The days leading up to the festival stretched like taut strings—every second heavy, every hour brimming with unspoken threat.
Ananya's parents moved through the house like shadows of discipline, eyes following her, words clipped and deliberate. Her cousin's presence was sharper still, like a blade against her throat. He hovered everywhere: at the well, in the courtyard, even outside her bolted door at night, his footsteps crunching in the dust like a warning.
But beneath the stillness they demanded, Ananya's heart beat to a different rhythm.
The temple.
The thought coiled inside her, small and luminous. A single ember glowing against the cold stone of her confinement. She guarded it with care, shielding it behind lowered lashes, behind the obedient tilt of her head, behind the carefully whispered "Yes, Baba" and "Yes, Ma."
Every night, when the house fell into silence, she replayed the last time—how his hand had brushed hers, fleeting and reckless, like lightning touching earth. The memory set her veins on fire. She clutched it in the dark like a weapon.
Her Small Rebellions
The first rebellion was a glance.
At breakfast, as her cousin's smirk lingered too long, she lifted her eyes and looked at him—not with fear, not with shrinking obedience, but with a defiance so quiet it was almost invisible. Her gaze did not flinch. For a heartbeat, it was enough.
The second rebellion was her silence.
Her mother asked if she had repented. If the long hours in prayer, the locked doors, the loss of her books had cleansed the disobedience from her heart.
Ananya pressed her lips together and gave no answer. Not defiance, not agreement. Only silence—unyielding, impenetrable. Her mother's sigh was heavy, but Ananya felt something fierce unfurl in her chest.
The third rebellion was her secret.
At night, when the oil lamp flickered low, she traced words into the thin cotton of her bedsheet with her finger. Invisible letters, spelling out his name, her vow, her dream of the temple. Her cousin could patrol outside all he wanted—he could not steal what she kept alive inside her.
The Festival Looming
On the second day, her mother brought out the clothes—folded saris, dupattas in bright colors, jewelry gleaming softly in the lamplight. The air was filled with the smell of sandalwood soap and polished brass.
"You will wear the green one," her mother said, pressing the fabric into her hands. "It suits you. And it is modest enough. There must be no whispers this time."
Ananya's fingers tightened on the sari. No whispers. No rumors. No freedom.
But green was the color of new leaves, of the river's reflection, of the ribbon he had once tied into her book. She smoothed the cloth over her knees, her pulse quickening. Perhaps it could be her message. Perhaps he would notice.
That night, she tucked a small sliver of dried jasmine into her braid before bed. Another rebellion, small and fragrant. She imagined the scent clinging to her as she walked through the temple crowd, imagined him catching it in the air, knowing instantly it was her.
The Dread, the Fire
Each hour that passed, the tension tightened around her like rope. Her father's eyes were watchful, her cousin's questions sharper.
"Don't look around in the temple," he warned her in a voice too casual to be kind. "You'll keep your eyes on the prayer, Ananya. Or people might think you're still restless."
Her heart pounded, but her face stayed calm. "Yes," she said softly. But inside, the fire burned hotter.
I will look. I will find him. Even if it's only for a moment.
The night before the festival, the house was hushed, the silence broken only by the rustle of clothes being laid out, the soft clink of bangles placed in a tray.
Ananya lay awake long after the lamp was extinguished, her hands folded against her chest, the green sari hanging nearby like a waiting promise.
She whispered his name into the darkness, her lips barely moving.
Riyan. Be there.
And as sleep finally dragged her under, her last thought was not of fear, nor of the cage around her—but of the temple bells, and the possibility of his eyes finding hers again.
Outside her door, her cousin paused on his night patrol, hand brushing the heavy bolt. He smiled to himself in the dark.
The temple wasn't just a prayer. It would be his chance to catch her—once and for all.