The village woke before the sun did.

And somehow, Pankhuri always woke before the village.

Not because she had an alarm.

She didn't own one.

Her grandfather's old phone could barely hold a charge, let alone wake anyone at five in the morning.

She simply knew.

The moment the first temple bell travelled through the cool morning air, her eyes opened.

She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

Then sighed.

"Bas... subah ho gayi."

Another day.

Another morning.

Another list of little things waiting for her.

She pushed her thin blanket aside and sat up.

Her room was small enough that three steps could take her from one wall to another.

A wooden cupboard stood in one corner.

A little mirror hung crookedly above it.

Two everyday salwar suits were folded neatly on a shelf.

And beside the window sat an old schoolbag she hadn't used in years.

Pankhuri looked at it for a moment before turning away.

She slipped her feet into her worn slippers and opened the door.

---

"Pankhu?"

Her grandmother's voice came from the kitchen.

"Haan, Dadi!"

"Uth gayi?"

"Nahi."

A pause.

"Main toh sapne mein chal rahi hoon."

Her grandmother immediately laughed.

"Bahut badmaash ho gayi hai tu."

Pankhuri entered the kitchen with a smile.

"Chai bana du?"

"Pehle muh toh dho le."

"Dho liya."

"Jhooth."

Pankhuri touched both cheeks dramatically.

"Dekho, bilkul saaf."

"Ja!"

She laughed and ran toward the courtyard.

For a girl who had very little, Pankhuri had somehow learned to make ordinary things feel special.

A cup of chai.

Warm sunlight.

Freshly washed clothes.

Her grandmother's scolding.

Her grandfather pretending not to listen.

She didn't have much.

But she had home.

And to Pankhuri-

that was everything.

---

By seven, the courtyard was swept.

By eight, breakfast was ready.

By nine, her grandfather had gone outside.

And by ten, Pankhuri was sitting on the floor with a pile of lentils in front of her, carefully separating the stones from the grains.

Her grandmother watched her.

"Kal school ki Meena aayi thi."

Pankhuri looked up.

"Achha?"

"Haan. Bol rahi thi college ja rahi hai."

Pankhuri smiled.

"Good."

"Tu bhi ja sakti thi."

Her fingers paused.

Only for a second.

"Dadi..."

"Haan?"

"Aapko pata hai na."

Her grandmother looked away.

Pankhuri continued sorting the lentils.

"Class ten tak hi toh padh paayi."

She said it lightly.

Almost as though it didn't matter.

Because she'd learned not to make her grandparents feel guilty for things they couldn't afford.

They had paid her school fees.

Bought her books.

Bought her uniform.

Saved for her examination form.

After that-

there simply wasn't enough.

So Pankhuri had stopped asking.

But stopping wasn't the same as forgetting.

She still loved learning.

Sometimes she borrowed old books from the village schoolteacher.

Sometimes she copied English words into a little notebook.

Sometimes she stood outside the computer shop and watched children use the machines.

She didn't know how they worked.

She didn't even know what half the buttons did.

But she wanted to learn.

She wanted to know what existed beyond the little world she'd grown up in.

Maybe that was her quiet secret.

She wasn't unhappy with her life.

She simply wanted more from it.

---

Around noon, Pankhuri took the bicycle toward the market.

The road was dusty.

The sun was harsh.

Her dupatta kept slipping from her shoulder.

She stopped twice to fix it.

Once because a goat decided the middle of the road belonged to him.

And once because she saw an airplane.

Pankhuri stopped completely.

The bicycle stood beside her.

Her face tilted toward the sky.

There it was.

Tiny.

White.

Moving silently above the village.

Her eyes followed it.

"Ek din..."

She smiled.

"Main bhi."

A passing woman heard her.

"Pankhuri! Kisse baat kar rahi hai?"

Pankhuri immediately looked down.

"Kisi se nahi!"

The woman laughed.

"Pagli!"

Pankhuri smiled.

She waited until the airplane disappeared.

Then continued cycling.

She didn't know how someone became a pilot.

She didn't know how much it cost.

She didn't know whether someone like her could ever sit inside that cockpit.

But her father had once looked at the sky and dreamed.

And perhaps some dreams are inherited.

For now, Pankhuri chased hers from the ground.

---

The market was crowded.

Pankhuri bought vegetables, oil, and the medicine her grandmother needed.

She counted every rupee twice.

At the sweet shop, she stopped.

Jalebis.

Fresh ones.

Golden and warm.

Her stomach betrayed her.

She stared.

The shopkeeper smiled.

"Leni hai?"

Pankhuri shook her head.

"Nahi."

"Achhi hai."

"I know."

"Phir?"

She smiled.

"Dadaji ko diabetes hai."

The shopkeeper laughed.

"Apne liye le jao."

Pankhuri shook her head again.

"Dadi daantengi."

She walked away.

Five steps later, she turned back.

"Bhaiya..."

"Haan?"

"Do chhoti wali dena."

---

By evening, the sky had turned orange.

Pankhuri sat on the rooftop while her grandmother dried papad beside her.

"Dadi?"

"Haan?"

"Mummy kaisi thi?"

Her grandmother's hands stopped.

Just for a second.

Then she continued.

"Bahut khoobsurat."

"Main jaisi?"

"Bilkul nahi."

Pankhuri gasped.

"Accha!"

Dadi laughed.

"Tu toh usse bhi zyada sawaal karti hai."

Pankhuri smiled.

"Unhe kya pasand tha?"

"Bahut kuch."

"Khana?"

"Imarti."

Pankhuri immediately looked offended.

"Isliye mujhe jalebi pasand hai?"

"Ho sakta hai."

Pankhuri laughed.

She wanted to ask more.

She always did.

But there was something in her grandmother's expression that made her stop.

So she simply leaned against her shoulder.

Some questions could wait.

At least-

that's what Pankhuri believed.

---

After dinner, Pankhuri sat beside her grandfather.

"Dadaji?"

"Haan."

"Papa sach mein pilot the?"

He smiled.

"Bahut ache pilot the."

"Unhone mujhe kabhi plane mein bithaya tha?"

"Tu bahut chhoti thi."

Pankhuri's eyes dropped.

"Yaad kyun nahi hai mujhe?"

Her grandfather looked at her for a moment.

"Kyuki kuch yaadein waqt apne saath le jaata hai."

She didn't understand.

But she didn't ask.

Instead, she rested her chin on her knees.

"Papa ko aasman itna pasand tha?"

"Bahut."

"Isliye mujhe bhi pasand hai?"

"Ho sakta hai."

Pankhuri smiled.

Then, after a moment-

"Main bhi pilot banungi."

Her grandfather looked at her.

"Sach?"

She nodded seriously.

"Sach."

"Par beta, pilot banna aasaan nahi hai."

"I know."

"Paise bhi lagenge."

"I know."

"Padhai bhi karni padegi."

Pankhuri became quiet.

She knew that part too.

Her Class 10 books were still sitting inside her room.

She knew she needed more education.

She knew her grandparents couldn't afford it.

And she knew she couldn't ask them for something they couldn't give.

Still, she smiled.

"Dadaji..."

"Haan?"

"Main koshish toh kar sakti hoon na?"

Her grandfather looked at her for a long moment.

Then held out his little finger.

"Kar."

Pankhuri hooked hers around it.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Above them, an airplane crossed the night sky.

Pankhuri followed it until it became nothing more than a tiny moving light.

Her eyes were full of dreams.

Not expensive dreams.

Not impossible dreams.

Just one simple wish-

to see the world from above someday.

She smiled.

"Goodnight, Papa."

She didn't know whether he could hear her.

But she s

aid it anyway.

Because some people leave this world...

but never really leave the hearts that loved them.

Pankhuri got up, dusted her dupatta, and went downstairs.

Tomorrow would be another ordinary day.

Another morning.

Another cup of Dadi's chai.

Another list of little things to do.

And for now-

Pankhuri was happy with that.

---

🌸 AUTHOR'S NOTE

Meet Pankhuri-before the world changes her.

I hope you fall for her little world before you fall for her story. ♡

- ALISIAN INK 🖋️