Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 69: Chapter 69
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 69: Chapter 69. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The mountains gave way to lowland fields and a city just beginning to stir awake under golden haze. Parbatipur smelled of incense and dust, chai and marigolds. Music drifted from temple courtyards. A group of barefoot children danced in circles around an old transistor radio blaring Bollywood songs.
Dahlia and Markus passed through a narrow market lane. She wore a faded shawl. He had a cloth wrapped over his shoulder. They moved like shadows, but not unnoticed.
"Markus," she whispered, nodding at a small boy coughing beneath a banyan tree. His eyes were red. His chest wheezed with every breath.
Markus didn’t hesitate. He approached the boy’s mother, crouched beside him. “May I help?”
The woman looked startled. She clutched her son closer. “You… you’re the ones,” she said in Hindi. “From the mountains.”
Dahlia knelt gently. “I don’t want to hurt him. I want to ease his breath.”
The mother studied her, then nodded once, slowly.
Dahlia placed two flower petals lightly on the boy’s forehead. A green glow bloomed beneath her palm — subtle, like moonlight over still water. The boy exhaled. Then again. Slower. Stronger.
The market stilled around them.
Later – A Rooftop Balcony in the City
They were offered food and shelter in a guesthouse above a small apothecary, owned by a widower named Prabha. She brewed spiced tea while telling them stories of the monsoon ghosts who haunted the rooftop garden.
“You’ve got hands like the goddess,” Prabha said to Dahlia, setting a cup down. “And the walk of someone who’s lost too many homes.”
“I had one,” Dahlia murmured. “Once. But I left it behind to find something smaller. Someone smaller.”
Prabha smiled gently. “Sometimes we find ourselves by chasing shadows.”
Markus watched Dahlia across the table, something soft rising behind his eyes.
After tea, they sat alone in the rooftop garden. Lanterns swayed gently in the dusk breeze.
“You didn’t say anything,” Dahlia said.
“About?”
“When I healed the boy.”
Markus leaned back in the creaking bamboo chair. “I was watching you. You didn’t see the way his mother looked at you.”
“She looked afraid.”
“She looked like she saw her child’s future again.”
Dahlia ran her hand through the ivy growing along the railing. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m giving life… or just buying time.”
Markus stood and walked to her, taking her hand.
“You’re not a miracle machine,” he said. “You’re a person. A beautiful one. The fact that you care at all — that’s the real gift.”
Meanwhile – In the Streets
Whispers grew:
“The flower girl is real. My uncle saw her heal a child who hadn’t spoken in months.”
“The tall man with her — he gave his food to a dog missing a leg.”
“They disappear after dusk. The flowers they leave behind — they don’t wilt.”
In a cramped tea shop near the railway station, two rickshaw drivers debated:
“She’s dangerous. You saw what happened in the north — the glowing girl, the army raid? They bring trouble.”
“No. The real trouble was what they were doing to the children. You forget the fire. The screams.”
Farther down the alley, an old woman with cloudy eyes whispered to a beggar:
“I dreamed of her. The bloom child. She walks with the guardian. And she carries thunder in her heart.”
Nightfall – In Their Shared Room
Their guest room had woven mats and a window that looked out onto the flickering city. Dahlia sat on the edge of her bed, watching fireflies spark in a jar the children had left them.
Markus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, silent for a while.
Then: “You never asked me what I was before this.”
She looked over at him. “What were you?”
He shrugged. “A runner. A tracker. Someone who found things and didn’t ask questions. I was good at disappearing.”
“And now?”
“I follow flowers through warzones,” he said, smiling wryly. “And I fall in love with women who make the world grow again.”
She crossed the room slowly, stood in front of him. “You keep saying it without saying it.”
He touched her cheek. “I love you, Dahlia.”
And she leaned in, resting her forehead to his chest, vines curling softly across the floorboards.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
Dahlia and Markus passed through a narrow market lane. She wore a faded shawl. He had a cloth wrapped over his shoulder. They moved like shadows, but not unnoticed.
"Markus," she whispered, nodding at a small boy coughing beneath a banyan tree. His eyes were red. His chest wheezed with every breath.
Markus didn’t hesitate. He approached the boy’s mother, crouched beside him. “May I help?”
The woman looked startled. She clutched her son closer. “You… you’re the ones,” she said in Hindi. “From the mountains.”
Dahlia knelt gently. “I don’t want to hurt him. I want to ease his breath.”
The mother studied her, then nodded once, slowly.
Dahlia placed two flower petals lightly on the boy’s forehead. A green glow bloomed beneath her palm — subtle, like moonlight over still water. The boy exhaled. Then again. Slower. Stronger.
The market stilled around them.
Later – A Rooftop Balcony in the City
They were offered food and shelter in a guesthouse above a small apothecary, owned by a widower named Prabha. She brewed spiced tea while telling them stories of the monsoon ghosts who haunted the rooftop garden.
“You’ve got hands like the goddess,” Prabha said to Dahlia, setting a cup down. “And the walk of someone who’s lost too many homes.”
“I had one,” Dahlia murmured. “Once. But I left it behind to find something smaller. Someone smaller.”
Prabha smiled gently. “Sometimes we find ourselves by chasing shadows.”
Markus watched Dahlia across the table, something soft rising behind his eyes.
After tea, they sat alone in the rooftop garden. Lanterns swayed gently in the dusk breeze.
“You didn’t say anything,” Dahlia said.
“About?”
“When I healed the boy.”
Markus leaned back in the creaking bamboo chair. “I was watching you. You didn’t see the way his mother looked at you.”
“She looked afraid.”
“She looked like she saw her child’s future again.”
Dahlia ran her hand through the ivy growing along the railing. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m giving life… or just buying time.”
Markus stood and walked to her, taking her hand.
“You’re not a miracle machine,” he said. “You’re a person. A beautiful one. The fact that you care at all — that’s the real gift.”
Meanwhile – In the Streets
Whispers grew:
“The flower girl is real. My uncle saw her heal a child who hadn’t spoken in months.”
“The tall man with her — he gave his food to a dog missing a leg.”
“They disappear after dusk. The flowers they leave behind — they don’t wilt.”
In a cramped tea shop near the railway station, two rickshaw drivers debated:
“She’s dangerous. You saw what happened in the north — the glowing girl, the army raid? They bring trouble.”
“No. The real trouble was what they were doing to the children. You forget the fire. The screams.”
Farther down the alley, an old woman with cloudy eyes whispered to a beggar:
“I dreamed of her. The bloom child. She walks with the guardian. And she carries thunder in her heart.”
Nightfall – In Their Shared Room
Their guest room had woven mats and a window that looked out onto the flickering city. Dahlia sat on the edge of her bed, watching fireflies spark in a jar the children had left them.
Markus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, silent for a while.
Then: “You never asked me what I was before this.”
She looked over at him. “What were you?”
He shrugged. “A runner. A tracker. Someone who found things and didn’t ask questions. I was good at disappearing.”
“And now?”
“I follow flowers through warzones,” he said, smiling wryly. “And I fall in love with women who make the world grow again.”
She crossed the room slowly, stood in front of him. “You keep saying it without saying it.”
He touched her cheek. “I love you, Dahlia.”
And she leaned in, resting her forehead to his chest, vines curling softly across the floorboards.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 69. Continue reading Chapter 70 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.