Riyan's fist closed around the ribbon so tightly the silk bit into his palm. His heartbeat thundered. Kabir's words kept ringing in his ears.
Someone else saw it.
For one wild second he wanted to believe Kabir was joking, that it was some twisted way to make him loosen his grip on this fragile lifeline. But Kabir's eyes, sharp and grim in the dim hostel light, said otherwise.
"Who?" Riyan rasped.
Kabir shut the door with a sharp click. "One of the juniors. That chatterbox—Vikram. He came to me this evening, asking why you were crouched at the banyan tree holding some girl's ribbon like it was divine prasad."
Riyan's blood iced. "And what did you tell him?"
"I laughed it off," Kabir said quickly. "Told him you were practicing for some stupid drama audition. He bought it—for now. But you know how it goes. Boys talk. He'll blab."
The air in the room thickened with dread. Riyan paced, every muscle tight as a bowstring. He could handle gossip in the hostel. He could handle whispers in the canteen. But if word spread beyond campus, if it reached her cousin—or worse, her parents—then the tiny thread between him and Ananya would snap.
Kabir leaned back against the desk, arms crossed. "We have to assume it's already moving. By tomorrow, half the hostel will have heard something. And from there…"
Riyan didn't need him to finish. From there, it could bleed into the village. Into her house. Into the ears of people who would use it as a weapon.
That night, Riyan didn't sleep. He sat on his bed, the ribbon stretched across his knees, his jaw locked tight. Every laugh he heard echo down the hostel corridor felt like it was aimed at him. Every whisper felt like Ananya's name being dragged into danger.
By dawn, he knew two things for certain:
He couldn't let Ananya know about this—fear would only trap her tighter.
He had to stay one step ahead before gossip reached her world.
At breakfast, the hostel was a hive of noise. The clang of steel plates, the sharp aroma of chai, the endless chatter of boys swapping rumors like trading cards. Riyan moved through it like a storm cloud, his eyes searching for Vikram.
He found him laughing too loudly near the gate, surrounded by three others.
"Oi, lover boy," one of them jeered as Riyan passed. "Practicing for temple roles, are you? Or just worshipping banyan trees?"
Laughter erupted.
Riyan froze, every muscle screaming to lash out. But he forced his fists open, forced himself to keep walking. A fight now would only draw more eyes, more questions.
Behind him, Vikram's voice carried, high and smug: "I'm telling you, I saw him. Like he'd found treasure. Some girl's ribbon, green as grass. He was kissing it."
The words cut like knives.
Kabir was at his side in a second, gripping his arm. "Not here. Don't give them blood."
Riyan's jaw ached with the effort it took not to whirl and smash his fist into Vikram's smirking face. Instead, he walked faster, dragging Kabir with him until they were out of earshot.
"They know," Riyan hissed. "They'll spread it."
Kabir's face was grim. "Then we control the story. We bury it in something bigger before it reaches her village."
By afternoon, the rumor had grown legs. In the hostel canteen, Riyan heard it twisted already:"He's got a secret girlfriend.""No, no—he's chasing some rich girl's daughter.""I heard it's a married woman."
The lies spun faster than he could stop them. And every new twist only sharpened the danger.
Because once the village got hold of such gossip, they wouldn't care about truth. They'd only care about control.
That evening, Riyan sat with Kabir beneath the banyan itself, the ribbon tied once more against the root. His hand brushed it absently, his eyes hollow.
"If they find out it's her…" His voice cracked. "They'll cage her until she can't breathe. Worse—they'll hurt her for daring to care about me."
Kabir's gaze softened, though his tone stayed steady. "Then we don't let them find out. We make noise elsewhere. A diversion. If they want a story, we give them one—one that's harmless."
Riyan looked up, fire in his eyes. "And if that fails?"
Kabir didn't flinch. "Then we fight harder. But never here, never where it leaves her exposed. If you want to protect her, you keep your head low until the time is right."
Riyan's hands curled into fists. "I can't just sit and watch while they—"
"Sometimes waiting is fighting," Kabir cut in, firm. "Sometimes silence is the shield."
But that night, back in his room, Riyan sat again with the ribbon. He pressed it against his lips, his heart aching with all the words he couldn't speak.
He imagined Ananya clutching his note in the dark, hiding it against her chest, the same fear in her veins. He imagined her cousin's sharp eyes, her parents' heavy silence.
And he swore to himself: If they close in on her, if they even try to break her for loving me, I'll burn every rule to ash.
Outside the hostel, voices drifted through the night—two boys laughing as they walked past, one saying clearly: "That green ribbon… I bet it belongs to someone in her village."
Riyan's blood ran cold. The storm was moving faster than he'd feared.