Riyan had never been good at patience.
Every beat of his pulse told him to scale the walls of Ananya's house, break every bolt, and carry her out under the cover of night. But reality whispered otherwise—her cousin's watchful eyes, her father's iron grip, the entire household turned into a fortress.
So patience, however much it seared him, was the only path forward. Patience—and cunning.
Kabir sat cross-legged on the floor, tapping a pencil against his notebook. "We need someone invisible," he said. "Someone who can walk in and out of that house without drawing suspicion. Family won't work, friends won't work… anyone connected to you is out."
Riyan's jaw flexed. "Then who?"
Kabir smirked faintly, like the answer had been circling his mind for days. "Servants. Vendors. The people no one really sees."
Riyan blinked, then leaned forward. "Vendors?"
Kabir's grin widened. "Your hot temper blinds you. You've been looking at the front gates, the cousin, the family. But what about the man who brings vegetables every morning? Or the milk boy? Or—" he tapped his pencil sharply on the page, "—the laundry boy."
Riyan froze. Images collided in his head—the boy in loose slippers, no older than fifteen, arms loaded with bundles of clothes, walking in and out without a second glance from anyone.
No one suspected the laundry boy.
Kabir caught the spark in Riyan's eyes. "Exactly. They see him, but they don't look at him. He's as good as invisible."
Riyan's breath left him in a rush. "If we can get him on our side—"
"—we have a line straight into her room," Kabir finished, voice low with excitement. "Letters stitched into a seam. A ribbon tied around a shirt. Small things, things no one will notice."
Riyan's heart pounded, a wildfire surging through his veins. "Do you trust him?"
Kabir leaned back, considering. "The boy's desperate enough for coin. He's careful. But trust? That will come from fear. We make him understand what happens if he betrays us—and what he gains if he helps."
Riyan nodded sharply, decision solidifying. "Then set it up. Tonight."
That evening, under the dim glow of a half-shuttered tea stall, the boy arrived—skinny, wide-eyed, hands rough from work. His gaze flicked between Kabir's calm face and Riyan's burning stare.
"You want me to… carry things?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Not things," Riyan said, stepping closer. "Her lifeline."
The boy swallowed hard. "If her family finds out—"
Kabir cut in smoothly, "They won't. Not if you're careful. You'll get paid every week. Enough to make your family live easier. All you have to do is carry cloth like you always do. But hidden inside, there'll be something only she'll know how to find."
The boy shifted uneasily, torn between fear and temptation. Riyan's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "And if you betray us…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to—the fire in his eyes said enough.
The boy nodded quickly, words tumbling out. "I won't! I won't say a word!"
Riyan's jaw softened just enough. "Good. Then tomorrow, you'll carry more than laundry. You'll carry hope."
The next morning, the sound of bolts scraping back had already become her alarm clock. Breakfast was slid in, and once again, her cousin's shadow fell across her door.
"Study," he ordered, his tone dripping with control.
Ananya bent her head in silence, her books open but her mind elsewhere. Every page blurred into the same thought: Has he found my ribbon? Has he given up? Or is he out there, fighting still?
Hours dragged like chains.
And then, faintly, the shuffle of footsteps—different ones. Light, hurried, almost nervous. The laundry boy's voice murmuring outside, followed by the scrape of a bundle being set down.
Her heart leapt. Laundry.
Her fingers itched to tear into the folded clothes, but she forced herself to wait until the corridor cleared, until the sound of footsteps faded. Only then did she move—careful, trembling, each fold of fabric another heartbeat closer to discovery.
And there, tucked neatly into the hem of a white kurta, she felt it. A faint ridge. A seam heavier than it should be.
Something hidden.
Her breath caught.
Him.
Ananya's trembling fingers closed around the hidden seam, her heart hammering as she whispered into the silence, "You found me."
And across town, Riyan stood at the window of his rented room, staring toward the horizon, murmuring under his breath, "Now we begin."