Riyan
The river never slept.
It whispered against its banks, a low, endless murmur that filled the night air. Moonlight draped the surface in silver, ripples catching faint gleams like scattered stars. Riyan stood at the bend, boots sinking into the damp earth, his pulse thrumming as hard as the current.
Three nights. He had written the promise, sealed it into that hidden seam, and now every second since had burned him alive. He had no guarantee the note had even reached her. No proof that she'd seen it, believed it, dared to try.
But he was here anyway.
Because waiting anywhere else was impossible.
The Vigil
Kabir crouched on a boulder behind him, tossing pebbles into the water one by one. "You'll wear a trench into the ground if you keep pacing."
Riyan ignored him, eyes fixed on the dirt path winding down from the village. Every rustle, every flutter of leaves set his heart racing, only to crash when the night stayed empty.
"She might not come," Kabir added, voice even. "Her house is a fortress. Her father, her cousin—they're not fools. If she's under lock and key…"
"Don't," Riyan snapped, harsher than he meant. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. "Don't finish that sentence."
Kabir studied him silently, the pebbles forgotten in his hand.
Riyan dragged a breath through his teeth. "She'll come. If she can find a way, she'll come. I know her."
And he did. He knew the fire in her eyes when she dared him to push back. He knew the quiet steel in her silence when she chose to fight in smaller ways. She wasn't weak. Not anymore.
Still, knowing it didn't ease the torment of waiting.
The Haunting
Hours blurred. Shadows stretched, thinned, then thickened again as clouds passed across the moon. Every time the wind shifted, Riyan thought he heard footsteps. Every time a branch cracked, his body tensed, ready to see her appear.
But no one came.
He pictured her locked away, her parents hovering, her cousin lurking just outside her door. He imagined her hands pressed against wood, her lips biting back sobs of frustration, knowing she couldn't reach him.
The thought carved into him like a blade.
If they had hurt her—if they had taken a hand to her, or spoken poison into her ears—he didn't know if he could stop himself. The urge to storm that house, to rip her free with his bare hands, clawed at him. Only the memory of her terrified face if he ruined everything held him back.
She needed him steady, not reckless.
But the fire inside him was close to breaking.
The Signs
Kabir's voice broke the silence. "Look."
Riyan's head snapped up. His friend pointed toward the far bank, where something faint shimmered in the moonlight.
At first, he thought it was nothing—just a scrap of cloth caught on a reed. But as the current shifted, he saw it: a ribbon. Pale, fluttering, tied deliberately around a branch that jutted over the water.
His breath caught.
Her ribbon.
He moved to the edge, knees hitting damp soil, fingers brushing the ribbon's trailing end. His chest ached with sudden, fierce relief. She had reached him. Somehow, despite everything, she had sent this.
"She's alive," Riyan whispered, more to himself than to Kabir. "She's fighting."
Kabir crouched beside him, lips tight but eyes softer. "Then so do we."
The Restless Night
Riyan didn't leave the riverbank. He couldn't.
He sat with the ribbon clenched in his fist, the fabric still damp with river mist. He imagined her tying it with trembling hands, looking over her shoulder with every heartbeat, knowing discovery could destroy her. And yet, she had done it anyway.
That thought carried him through the hours until dawn.
Kabir dozed against the rock, but Riyan remained awake, his mind turning over plan after reckless plan. If she was sending him signals, if she was daring to try—then he had to match her. He had to find a way to see her, touch her, prove that all this waiting wasn't in vain.
The ribbon wasn't enough. Words weren't enough.
Not anymore.
The Rising Resolve
As the first light bled into the sky, Riyan rose. His body ached, his eyes burned, but inside, something had sharpened.
"I'm done waiting," he muttered.
Kabir stirred, rubbing his face. "What now?"
Riyan's gaze stayed locked on the horizon, where the village rooftops caught the morning sun. "A note in a seam won't cut it anymore. She's risking everything to reach me. I'll risk the same to reach her."
Kabir's brows drew together. "You're thinking face-to-face."
Riyan didn't answer. He didn't need to. The fire in his eyes said it all.
Kabir cursed under his breath. "Then it has to be flawless. One mistake, and it's over—for both of you."
Riyan turned the ribbon over in his hand, feeling the weight of it. Not fabric. Not thread. Her courage, woven into every fold.
"She gave me this," he said quietly. "Now I'll give her more."
Riyan tied the ribbon around his wrist like a vow, his jaw set, his heartbeat steady with dangerous resolve.
The next time I see her, it won't be through shadows and scraps.
It would be face-to-face. Or not at all.