The sun rose differently that morning.
For the first time in weeks, the light no longer felt like an accusation through Iraaya's window. It felt like possibility.
She sat cross-legged on the rug in her apartment, the Prism report and a notebook open before her, a steaming cup of chai by her side.
Her hands still trembled, but not from fear anymore, from adrenaline, from motion. From being alive again.
A Spark Rekindled
The message from Elysian's board had come late the previous evening:
"Investigation formally launched. Preliminary findings support your report. Full public statement to follow within 48 hours."
And then, from Aanya:
"I cannot undo what you've endured. But I can - and will - set it right. Please meet with me soon."
The First Breath
The next morning, the first headline appeared:
"Internal Leak Exposes Prism Sabotage - Lead Designer Cleared of All Charges."
Iraaya stared at it in disbelief, the phone trembling in her grip.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
Messages from designers, from former classmates, from
Amma herself:
"I knew it, child."
"You walked through fire."
"Come home. But come stronger."
And Vicky, of course:
"See? The world is remembering your truth."
The Choice
Aanya requested an in-person meeting.
Vicky asked her gently, "Do you want me to come with you?"
Iraaya shook her head.
"I have to do this one myself."
So she dressed not in armor, but in her own creation.
One of her earliest Prism prototypes: a draped jacket in midnight blue with hand-embroidered edges, sharp yet soft. Hers. Always hers.
The Meeting
Aanya rose when she entered the Elysian executive lounge.
Her eyes were rimmed red, the first true vulnerability Iraaya had ever seen in her.
"I don't expect forgiveness," Aanya began.
"I'm not ready to give it," Iraaya replied, voice even.
Aanya nodded, a faint smile of respect.
"But I am here," Iraaya continued.
"Not because you asked. Because I deserve to be."
Aanya exhaled.
"We've issued an official statement. Kritika is terminated. We are pursuing charges. The media will clear your name within the day."
She slid a folder across the table.
"Your full back pay, and a severance bonus, should you choose not to return."
Iraaya looked down at it, and closed the folder without touching it.
"I'll think on it," she said softly.
Aanya hesitated. "If, when, you are ready, the door is open. Not just as a designer."
She looked Iraaya fully in the eyes.
"I failed to protect you. But I believe in what you built here. Elysian needs that."
The Walk Away
Outside, the city buzzed as always.
But Iraaya walked with new weight in her step, and new lightness in her heart.
She stopped by the river that cut through Kairos, watching its constant motion.
"I could leave," she whispered.
"Or I could begin again, this time, fully on my terms." She looked down at her hands, once shaking, now steady.
"I'm not done," she said aloud.
The Apartment Reclaimed
Returning to her apartment that evening felt different too.
Vicky was there already, grinning with two paper bags of street food.
"Champagne?" she asked.
"Parathas," Iraaya said with a small smile.
"More fitting."
They ate on the floor, laughter bubbling, a sound that had been absent for too long.
"I still might not go back," Iraaya said between bites.
"But I will create again."
Vicky leaned in.
"I always knew you would."
A Letter Arrives
Two days later, a courier brought a small handwritten note: "Your courage has inspired us. Several of us, both at Elysian and beyond, want to support your next work. When you are ready, we will be here."
No signature again.
A gift. A thread.
New Space
Weeks passed. Slowly. Carefully. Iraaya began sketching again, first in private, then quietly posting hints online.
The response was overwhelming.
"Welcome back."
"The real artist returns."
"Waiting for your next design."
Vicky watched her work late into the nights.
"You're building something," she said.
"Not just a line. A whole movement."
Iraaya smiled faintly.
"Maybe I am."
One Last Meeting
When Aanya called again, this time, to offer her full creative control over the revived Prism - Iraaya answered with calm certainty.
"I will return," she said.
"But not as a designer alone. I want my own division. I want to mentor new voices, the ones who don't fit the mold."
Aanya blinked, then smiled.
"You were always meant to lead."
Threads Restitched
As the next months unfolded, Prism re-emerged under Iraaya's vision, raw, bold, unrepentant.
Designers who had feared speaking out now had space. Young artists from outside the elite circles found mentorship.
And in the quiet corners of her apartment, beneath warm light, Iraaya sometimes whispered to the air:
"I'm doing it, Manaly."
"I'm still becoming."
A Visit to Amma
When she returned to Panna Tailors at last, Amma folded her into a fierce hug.
"You always had the strongest thread, child," she whispered.
"And now?" Iraaya asked.
"Now, you are weaving your own loom."
Stitching Forward
The seasons began to change.
Kairos entered a gentle autumn, the air crisp, the skies sharp with light.
With each passing week, Iraaya found herself more at ease within the city that had once swallowed her. She walked the streets without hiding now. Vendors greeted her again. Some whispered behind hands, but the whispers carried admiration now, not suspicion.
Her online following had tripled. Young designers from small towns began sending messages:
"How did you survive?"
"How do we begin?"
"Can we learn from you?"
Each note stirred something deep in her, the old longing to teach, to lift others as Manaly once lifted her.
She began hosting small gatherings in her apartment, late nights with tea and notebooks, sketching with nervous, bright-eyed students.
They called her Didi, elder sister a title that filled her with a quiet pride.
"You are more than a designer now," Vicky said one evening, watching the young crowd linger. "You are hope."