Riyan's chest felt hollow as he pressed himself against the stone wall at the edge of the temple courtyard, his eyes fixed on the banyan tree. The crowd had long since thinned, but he stayed—waiting, desperate, clutching hope like a blade.
Kabir nudged him. "We've been here too long. If someone notices—"
"She'll come," Riyan whispered, though his voice was more prayer than certainty. "She'll find a way."
Kabir's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. They had played this dangerous waiting game before, and Riyan's resolve was unshakable.
The banyan tree loomed under the twilight, its roots gnarled and deep, its shadows offering the only sanctuary left to them.
Riyan's gaze caught movement near the base of the tree. Something small, delicate—pressed into the roots. His breath caught.
Without a word, he darted forward, crouching low as though tying his shoe. His fingers slipped into the grooves of the bark.
There it was.
A ribbon. Folded, pressed, still warm with the ghost of her touch.
Riyan's throat closed. He held it as though it were the rarest jewel in the world. Her signal. Her answer. Proof that she hadn't given up.
"She was here," he whispered hoarsely, the words trembling against the air. His eyes burned as he pressed the ribbon to his lips. "She reached me."
Kabir glanced nervously around, but even his hardened expression softened when he saw the transformation in Riyan's face.
"She's fighting too," Riyan said, his voice breaking with both joy and pain. "They can lock every door in her house, watch her every breath—but she still found me."
Kabir put a hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll find the next way. But remember, Riyan—this is war now. Every move has a cost."
Riyan only tightened his grip on the ribbon. He didn't care about the cost. He cared about her.
That same night, across the city, the walls of Ananya's home pressed tighter.
Her cousin had spoken.
"She lingers," he told her parents in the low, venomous tone of a conspirator. "Today at the temple—she strayed to the banyan again. I watched her. She's hiding something."
Ananya's mother froze, the prayer beads slipping from her hands. "The banyan…" she whispered, her face pale.
Her father's eyes hardened into stone. "You mean she dares, after everything we've said?"
The cousin nodded grimly. "I've warned you before. She's cleverer than she looks. You think she's silent, obedient—but her silence hides rebellion. I saw it with my own eyes."
The room turned into a cage of judgment, heavy with unspoken accusations.
Ananya sat quietly in the corner, her head bowed, her pulse thundering in her ears. She had expected suspicion, but not so soon. Not like this.
Her mother's voice trembled with controlled fury. "So it's true. You've been defying us."
Ananya dared not lift her eyes. She folded her hands tighter, pretending calm, though fear clawed at her ribs.
Her father rose slowly, his shadow stretching across the floor. "From this moment," he said, his voice iron, "she doesn't step out of this house unless I say so. Not for prayers, not for school, not for a breath of air. If she rebels, she will regret it."
Ananya's cousin smirked faintly, satisfied with his triumph.
The air closed in around her, thicker than chains.
That night, Ananya lay in bed with her heart hammering. The walls had grown taller, the locks heavier. But beneath the fear, something else glowed—a stubborn ember.
He had seen the ribbon. She knew it. Somehow, across the suffocating silence, she could feel it in her chest, a strange certainty that connected them.
Her parents could cage her body, but they couldn't cage her will. Not anymore.
Meanwhile, Riyan lay awake with the ribbon clutched tight in his hand. His heart was alight, but a cold dread gnawed at the edges.
If she had slipped the ribbon out, then she had risked everything. And if her cousin truly was watching her as closely as rumors suggested…
He closed his eyes, the weight of fear settling in his gut.
She had reached out once. Now it was his turn to shatter the walls tightening around her.
Even if it meant burning through them.
As Riyan drifted into a restless half-sleep, clutching her ribbon, Ananya's father quietly slid a second bolt across her bedroom door—this time, from the outside.