Shadow Lights

The crisp evening air was laced with the aroma of cardamom and cumin, and a cacophony of laughter, chatter, and exploding firecrackers reigned on the narrow streets of Mumbai. It was Diwali night, the festival of lights when even the darkest alley was alive with festive radiance. Aditya stood at the airport's exit, looking nonchalantly at his surroundings. It had been two years since he left for Berlin, hustling in the tech ecosystem, but right now, the world was waiting to know why he returned home for Diwali. Tugging his suitcase, he made his way through the thronged streets until he reached the white-bricked family house. His heart skipped when he saw his mother waiting eagerly by the door. "Adi, you've lost weight, beta," she said, enveloping him in a hug that felt like home. Soon, everyone gathered in the living room—his mother, cousins, aunts, uncles—each lighting diyas, arranging sweets. But amidst the brightness, his thoughts returned to the letter he found hidden in his late father's briefcase only days before. "Adi, come on, get the lights!" his cousin Romil yelled, jolting him back. Later that night, while revellers fed sweets and exchanged gifts, Aditya slipped away to the quiet terrace. The letter rested heavily in his jacket pocket. *"Rohit,"* it stated, addressed to his father. *"We must meet. Secrets cannot remain buried forever."* It had a faded postmark dated three decades back. Something about that writing felt familiar yet unnerving. He decided to trace the origins of the writer—an alleged brother, separated right after birth. The next morning, Aditya gathered clues, hunches, and remnants of old family photos. Deep crumpled lines covered Aunt Lata's forehead as she hesitated before sharing why the name in the letter was written in familiar ink. She slid towards him a picture of a young man, standing next to his father with ambiguous eyes and an equally ambiguous name scribbled below—*Ishaan.* "Ishaan? Dad never mentioned a cousin," Aditya whispered, confusion pricking his senses. "Not all shadows are meant to be seen under the light, Adi," Aunt Lata cryptically murmured, leaving him puzzled. It wasn't long before his online sleuthing led him to find an Ishaan living in Kolhapur. But in an unforgiving twist, it turned out this man had passed as mysteriously as he had arrived on record. Yet, Aditya's persistence guided him towards a peculiar art shop, 'Shadows & Strokes,' rumored to have once been owned by this enigmatic Ishaan. Barely three hours later, Aditya reached the dusty old shop shuttered between two bright novelties bursting with Diwali hustle bustle. Two artists were talking inside, and one of them recognized the photo Aditya tightly clutched. "This was his work," the shopkeeper said, waving a stack of ancient blueprints detailed with elaborate designs showcasing hidden safes embedded into architecture. "That's why even police couldn't find anything!" Aditya exclaimed, piecing the mystery. Fascinated, he decided to search his own house but came out triumphant at Aunt Lata's ancestral property upon shifting an innocuous oil painting. Inside a clandestine crevice, Aditya found pages covered in dense ink detailing a story of greed and betrayal. His father was an heir, adopted but erased from family legacy by a vindictive kin. Suddenly, owning a tech startup in Berlin didn't seem as complex as navigating a family's hidden world of treachery. Gathering the courage, he shared this truth with Aunt Lata, who listened without surprise. "Now it makes sense. My brother always carried that burden but never spoke of it." "Why didn't you act on it before?" Aditya pressed. "Some flames burn brighter when left sheltered," Aunt Lata said softly, tears mingling bitterly with the joy of enlightenment. Aditya smiled, casting his father's burden with the shadows—the light of Diwali truly shining as redemption. That evening, amid glowing diyas and crackling fireworks, Aditya sat surrounded by people who were strangers only hours ago by history but now family by legacy. It was the kind of clarity one of their very own had longed to grasp for years. Under the cover of darkness enveloped by festival lights, Aditya whispered to himself, "Here's to you, Dad," extending an earnest prayer through the momentary reveal of family shadows and bright festival rays.