The mornings blurred together.
The scrape of the bolt, the creak of the door, her cousin's shadow lengthening in the hall—these had become her clock. He rarely spoke anymore, but his eyes spoke enough: suspicion, warning, control.
Yet this morning was different.
A restlessness clung to her like mist. Something in the air felt… expectant. She sat cross-legged by the barred window, staring at the courtyard below. The milk woman's faint call drifted from beyond the gate, the sound so ordinary that no one else would have looked twice. But Ananya's heart jolted as if struck.
Her breath caught. Her gaze sharpened. She leaned closer, watching through the slats as the servant collected the jug. For a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—she thought she saw the milk woman's fingers brush too long against the folded cloth around the jug's handle.
The jug vanished inside. The courtyard door shut. And Ananya was left trembling, her pulse racing in her ears.
She couldn't know for sure. It could be nothing. But the sense of it—that stirring in her chest—refused to fade. Something was coming. Something small, hidden, but hers.
At dawn, Riyan waited in the alley with Kabir, clutching the folded scrap of paper so tightly it wrinkled in his palm. The words he had written bled through the page, fierce and aching.
You are not alone. I see you even in the dark. If you can, give me a sign. Anything.
When the milk woman appeared, balancing her jugs, Kabir intercepted her with a casual greeting. She frowned at the sight of them, wary.
Riyan stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Please. Just slip this under the cloth when you pass the gate. Say nothing. No one will know."
The woman's eyes darted between the two young men. "If I'm caught—"
"You won't be," Kabir promised quickly. He pressed a few coins into her hand.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then, with a sigh, she tucked the note beneath the cloth tied around the jug's handle. Her movements were swift, practiced, almost invisible.
Riyan exhaled, his body taut with nerves. "Thank you."
As she walked away toward the house, he gripped the edge of the wall, his stomach in knots. The note was gone. Out of his hands. Out of his control.
All he could do now was wait—and pray that it found her.
Inside the locked room, Ananya's hands trembled with anticipation she couldn't name. At the same moment, Riyan's chest burned with fear and hope. A folded piece of paper now lay in the space between them, carried by a stranger's hands. Whether it would survive the walls and suspicion remained to be seen.