||•BLACK WATERS•||

1.0

Vikram's POV

I stood on the balcony of my room, surveying the vast garden of the villa—my sanctuary. The sun was still hidden, the sky painted in soft hues of lavender and gold. The dew glistened like tiny jewels on the leaves of the plants that climbed the railings. I didn't know their names, but Saanvi adored them, and that was enough to make me smile. Just thinking about her sent a flutter through my heart, like the gentle rustle of leaves in a breeze.

Confusion tugged at my brow as I noticed an unusual flurry of activity in the garden. A swarm of workers moved about, their voices blending into a low, buzzing hum that unsettled the usual tranquility. Something was off, and curiosity gnawed at me.

I closed the ornate French window behind me, sealing off the cool morning breeze, and drew the heavy drapes, plunging my room into familiar shadows. Grabbing my old, worn-out jacket—the one that always made me feel warm and cozy despite its age—I quietly made my way downstairs, my steps barely making a sound against the polished floors.

As I reached the garden, the chatter faded, and a sudden hush fell over the workers. Maya, the maintenance supervisor, rushed toward me, her face lit with that determined spark I admired.

"Good morning, sir! Anything you want me to take care of?" she asked, her voice a blend of professionalism and warmth.

"Good morning, Maya! What's going on out here?" I queried, stepping closer to her. I waved to the others, signaling them to continue their tasks.

"It's just a routine check for sprinklers, sir," she explained, glancing back at the crew.

"Why so many people for that?" I wondered aloud, a sense of curiosity mingling with concern.

"Jhanvi ma'am requested a complete overhaul of the system; she found some leakages during her last inspection," Maya replied, jotting down notes with swift precision.

"Understood," I said, nodding. "And make sure the plants aren't overwatered. Saanvi's particular about them."

"Yes, sir!" She scribbled that down and walked alongside me for a moment, her confidence infectious.

"I'll take your leave then, sir?" she asked after a few minutes, glancing at me expectantly.

"Oh! Yes, of course. Have a great day, Maya!" I turned to her, offering a smile that felt lighter than before.

"Thank you, sir! You too have a wonderful day!" Her smile was bright, like the first ray of sunshine piercing through the clouds, and it lingered in the air even after she rushed back to her team.

As I watched Maya disappear into the sea of workers, her presence fading from view, I found myself reflecting on her. Maya was impressive—independent, outspoken, unwavering, and loyal. At one time, I felt drawn to her, but that spark had faded, leaving behind nothing more than respect for her work ethic.

I resumed walking along the grass pathway that led to the sprawling lawn and the heart of the garden. The cool, damp grass squished beneath my shoes, a reminder of simpler times. A part of me ached to take off my shoes, to feel the earth under my bare feet, and run free like I did as a child. But the weight of adulthood clung to me, tethering me to a reality where such innocence was no longer an option. Like most adults, I had abandoned the child within.

Gardening had been my grandmother's great love, just as it was for Saanvi. For some reason, I always linked Saanvi with the pink roses she adored—delicate, fragrant, and spreading joy wherever she went. Recently, I started noticing the uncanny similarities between Saanvi and my grandmother, traits I had never paid attention to before. Perhaps in my grandmother's absence, I was searching for pieces of her in others.