The temple was alive with quiet purpose.
Soft footsteps echoed through the marble corridors, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine curling through the air as devotees moved with reverence. The morning sun filtered through intricately carved windows, casting golden patterns across the stone floors, bathing the courtyard in warm light.
Aaravi had always loved the mornings here.
They were sacred—not because of the prayers or the rituals, but because they were unchanged. Constant. Predictable. A rhythm she had relied on for most of her life.
But today, even the temple's steadiness did not settle her heart.
She sat near the sacred pool, her fingers trailing over the water's cool surface. Her reflection wavered, distorted by the ripples.
She did not recognize herself.
For the first time in years, she was waiting.
She hated waiting.
Aaravi had never been someone who sought things for herself. She was a giver—it was in her nature, in the way she moved, in the way she breathed. She gave without thinking, without hesitation, without condition.
And she gave until nothing remained.
Her hands had held wounds that were not hers. Her voice had soothed pain she did not feel. She had been the light in other people's darkness, never once asking for a single flame in return.
She had given.
And given.
And given.
But never had she stopped to ask what was left of her.
"You are unsettled again."
Mira's voice was gentle but firm, pulling Aaravi from her thoughts.
She turned to find her mentor watching her with knowing eyes. Mira had been with her since childhood, had seen her grow, stumble, rise again. If there was one person who could see through her, it was Mira.
Aaravi sighed, withdrawing her hand from the water. "I feel as if I am standing at the edge of something, but I don't know what."
Mira sat beside her, smoothing the folds of her robe. "That is because you have spent your life walking forward. You do not know how to stand still."
Aaravi let out a breath, shaking her head. "I have never believed in fate the way others do. I believed in choices. In action. Not in waiting for the world to change around me."
"And yet, here you are," Mira mused. "Waiting."
Aaravi exhaled sharply, frustration curling in her chest.
She had never been the one who needed.
She had never been the one who asked.
She had been a child when she first learned the weight of sacrifice.
Not because of loss.
But because of what loss does to the ones left behind.
Her baby brother had died before she had ever truly known him. She could not recall his face, only the emptiness his absence had left behind.
Her mother had never been the same.
Where once there had been warmth, there was distance. Her mother still lived, still breathed, still existed in the same house—but she had never returned from her grief.
And so, Aaravi had learned to fill the spaces her brother had left behind.
She had tried to be good enough. To be soft enough, kind enough, loving enough—to be everything her mother no longer had.
But it had never been enough.
And so, she had learned to give.
She gave to strangers, to the sick, to the wounded—because giving was the only way she knew how to be seen.
The only person who had ever looked at her and truly seen her had been her father.
A healer like her, though far greater than she could ever hope to be.
He had been the one to show her that healing was more than just herbs and salves. It was more than mending broken bones or soothing fevers.
It was being present.
It was giving love where it had been lost.
He had made the world feel safe, even when it was not.
But even he had not been able to give her what she had truly needed.
She had been healing others her whole life.
But who had ever healed her?
Mira's voice was soft beside her. "You have spent your life healing others, Aaravi. But tell me this—who has ever healed you?"
Aaravi's breath caught in her throat.
No one.
No one had ever asked that before.
No one had ever seen the way she carried others' burdens, how she took on their wounds, how she had stitched herself together with the pieces of everyone she had saved.
She had never been the one in need.
Mira reached over, taking Aaravi's hands in her own. "Perhaps it is time for you to receive what you so freely give."
Aaravi swallowed hard.
"I do not know if I can," she admitted.
Mira squeezed her hands. "You do not have to know. You only have to be willing."
The words sent a shiver down Aaravi's spine.
For years, she had walked this path alone. She had believed she was meant to be only a guide, only a healer. But now…
Now, she wondered if she, too, was meant to be healed.
The bell rang in the distance, signaling the beginning of the mid-morning prayers.
Mira stood, brushing dust from her robes. "Come, child. The temple does not stop for waiting hearts."
Aaravi hesitated only a moment before rising.
She would go about her day, tend to her people, and offer healing where it was needed.
Even if, deep inside her, a whisper remained—
That soon, her world would change forever.