The night had been endless. Ananya hadn't slept—she had only watched the square of moonlight crawl across her wall until it faded into the dull gray of dawn. Her pulse still thundered from the moment she'd nearly touched the jug. Every second since then, the possibility of the note had lived under her skin, a fever burning hotter than fear.
Her mother's sharp voice dragged her into morning. "Ananya! Get the tulsi leaves. And don't dawdle."
"Yes, Ma," she murmured, head lowered.
Her body moved on instinct—fetching leaves, sweeping the courtyard, pouring water into brass pots. But her thoughts clung to one thing only: the jug. Every time she walked past it, the air seemed to thicken. She avoided looking at it directly, terrified her cousin might notice. Yet from the corner of her eye, it glowed, not as brass, but as a promise.
The day stretched taut. Her father returned from the fields, her cousin shadowed her steps, her mother kept her busy with endless small commands. By evening, Ananya's bones ached from waiting. Each heartbeat was a question: When? How?
Finally, the house surrendered to night again. Her parents' door closed with its familiar wooden thud. Her cousin muttered in her sleep. The oil lamp in the hall sputtered out, plunging everything into soft darkness.
This time, Ananya didn't hesitate.
Bare feet pressed to the cold floor, she moved silently, her breath shallow. She paused at every sound—the shifting of her father's weight, the rustle of rats in the kitchen—but forced herself forward. The jug stood exactly as it had the night before, catching a sliver of moonlight that made it gleam like an invitation.
Her hands trembled as she lifted it.
At first, there was nothing—only the slosh of water against brass. Her heart faltered, a hollow ache swelling in her chest. Had she imagined it all? Had Riyan failed?
Then her fingers brushed against something dry, folded, foreign.
Her breath caught.
It was wedged carefully against the inner rim, away from the water. A strip of paper, softened at the edges, but intact. Her hand shook violently as she pinched it between trembling fingers and drew it free.
The world seemed to stop.
She sat on the floor, the jug heavy beside her, the note clutched to her chest. For a long moment, she couldn't move—fear and joy collided, threatening to break her apart. Then, slowly, she unfolded the paper.
The handwriting leapt out at her in the faint moonlight.
"Ananya, if you're reading this, then the walls haven't broken us yet. I am here. I am with you. No matter the locks, no matter the eyes that watch you. If you cannot come to me, I will come to you. Wait for me by the banyan, when you can. Our fight isn't over."
Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She pressed the note to her lips, to her forehead, to her heart. Each word carried his presence, his defiance, his love.
The house around her remained suffocating, the walls thick, her parents' rules unyielding—but within the fragile folds of paper, she felt freedom.
Her fingers traced the letters over and over, memorizing them as if engraving them into her soul. She wanted to whisper his name, to call it into the darkness, but she bit her lip, tasting the salt of her tears instead.
She tucked the note quickly into the hem of her blouse when a sudden creak splintered the silence. Her cousin shifted on the cot in the next room, muttering. Ananya froze, every muscle rigid, lungs locked.
Seconds stretched unbearably. The muttering faded back into steady breathing. The house slept on.
She let out a shaky exhale, her heart still racing.
The jug stood innocently at her side, its secret now hers alone. She placed it back carefully, adjusting it so no one would suspect a thing. Then she slipped back to her corner, curling around the note like a child around a candle flame.
Sleep never came. Instead, she replayed his words in her mind, again and again, until they became a rhythm against her pulse.
He is with me. He hasn't let go. We will fight.
For the first time in weeks, the suffocating silence inside her house cracked.
And in that crack, hope poured in.
Ananya closed her eyes, clutching his words to her chest, unaware that dawn would bring new eyes watching, and new dangers closing in.