The Diwali mela on Roshan College's central lawn was a riot of colour and noise. Strings of marigold and mango leaves hung from every lamp post, diyas flickered in carefully arranged patterns along the pathways, and the air was thick with the scent of frying pakoras, sweet jalebis, and the sharp tang of burnt sparklers. Students milled about in their festive best, girls in lehenga cholis that glittered with mirror work, boys in embroidered kurtas trying very hard to look casual and failing beautifully. Music blared from speakers somewhere, a mix of the latest Bollywood dance numbers and old Diwali classics, and everywhere there was laughter, teasing, and the crackle of fireworks.

Meera should have been happy. She was wearing a new outfit, a deep emerald lehenga that Kavya had insisted made her look like a dream, and her hands were patterned with fresh mehendi, the henna a dark, rich burgundy against her skin. She should have been laughing and eating too many sweets and enjoying her first Diwali away from home. Instead, her stomach was a tight knot of anxiety, and every flash of a familiar silhouette in the crowd made her heart seize.