And as the first firework of the evening festival exploded above them, Ayan realized that being “deewana”—crazy—wasn’t a fall. It was the only flight that mattered.
She shrugged, a wicked grin spreading. “What? A girl has to get a philosopher’s attention somehow.”
She laughed. That sound. It wasn’t just a laugh; it was a spell. Chan-chan… chhan-chhan… like the very anklets she wore had learned to sing.
For a second, the rain was silent. Her kohl-lined eyes held the mischief of a thousand storms. Her name was Zara, he’d learn later. But in that moment, she was simply the force that shattered his grey world into a million brilliant colours.