Riyan
The ribbon never left his wrist.
All day, as he walked through the crowded streets, as he sat hunched in the back corner of the teashop with Kabir, as he lay restless on his narrow cot at night—the pale fabric brushed against his skin, a reminder that she was still fighting, still reaching for him.
It should have been a comfort. Instead, it sharpened the ache in his chest into something raw and dangerous.
"She sent me this," he said, voice low but fierce, holding out his arm to Kabir. "She's risking everything. Hiding signals, sneaking messages, slipping ribbons into the river like… like offerings. Do you understand what that means?"
Kabir leaned back, arms folded. His calmness was infuriating, like water against fire. "It means she's alive. It means she hasn't given up."
"It means she needs more," Riyan snapped. His eyes burned with sleepless fire. "She can't keep breathing in that cage forever. She needs me to get her out—even if it's just for a moment."
Kabir studied him, expression unreadable. Then he sighed and leaned forward, dropping his voice. "So what's the plan, then? You're not going to scale her father's walls. You're not going to break bolts in broad daylight. If you want her face-to-face, it has to be somewhere she can plausibly be without suspicion."
Riyan froze. His mind shifted gears, thoughts racing, seizing on Kabir's words. "Somewhere public," he murmured. "Somewhere her family won't keep her locked inside."
Kabir nodded slowly. "Festivals. Prayers. Weddings. The kinds of things where girls are seen, but not necessarily watched every second."
The image snapped into focus so sharply it almost hurt: Ananya in the crowd, her dupatta catching the wind, her eyes searching.
"She'll look for me," Riyan said, conviction grounding him. "If I can be close enough—"
"Close enough," Kabir cut in, "but not stupid enough to be caught. You're playing with fire, Riyan. You brush against her family even once, and they'll set the whole village against you."
Riyan's jaw tightened. "Then I'll learn how to walk through fire without burning."
Ananya
The announcement came at breakfast.
Her mother's voice was bright, almost too bright, carrying through the tense silence of the dining room. "The temple festival is in three days. We'll attend, of course. It will be good for you, Ananya. Fresh air. Prayer. A chance to be seen."
Her father's gaze slid across the table, sharp and assessing. "Seen, yes," he said. "But not unsupervised."
Her cousin smirked into his tea.
Ananya forced herself to bow her head, murmuring a soft "Yes, Baba." But inside, her heart was a storm.
The temple festival.
Her pulse raced with dread. Crowds meant whispers. Crowds meant eyes that would pry, mouths that would spread rumors faster than fire. A single glance in the wrong direction could undo everything.
But beneath the dread was something else. Something wild.
Hope.
Because if there was ever a chance to see him again, it was there. In the shifting sea of people, beneath the sound of bells and prayers, hidden in the press of bodies and the shadows of incense smoke.
If he knew. If he guessed. If he dared.
Her hands trembled as she tore a piece of bread, forcing her face into a mask of obedience. She couldn't let them see. Couldn't let her cousin's eyes linger too long.
But inside, she whispered his name like a vow.
Riyan. Find me.
The War of Waiting
That night, as the bolt scraped shut on her door, Ananya lay staring at the ceiling. Every breath was measured, every second stretched taut. She imagined him by the river, holding her ribbon, wondering if she'd be there.
Three days.
Three days to survive the suffocating cage of her family's suspicion. Three days to prepare for whatever reckless, impossible moment fate might throw at her.
And in the dark, for the first time in weeks, she let herself smile.
Across the village, Riyan traced the ribbon with his thumb, Kabir's voice echoing in his head: Festivals. Prayers. Weddings.
The temple bells rang faintly in the distance, carried by the night breeze.
And his lips curved into something fierce.
Three days.
Three days until the temple. Three days until he saw her again.
And this time, nothing would stop him.
Neither of them knew it yet—but her cousin had lingered in the doorway, listening to the breakfast announcement with narrowed eyes.
And he was already plotting how to turn the festival into a trap.