The night air tasted of iron.
Riyan leaned against the shadowed wall outside Kabir's house, his breath visible in the coolness. He had run through the plan a hundred times, but his hands still shook, the folded scrap of paper burning like a coal in his pocket.
It wasn't even much—just a few words. But in this war they were living, even a few words could be lethal.
Kabir slipped out quietly, his sandals scuffing against the stone steps. His face was drawn tight with worry, eyes flicking over his shoulder as though expecting someone to follow.
"You really want to do this?" Kabir whispered, voice low and sharp. "If anyone catches me—"
"They won't." Riyan's voice was firmer than he felt. "They can't. Just… make sure it lands in her hands."
Kabir studied him for a long beat, then sighed, taking the note. He didn't ask what was written inside. He didn't want to know.
"She's not even allowed outside her room most of the time," Kabir muttered. "How am I supposed to get this to her?"
"Through her books," Riyan said immediately, as though he had rehearsed the sentence. In truth, it was a desperate guess. "Her parents want her to keep studying, don't they? They'll still bring her textbooks. Slip it in one of them. Just… make sure it's one she'll open."
Kabir rubbed the back of his neck. "You think it's that simple? Her father checks everything twice."
"Then make it look like an accident," Riyan pressed. "As if the paper was already inside. You've done this before, hiding our notes during class tests."
"This isn't school anymore," Kabir muttered, but his grip tightened on the folded page. "If I'm caught…"
"I know," Riyan said softly. His throat closed up for a second before he forced the words through. "If you're caught, it'll be my fault. But if you don't—she'll think I've given up on her."
That silenced them both.
Kabir exhaled sharply, shoving the note deeper into his pocket. "Fine. But don't expect miracles."
Riyan only nodded, because miracles were exactly what he was hoping for.
The next two days were agony.
Every minute that passed without news scraped at Riyan's nerves like sandpaper. He tried to focus on classes, on the ordinary hum of life around him, but nothing held. His thoughts circled endlessly back to her—locked away, silenced, punished.
Did she get it? Did the note reach her? Or was it sitting in the trash outside her house, discovered and discarded before she even saw it?
He imagined her father's hands tearing it apart, his fury burning through each line. He imagined her mother holding it like poison, locking it away where Ananya would never touch it.
At night, sleep offered no escape. He saw her face in every dream, pale and pressed against barred windows, eyes wide with unspoken words. He woke drenched in sweat, his own voice hoarse from whispering her name in the dark.
On the third day, Kabir found him by the old banyan tree where they usually met after classes.
Riyan's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of his friend's face—drawn, cautious, almost reluctant.
"Well?" Riyan demanded, too quickly, too desperately.
Kabir glanced around before answering. "I did what I could. Slipped it into her math book when her mother left the room for water." He hesitated. "I don't know if she's seen it. I couldn't wait around."
Riyan's pulse hammered. "But it's there? It's inside?"
Kabir gave a single nod. "As far as I know."
Riyan closed his eyes, a rush of breath escaping him, somewhere between relief and terror.
The gamble was real now. Somewhere in that silent house, tucked between pages of equations and formulas, his words were waiting for her.
But the uncertainty gnawed at him even harder than before.
Did she find it already? Or was it still lying unnoticed, waiting? Worse—what if her father found it first?
The thought made Riyan's stomach twist.
"What if she doesn't open that book?" he asked suddenly, panic sharpening his voice. "What if she doesn't—"
Kabir cut him off. "Then it wasn't meant to be. You can't control everything, Riyan."
Riyan's jaw tightened. Control—that was the one thing slipping away faster than he could grasp.
"Thanks," he said finally, his voice low, his gratitude tangled with fear. "Really. For risking this."
Kabir shrugged, uncomfortable. "Just… don't drag me into anything worse. If her parents catch on, it's not just her life they'll destroy. They'll come for you. And maybe me too."
Riyan knew he was right. But the thought of stopping, of doing nothing while Ananya suffered in silence, was unbearable.
That night, Riyan sat by his window, staring at the blank sky. No stars pierced the haze, no moon lit the street. Just darkness pressing close, heavy and suffocating.
He pulled out a pen, the urge to write gnawing at him again. But the paper before him stayed blank. What could he possibly say now? That he hoped she had found the note? That his chest ached with waiting? That every second stretched like a lifetime without her?
Words felt too fragile. Too powerless.
So he clenched the pen, pressing it so hard against the page that the tip snapped, ink bleeding into a small, dark blot. He dropped it with a curse, his hands trembling.
"Please," he whispered into the night, though no one was there to hear. "Please let her have seen it."
The room gave no answer. Only the hollow echo of his own voice, caught between faith and despair.
And so Riyan waited—haunted by the thought that somewhere, in the silence of another room, she might be holding his words… or never see them at all.