struggling to comprehend.

"Your aversion to flowers, especially roses, was a manifestation of an unresolved issue. The mind sometimes protects itself by constructing alternate realities," the doctor explained.

As they reached a section with roses, the doctor elaborated, "In your case, it began when you were seven. Your parents' separation left a void, and the trauma led to the creation of a coping mechanism. The 'Shiuli' you remember, the experiences in Haribhanga village, they were all part of your mind's way of dealing with loneliness and abandonment."

Arush felt a mix of disbelief and realization.

"The fall triggered a momentary dissociation, revealing the construct of your imagination. Shiuli, the village, even the events of the past few days, were products of your mind," the doctor continued.

Arush grappled with the truth, trying to reconcile the world he thought was real with this new perspective.

The doctor reassured him, "You're not 'crazy,' Arush. Your mind employed a survival mechanism. Now, with proper therapy and support, we can help you distinguish between reality and the constructed world in your mind."

Arush's emotions swirled as he began to accept the intricacies of his psychological landscape. The doctor emphasized, "Understanding and healing are possible, Arush. You have the strength to navigate through this."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the hospital garden, Arush took a tentative step toward unravelling the complex tapestry of his mind. The journey to recovery had just begun.

****

After seven years, Arush once again visited the Haribanga village. He was a grown man now, with a good profession, and he also had a girlfriend. He took her to visit his grandmother. Meera was a lovely girl who knew all about his past and had accepted him without a second thought.

Today, when he stood before the big oak tree, all his feelings were refreshed. The laughter, the time together, and everything else came like a wave of flashbacks. But instead of being sad, he was truly happy today. He held a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

After all, he had found the meaning of love.

The place had changed a bit; unlike before, the tree had become older now and grew many wildflowers in between the rose plants.

"You once inquired about the essence of love," Arush murmured to the rustling leaves above. A soft smile touched his lips. "At that moment, I was at a loss for words. Yet, today, I stand here with a profound understanding. Love is the embodiment of freedom, transcending the boundaries that confine our spirits. It's a delicate dance between fantasy and reality, weaving a tapestry of hope that sustains us through time. Love is a mesmerizing paradox—a captivating lie that entwines us in the realms of both the past and the present. It unfolds the exquisite beauty of life, seamlessly blending the fantastical with the tangible, creating a world that exists somewhere between our dreams and reality."

He placed the roses under the tree as he whispered. "Thank you for loving me beyond time and reality."

Only a gush of wind passed him, touching his cheeks with a warm breeze in the chilly evening of October.

As Arush and Meera walked away, the rustling leaves seemed to whisper secrets of a love that defied time. The air held a lingering mystery, and just as they turned away, a faint echo of laughter, reminiscent of Shiuli's, floated in the breeze, leaving them both with a sense of wonder and an unspoken question in their hearts.