The house was too quiet.Every sound seemed sharper—the scrape of her mother's bangles in the kitchen, the low murmur of her father's voice from the veranda, the tick-tock of the clock on the wall.
Ananya lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her hands folded tight over her chest. Her mother thought the silence was obedience. Her father thought her lowered gaze was shame. But inside, the silence was a storm.
She had memorized tomorrow's routine—the temple trip, the path through the crowded street, the flower vendors who lined the stone steps. Her parents would be focused on prayers, her mother busy choosing marigold garlands. For a few minutes, just a few minutes, she might slip close enough to—
Her pulse quickened. She pressed her palms to her cheeks to cool them.Would he really risk it? Would he really be there?
The note hidden under her pillow didn't answer, but she felt it thrumming like a second heartbeat.
Riyan couldn't sleep.
His books were open but unread, his guitar leaning against the wall untouched. He paced his room instead, mind racing with a single thought—tomorrow.
He had replayed the plan in his head a hundred times. The temple courtyard was crowded, the perfect camouflage. If he kept to the edge, if he timed it right—he might just catch her for one stolen glance, one stolen touch.
But the danger was real. If her father or brother saw him—if anyone whispered—everything could collapse.
And yet, the thought of staying away felt worse. It felt like betrayal.
So he wrote. On a scrap of paper, folded tight, words rushed out of him:
One look, Ananya. Just one look to remind me we're still alive.
He slid it into his jacket pocket. He would give it to her—somehow, some way.
Ananya lay awake, whispering his name into the darkness, her body coiled with restless hope.Riyan lay awake, fists clenched, every nerve wired to the thought of her face.
Neither slept. Neither wanted to.
For both, tomorrow wasn't just another day. It was the edge of a cliff.And they were both ready to jump.