The sun had barely risen over the sleepy village of Nandanpur. The morning fog still clung to the earth like a whisper, soft and cool, as 17-year-old Ishanvi stepped out of her small mud-brick house. Her school uniform, neatly ironed and slightly faded from repeated use, fluttered in the breeze. She tightened her scarf and looked back to call her siblings.
"Raghav! Vrinda! Vivaan! Time to go!" she called, balancing her worn schoolbag over her shoulder.
Raghav, 14 and full of energy, stumbled out of the door next, pulling on his shoes with one hand and munching on a dry piece of jaggery in the other. Vrinda, 12, followed him while fixing her braids, and ten-year-old Vivaan came running with his notebook nearly slipping from his bag.
Across the narrow dusty lane, Abhay Sharma, 18, was doing the same, corralling his own trio of younger siblings: Vaidehi, 15 and graceful; Aariv, 13 and quiet; and Meera, 10 — who always seemed to be smiling.
They were all neighbors, best friends, and more importantly, a small family in themselves.
"Let's go or we'll miss the bridge ferry," Abhay called over.
"We're not that late," Ishanvi shot back with a smile.
The teasing started immediately. "Firefly is glowing bright today," Abhay grinned, using the nickname he often called Ishanvi, a habit he'd started after she once lit up a dark forest trail with her torch, leading everyone safely through.
"Careful, Ripple," Ishanvi smirked, returning the nickname she had given him after a stormy evening when he rescued Meera from the river without hesitation. "Don't fall into Sudarshini today."
Their banter made the early morning more bearable as they all hopped on to four old scooters, two kids on each, tightly packed but used to the discomfort. The ride to Devgarh was 20 kilometers long, through narrow winding paths, across the wooden bridge over the Sudarshini River, and through the dense, shadowed woods of Chandravan.
It was a long, sometimes dangerous journey, but they had done it every day for years.
Their parents could not afford private transport or tiffin for breakfast. Meals were often limited to dinner only, a frugal yet filling meal that kept them going. Still, no one complained. They had dreams too big to let hunger weigh them down.
As the scooters buzzed through the river mist, the first golden rays of sun bounced off the water. Vivaan and Meera, both in Class 5, shared stories and poked fun at Raghav and Vaidehi, who were in Class 9. Vrinda and Aariv, now in Class 7, were the quieter pair, often observing more than they spoke, but always ready with a sharp comeback.
"Are you two going to be doctors or just dreamers forever?" Vaidehi teased from her seat behind Raghav.
"One day you'll see," Ishanvi replied, a little too seriously. "I will become a doctor."
"And I'll build the best hospital for her," Abhay added quietly, keeping his eyes on the road. Everyone fell silent for a moment, struck by the tenderness of the moment, even though they quickly masked it with more teasing.
Devgarh High School stood tall, with its peeling white walls and large banyan tree at the gate. The bell rang sharply at 7:30 AM just as they parked their scooters outside. The school, though underfunded, was known for its few excellent teachers and a strict principal who believed in discipline and merit.
Abhay and Ishanvi parted ways at the gate. Though both were in Class 12, Abhay had taken the science stream with mathematics and technical drawing to pursue civil engineering, while Ishanvi had chosen biology, determined to wear a doctor's coat someday.
"Don't forget we have practicals today," Ishanvi reminded him.
"Only if you don't burn the lab down with your fire magic," he whispered with a wink, before walking off.
Ishanvi shook her head and smiled. She loved how he made her laugh, even on stressful days.
Their classrooms were small but packed with hope. Ishanvi sat in the third row beside the window. From there, she could see the trees swaying, and sometimes if she squinted, the Sudarshini River in the far distance. It calmed her.
"Someday," she whispered, "I'll cross you as a doctor."
Meanwhile, in the next building, Abhay sketched bridge models in his notebook. His teacher noticed and smiled. "You want to build bridges, Abhay?"
"Yes, sir. Stronger ones. Ones that won't break in floods."
That afternoon, the younger siblings gathered during break under the mango tree behind the school, all munching on borrowed bites from their classmates' lunchboxes. No one brought food, but their friends often shared.
"If I ever become rich," Aariv said, "I'll open a kitchen at school so no one stays hungry."
"And I'll fill it with solar-powered ovens!" Meera chimed in.
They laughed, all knowing that their dreams were not just dreams — they were promises.
The last bell rang at 1:30 PM, and the long ride home began. As the scooters sped through the forest path, a gust of wind swept dry leaves around them.
"The forest is whispering again," Vivaan said softly.
"Just like it did that night..." Meera added, her voice trailing off.
No one said more. They didn't like talking about that night — the one when the rain fell for days and Sudarshini had swallowed half the village. But that was still in the future.
For now, the year had just begun. The exams were months away. The road was long, and their stomachs were empty, but their hearts were full — of fire, of ripples, and of dreams.