The walls closed in, not just with stone and plaster, but with eyes.
Her cousin no longer hovered—he stalked. Every time she stepped into the courtyard, his gaze followed. When she sat to study, the door remained open, his presence in the hall like a shadow pressed against her back. Even at meals, he watched how much she ate, where her gaze lingered, whether her hands trembled as she lifted her glass.
Her mother's tone softened, but the softness was suffocating too. "It's only for your own good," she said, adjusting Ananya's braid. "The world outside is dangerous. The house will protect you."
But the house was a cage.
The lock on her door clicked each night with the sound of finality. She would lie in the dim light of the oil lamp, tracing her wrist where the bangle once had been. The absence was a secret warmth. She had given him something no one could take back.
Days blurred. Lessons with a tutor under her cousin's watchful eye. Needlework she hated. Endless pujas where the air was thick with incense but thin of freedom.
Yet, inside, her defiance grew sharper. Every time the lock turned, every time her cousin narrowed his eyes, every time her father sighed disappointment—her will hardened like tempered steel.
They can lock my door, but they cannot chain my heart.
On the other side of the city, Riyan couldn't sit still.
The bangle never left his pocket. He touched it like a talisman, like a vow carved in glass. Kabir found him at the chai stall one evening, eyes burning with restless fire.
"You're going to tear yourself apart before you even reach her," Kabir muttered, sliding him a steaming cup.
Riyan didn't touch it. "She's locked in. I can feel it." His jaw clenched. "Every day she spends in there is another cut. I can't just wait."
Kabir sighed, though his gaze stayed steady. "Then we stop waiting."
Riyan turned, breath sharp. "You have an idea?"
Kabir nodded slowly. "It won't be easy. Or safe. But there are ways messages slip through walls. Servants. Market women. The temple again, if we dare. Even books. If she's caged, then we send the fire inside."
The thought ignited Riyan's chest. Dangerous, reckless, but possible.
He leaned forward, voice low, fierce. "Then we plan. Every detail. Every risk. I don't care if they tighten chains—I'll break them. I'll reach her."
The bangle in his pocket pressed into his thigh, a reminder. She was waiting. And he would not let her wait alone.
As the lock clicked shut on Ananya's door once again, she whispered into the silence, "I will not break." Across the city, Riyan's fists clenched around Kabir's plan. Two hearts, pressed apart by walls and chains, beat harder, louder—until those walls would have no choice but to crack.