The town square glowed like a lantern come alive. Fairy lights dangled from trees, strings of bulbs looped across stalls, and music pulsed through the evening air with a bass that vibrated in the chest. Lanterns bobbed above the crowd, swaying like tiny suns. The smell of roasted corn, fried noodles, and sugarcane juice wrapped around everything, sweet and sharp. The gang arrived together, laughter spilling ahead of them. Sana spread her arms as though she owned the night. “Finally! My element—chaos, lights, music, food. Admit it—you’ve all missed me dragging you into this madness.” Riyan gave a mock bow. “We missed your chaos the least. But sure, lead the way, Drama Queen.” Ved adjusted his glasses, scanning the crowd with cautious disapproval. “This many people in one place… safety regulations must be a nightmare.” “God, Ved,” Sana groaned, “you’ve gotten even more boring.” Abhay trailed a step behind, Freddo pressed to his leg, the dog’s nose twitching at the scents. For a moment, the noise and color swallowed him whole. It’s the same festival. The same lights. But we’re not the same kids.
And yet, in a flash, he remembered them sneaking in years ago without tickets, pressed together in nervous laughter. Mrudula bribing the bored guard with a box of her mother’s ladoos, grinning at them all when he waved them through. They had danced barefoot in the mud that night, chanting nonsense songs until their throats ached. The memory shimmered so vividly, he almost expected to see their younger selves in the crowd.
They headed for the food stalls first. Sana darted between vendors like a queen inspecting her court. She shoved a skewer of chili-laden dumplings under Ved’s nose. “Remember this?” Ved recoiled. “Never again.” Riyan laughed, smacking Ved’s back. “He nearly died last time. Bright red, sweating like a furnace. We had to pour three bottles of water on him.” “I was poisoned,” Ved muttered. “Deliberately.”
Abhay couldn’t help smiling. He remembered the Polaroid Riyan had taken—Ved gasping, cheeks flaming, while Sana posed beside him holding a victory sign.
Still tastes the same,” Sana declared, popping a dumpling into her mouth with a flourish.
Nearby, Tia bought cotton candy, tearing a piece delicately. Riyan smirked.
“Wait. Didn’t little miss fearless once think cotton candy was monster hair?”
Tia rolled her eyes, but color touched her cheeks. “And you once cried because a pigeon flew at your head. People grow up, Riyan.” The laughter that followed was the warm kind, the kind that closed old gaps without effort.
Then Sana dragged them to the stage. “Dance. All of you. No excuses.”
The DJ’s beat thundered through the crowd, lights strobing across faces.
At first, Ved refused, arms crossed. Abhay shuffled awkwardly. Tia swayed, half-hearted. But Sana was relentless, tugging hands, spinning them into the rhythm. And slowly—hesitantly—their bodies remembered.
They laughed, bumped shoulders, shouted nonsense over the music. For a moment, Abhay felt it again—the six of them at sixteen, chanting their ridiculous cheer: “Six against the world!” He could almost hear Mrudula’s laughter, see her wiping tears of joy as Riyan toppled a table mid-dance.
The ghost of that chant lingered in the air, even though no one said it now.
And then—
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