The temple was unusually still for an evening aarti, the usual hustle softened under a heavy sky. The scent of incense swayed through the air as the bell chimed in rhythmic intervals. Mihir stood near the banyan tree with his arms folded as he stared into the flickering diya flame that refused to go out despite the wind picking up. His silhouette was calm and unmoving but his eyes told a different story in contrast.
Peace was something far away from his mind but he had succumbed to his mother's request to do a ritual on his sister's behalf for her wellbeing, His mother convinced him and Laila incessantly but he finally caved so it doesn't trouble Laila. He straightened his Kurta and saw the skies changing into darker shades, like how his life was. There was a storm already brewing behind them long before the thunder grumbled in the distance.
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