Ananya read his note so many times the ink blurred, as if her eyes wanted to drink in every stroke of his handwriting until it carved itself into her soul. "Next time—wait for me at the banyan. I'll find you."
The banyan.
The word itself throbbed in her veins like a secret drumbeat.
But how? How could she possibly escape the net her parents had cast tighter each day? Even temple visits had grown stricter. Her cousin walked too close now, his gaze sharp as though he expected her to slip away at any moment.
And yet, the moment she finished memorizing the note, she whispered a vow into the stillness: She would find a way.
The days leading to the next temple visit crawled by with cruel precision. Her father's stern voice ordered longer prayers, her mother pressed more beads into her palm, and her cousin hovered in doorways with narrowed eyes.
But Ananya's rebellion burned beneath her skin. She timed their footsteps, memorized her mother's movements, noted when her cousin's vigilance faltered. Every little detail became a weapon in her mind, tools to carve a sliver of freedom.
The banyan tree was more than a meeting place now. It was salvation.
On the morning her mother announced another temple trip, Ananya's pulse jumped.
"You will go with your cousin," her mother said firmly, her tone leaving no room for protest. "Do not linger. Straight there, straight back."
Ananya lowered her eyes obediently, but inside, her chest surged with a dangerous thrill. This was her chance.
She spent the rest of the morning moving with deliberate calm, her actions slow and measured so as not to invite suspicion. But her mind raced, every thought wrapped around one question: How do I slip even a heartbeat of freedom from this chain?
By afternoon, her dupatta was draped more carefully than usual. She pinned it tightly to her shoulder, but tucked into the hem—hidden beneath the folds—was the ribbon he had once sent. A talisman. A silent promise.
The moment her cousin's back was turned, even for an instant, she would touch the tree, press her hand into the roots, and leave her signal. Maybe even catch his eyes. Maybe—if the gods were merciful—brush against his hand again.
Her breath stuttered at the thought.
The temple bells rang faintly as they neared.
Her cousin walked half a step ahead, muttering about the crowd, his tone clipped, his shoulders stiff with responsibility. Ananya kept her head bowed, palms folded, her voice murmuring a quiet prayer.
But her eyes flicked forward—searching, searching.
The banyan tree loomed near the steps, its vast roots sprawling like veins across the earth. Her chest clenched. Was he here? Could he be watching from the shadows already?
Her cousin's hand touched her elbow, steering her toward the sanctum. "No detours," he said sharply.
Ananya swallowed her excitement, forcing her steps into measured calm.
Inside the temple, she lit her lamp with steady hands, but her mind wasn't on the flame. It was outside, with the tree, with the shadow of someone she ached to see. Her prayers were whispers not to the deity, but to the boy waiting in the dark.
Please let me reach him. Please let him know I am still his.
When her cousin turned to receive prasad, her moment came.
She stepped back, almost stumbling as though adjusting her dupatta. Her hand brushed the fold of fabric, feeling the hidden ribbon. Her pulse thundered.
Outside, the banyan called to her like a heartbeat.
Her chance came sooner than she expected.
As they left, a woman approached her cousin with a complaint about temple offerings. He frowned, distracted, stepping aside to argue.
Ananya didn't hesitate. Her feet moved before her mind could even catch up. She drifted closer to the banyan tree, her steps light, her head still bowed in feigned reverence.
Her fingers brushed the bark, then pressed into the groove she had carved before. A silent signal.
She slipped the ribbon from her dupatta and tucked it between the roots. Quick, discreet, but deliberate.
Her heart hammered. She could almost feel his presence, close, watching, waiting.
"Ananya!"
Her cousin's sharp voice snapped her head up. He was done with the woman, his eyes narrowed, suspicion cutting like a knife.
She lowered her gaze, murmuring, "I was just praying for strength," before moving quickly to his side.
He said nothing, but his glare lingered too long.
Her pulse raced the whole way home, fear and exhilaration battling in her chest. But hidden inside her heart was triumph. The ribbon was there. He would find it. He would know she had answered.
That night, lying awake under the suffocating silence of her locked room, she pressed her hands to her lips, eyes burning. She had done it. She had reached him.
But the thrill was edged with terror. Her cousin's suspicion had sharpened. Her parents' watchful eyes seemed heavier than ever.
If they caught her, the cage would become unbreakable.
And yet… she would do it again.
Because hope was worth the risk.
As sleep tugged at her, her mind drifted to the banyan tree, to the ribbon pressed into its roots, to the boy whose fire would not let her drown.
She didn't know when, or how, but she knew this: the next step would be more dangerous.
And she couldn't wait.
As Ananya finally drifted into sleep, her cousin stood outside her door in the corridor, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched. He had seen her linger by the banyan. And this time, he wasn't going to stay silent.