Chapter 19: The Little Light of the Village
The sound of laughter carried through the narrow village paths, mixing with the soft chiming of bells and the beat of hand drums. Bright-colored garlands made from fresh marigolds hung from the trees, and handmade ribbons danced in the breeze. Children darted between the huts with painted cheeks, clutching sweets, while the villagers gathered in the central clearing, whispering excitedly about the special day.
"Irene turns two today," one woman said with a proud smile. "She's our star."
"She's growing up so fast," another sighed. "So bright, so beautiful. Just like her mother."
Avrielle stood at the edge of the clearing, holding Irene on her hip. The toddler wore a light yellow dress Avrielle had sewn herself, adorned with tiny flowers embroidered along the hem. A crown of fresh jasmine sat on her soft curls, a gift from the old healer who insisted the fragrance would protect the child's soul.
"She's stealing all the attention again," Ian said as he walked up to them, placing a gentle kiss on both their foreheads.
"She doesn't even know why everyone's fussing over her," Avrielle chuckled, shifting Irene slightly on her hip.
The little girl stretched her arms out toward Ian, giggling. "Papa!"
Ian scooped her up, spinning her in the air, making her laugh even more. "That's my girl."
Their bond was something the entire village had come to adore. Ian had become the village's dependable rock — a young man of strength and kindness, always ready to help, always calm in crisis. Whether it was organizing work, helping with livestock, or carrying heavy loads for the elders, he did it all with humility.
And Avrielle… Avrielle had blossomed.
She'd become the heart of the women's circle. With her soft voice and warm eyes, she listened, guided, and shared. Her natural grace, despite her youth, had made her someone the others admired and trusted.
Their love — so pure and open — was the kind of story people whispered about during long nights beside the fire. Many said fate had brought them. Others, magic. Some believed they were blessed by the gods.
Only the truth had been long buried beneath the rituals and dreams.
"Look at her, Ian," Avrielle whispered as Irene clung to his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair. "Two years. I can't believe it."
"I can," Ian said softly, eyes locked on his daughter. "She's everything good in us."
A group of children ran past, calling Irene to join them. The little girl gave her parents a quick kiss on each cheek and tumbled down to join the others, running barefoot across the soft earth.
The villagers clapped as she toddled into the center of the clearing, where a small wooden swing had been decorated with colorful fabrics and hung from the thick branch of an old mango tree. Irene squealed as two older girls helped her onto it and began pushing her gently, her laughter echoing like music through the village.
The celebration had begun.
There were dishes laid out on mats — rice cakes, lentil fritters, roasted corn, and fruit juices sweetened with honey. An old man played a flute while a young boy drummed a steady rhythm. Women danced in slow circles, their skirts flaring like flower petals, and men clapped along, occasionally joining in with dramatic steps that made the children roar with delight.
Ian and Avrielle sat under the shade of a banyan tree, watching the joy unfold. Their fingers were intertwined, their shoulders brushing gently with each movement.
"This life," Ian murmured. "It's… peaceful."
Avrielle nodded. "Sometimes, I forget we ever lived a different one."
He turned to her. "Do you miss it?"
She tilted her head. "I don't know. It's blurry. Like trying to remember a dream after you've woken up. But I don't feel lost here. I feel… home."
Ian kissed her temple. "Then that's what matters."
Their moment was interrupted by a small crash — Irene had tried to grab a slice of fruit from a passing tray and knocked over a cup. The juice spilled across her dress, but instead of crying, she blinked, looked around, and burst into giggles.
"She's definitely your daughter," Avrielle smirked, rising to help clean her up.
As evening approached, the celebration became softer. Lamps were lit, casting golden glows across the village. The air filled with the scent of roasted peanuts and burning incense. Irene sat quietly in Ian's lap, her eyes heavy with sleep, her tiny hands still clinging to a piece of jaggery.
"She's tired," Ian whispered.
"She had a big day," Avrielle replied, brushing back their daughter's curls.
An elder approached them with a warm smile and a bowl of ceremonial rice. "It is time for the naming prayer. Even though she was named long ago, today we bless her name again — may Irene, our Rene, always bring light wherever she goes."
Everyone gathered as Ian and Avrielle stepped forward with their daughter. The elder touched the baby's forehead with turmeric and rice, chanting blessings under his breath. The villagers followed, joining in the prayers, clapping gently as the flames of the nearby bonfire danced higher.
"Irene," Avrielle whispered, holding her child close. "You are our miracle. Always remember that."
As the ceremony ended, and the night fell deeper into calm, the little family walked slowly back to their hut. Irene had already drifted into a peaceful sleep in Ian's arms.
They tucked her into her cradle, and then, sitting side by side in the flickering lamplight, Ian reached for Avrielle's hand.
"You know," he said, his voice low, "I sometimes wonder what it would've been like if we hadn't found this village."
Avrielle looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Maybe we were meant to."
There was silence for a moment — not heavy, but thoughtful. Then Ian smiled.
"Happy birthday, baby girl," he whispered to Irene, brushing a kiss across her forehead.
Avrielle rested her head against his shoulder, and they watched their daughter sleep, unaware of the journey still waiting for them. A journey where truth and memory would rise again — but not tonight.
Tonight, there was only love.