Riyan hadn't slept.
The ribbon lay on the table in front of him, its delicate folds almost glowing in the thin dawn light. His hand hovered above it, fingers brushing over the fabric again and again as if he could feel her pulse through it.
Kabir sat across from him, dark circles etched under his eyes. "You're staring at that thing like it's holy scripture."
"It is," Riyan muttered, voice raw. "It's her voice, her defiance. She found a way to reach me despite everything."
Kabir leaned back, arms folded. "And now her cousin suspects. Her father's probably doubled the watch on her. You can't keep running blind into walls, Riyan."
Riyan's jaw tightened. "Then I'll tear the walls down."
"That kind of talk gets you killed—or worse, gets her crushed," Kabir shot back. "You think her family will sit still if they catch even a whisper of you trying again?"
Riyan dragged a hand through his hair, restless, pacing the small rented room they had claimed as their base. "If she managed the ribbon, then she's not giving up. She's waiting for me to make the next move."
Kabir's eyes narrowed. "So what's the move? You can't sneak into her house. You can't keep slipping notes into her books—too risky now. And temple meetings? Forget it. They'll be watching her every breath."
Riyan paused mid-step. His mind was a storm, but through it, one thought burned steady. "Then we go bigger. Riskier. Something they won't expect."
Kabir sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I knew you'd say that."
Riyan turned sharply. "I need you with me, Kabir. She's drowning in there. I felt it in the way she left this ribbon—like a scream wrapped in silence. If I sit here doing nothing, then I'm letting them break her."
Kabir studied him for a long, heavy moment. Then, with a slow exhale, he leaned forward. "Alright. Say I'm in. What's the plan?"
Riyan's eyes darkened with reckless determination. "We make them think they've locked her away completely. And while they're busy guarding the doors, I'll find another path to her. Through someone they'd never suspect."
Kabir tilted his head. "A diversion."
"A rebellion," Riyan corrected, his voice low but fierce. He pressed the ribbon flat against the table, as though anchoring his vow. "She reached for me. Now I'll reach for her, no matter the cost."
The first morning of her punishment dawned gray, muted, and stifling.
Ananya woke to the clatter of the second bolt sliding open from the outside. The sound alone was enough to remind her of what she had lost—the simple act of turning a handle, of stepping out without permission.
Her mother entered with a tray, eyes sharp, lips pressed tight. "Breakfast," she said curtly, setting it down on the desk. "Eat. And then study."
The walls of Ananya's room seemed to press inward. Her bookshelf towered like a mocking reminder—her escape through words now carefully monitored, each spine checked and rechecked by suspicious hands. The window, once her portal to the outside world, was shut tight, its latch locked.
Her cousin's voice echoed faintly in the corridor outside. He lingered like a shadow now, his footsteps circling the house, his presence suffocating.
Ananya sat silently on the edge of her bed. She picked up a piece of flatbread, chewing mechanically. But every bite tasted like ash.
When her mother left, sliding the bolt home again, Ananya rose and walked to the mirror. She stared at her reflection—at the girl with tired eyes, with rebellion coiled under her skin like fire.
The ribbon was gone. Her hands ached for it, the memory of pressing it into the banyan roots seared into her palms. Did he find it? Did it reach him?
Her heart whispered yes, even as her prison told her no.
By mid-morning, the surveillance thickened.
Her cousin appeared in the doorway when the bolt was slid open again, his face smug with authority. "Studying?" he asked, glancing at the open textbooks spread across her desk.
"Yes," Ananya replied softly, keeping her eyes lowered.
"Good." His tone dripped with suspicion. "You'll do well to stay that way. No more temple strolls, no more strange habits. I see everything."
Ananya's fingers curled under the desk, nails biting into her palm. She forced a nod. "I understand."
He smirked faintly, satisfied with her submission, and left. The bolt slammed shut again.
The silence returned, heavy as stone.
But inside, her silence was no longer submission.
It was rebellion.
She moved slowly, carefully, each motion deliberate so the sound wouldn't carry through the door. She slid a scrap of paper from the hidden corner of her notebook, tracing invisible lines with her finger, pretending it was his words she was writing.
Her prison would not break her. It would only make her sharper, quieter, stronger.
Every hour she endured was another hour closer to him.
She didn't know how, or when, but she clung to the certainty that he was out there, burning with the same need, plotting his way back to her.
Back in the small rented room, Kabir scribbled lines across a rough sheet of paper, sketching routes, diversions, lists of names. "If you're serious about pulling this off, we'll need more than luck. We'll need eyes on her cousin, on the household routines, on the servants. Someone will slip eventually, and that's where we strike."
Riyan leaned over the table, his knuckles white against the wood. His voice was low but unyielding. "Then we'll wait, watch, and when the crack appears—we'll break it wide open."
The ribbon lay between them, the silent witness to their pact.
Across town, Ananya pressed her forehead against the cold glass of her locked window, whispering to the sky only she could see: Find me.
At the same moment, Riyan clenched the ribbon in his fist and murmured to the empty room: I'm coming.