Pranati’s POV

Something had shifted.

Not in the air, not in the village, not even in the chaos of the fading festival. It was subtler than all that. It was in the silence between glances. In the stiffness in Shravan’s spine when Siddharth entered a room. In the way Siddharth’s jaw tensed, his eyes dark and unreadable, whenever Shravan came too close to me.

It wasn’t just tension anymore. It was something else. Something sharp and brittle.

I felt it like static on my skin.

At first, I dismissed it—told myself I was imagining it. Maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe I was reading into things. Until last night.

I had just finished dinner at Padmaakka’s house. The night was painted in hues of navy and ink, stars scattered above like whispers. I was walking back slowly, feeling the weight of the entire evening settle onto my shoulders, when I heard them.

Voices.

Behind the storage shed.

Raised. Angry.

Siddharth and Shravan.

I froze. My heart began to beat erratically.

Silently, I crept closer, my anklets held still in my hand, bare feet on cool stone.

“I’ll never let this happen,” Siddharth hissed. His voice was low, raw. Laced with something too close to pain.

“You already did,” Shravan snapped back. “You had your chance. You said nothing.”

My stomach twisted. My hand reached out blindly, finding the edge of the pillar, holding it like an anchor.

They were fighting.

Over me.

It wasn’t pride that burned through me—it was fear. I didn’t want to be the reason they fractured. They were brothers. Blood. And I was the wedge.

Yet the way Siddharth spoke… the unfiltered emotion in it…

Could it be…?

No.

I shook the thought away and stepped back, retreating toward the rooftop where most cousins had already laid out their mattresses. But even among the noise—Mahesh humming songs, Sai teasing Uma, Maneesha glued to her phone—I couldn’t breathe right.

That night, sleep evaded me.

And the next morning, Amma caught me off-guard.

She pulled me into the inner room, fussing over my hair before she stilled and asked gently, “Buji… are you okay with everything?”

Her tone was soft, her words tentative.

I hesitated. For a heartbeat too long. Then forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, Amma.”

I lied.

Because how could I say what I truly felt? That Siddharth’s absence those four days had carved hollows in me. That Shravan’s touch didn’t stir the storm it once did. That the kiss Siddharth left on my lips beneath the Bathukamma moon hadn’t stopped echoing inside me.

And then the envelope came.

It was sitting on my bed when I returned from the bathroom. A cream envelope, sealed delicately with red ink. Not a soul in the room.

I opened it slowly, warily.

A photo slid out.

It was me.

Wearing yesterday’s yellow kurti. Sitting near the tulasi plant. Reading a book.

The shot was close. Too close.

A note was tucked behind it.

"Your smile was missing yesterday. Don’t let him take it away from you. I’m always watching, Pranu."

My fingers trembled.

No. No no no. Not again.

It wasn’t Shravan.

It wasn’t Siddharth.

It was him. The one I thought I’d left behind.

The stalker.

I grabbed my phone and shakily dialed Sakshi.

She picked up within two rings. “Pranu?”

My voice cracked. “He’s back.”

“What?”

“The stalker. A new photo. A note. He’s still watching me.”

“Where are you right now?”

“In my room. Alone. But—Sakshi, I can’t tell anyone. Not now. The engagement—everything is already a mess.”

There was a pause. “Stay around people. Be with the cousins. Stick close to Satya akka if needed. Do not let anyone notice you’re scared, but be alert.”

I nodded, biting my lip. “Siddharth… he’s acting strange. There’s something going on between him and Shravan.”

“Because he’s in love with you.”

Her words felt like a slap. Sharp and impossible.

“Sakshi…”

“I told you. He always was. He just didn’t know how to say it. And now he’s watching you get engaged to someone else. While some lunatic sends you photos in secret. You’re surrounded, Pranu. But you’re not alone. You have me.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Trust your gut. And whatever happens—don’t wear fear like jewelry.”

Later that evening, I found myself on the rooftop again.

The stars blinked above, gentle and silent. The cousins were sprawled across pillows and bedsheets. Mahesh and Sai were being ridiculous, singing old Telugu movie songs in falsetto. Maneesha was whispering into Nelson’s photo. Shweta was complaining about her swollen feet and how she missed the AC back home.

I sat at the edge of the parapet, pulling my knees into my chest, staring into the darkness.

And I felt it.

Two pairs of eyes.

Siddharth, watching me from the shadows near the staircase.

And another.

Beyond the fence. Beyond the neem trees.

My skin crawled.

I wrapped my blanket tighter.

The ring on my finger felt like a question mark, a weight I didn’t know how to carry anymore. Siddharth had been silent since the ring exchange. Too silent. And the fact that he gave those rings without blinking—without a single protest—made something inside me ache.

He was letting me go.

And I didn’t know how to stop him.

The photo burned inside my pillowcase. The stalker was back. Real. And too close.

I felt like I was standing in the center of a storm.

Two brothers.

One lie.

One secret watching me from the dark.

And a heart that was slipping further away from everything it once believed in.

I closed my eyes and made a wish.

That tomorrow would make something clearer.

Because tonight, I was unraveling.

Siddharth’s POV

The engagement ring sparkled on her finger like a cruel joke.

And yet—she wore it.

Every time Pranati walked into a room—her laughter echoing among the buzz of cousins, her hair loosened from the evening wind, her kurta glowing in muted golden light—I found myself watching her. Not with longing, not with admiration alone. But with something sharper. Something I didn’t have a name for. Want. Regret. Anger. All tangled together in a knot that tightened every time her eyes skipped over me like I didn’t exist.

Because she wasn’t mine anymore.

She was his fiancée.

And I was the fool who let her go.

The house was too loud for how broken I felt. Every corridor vibrated with chatter. Uma and Maneesha were teasing Anu about an old crush. Mahesh and Sai were blasting a stupid meme song on the speaker, dancing near the veranda and trying to drag Arjun into the mess. Dhana pinni sat near the swing, eating halwa and instructing Mahesh to fetch water. Shweta was waddling around with her swollen belly, complaining that her sandals didn’t fit anymore. Satya pinni was gossiping about Suman's new boyfriend our neighbor with Manju pinni. Ammamma was in the inner room, overseeing the Kharam arrangements, chanting something under her breath while tying betel leaves into neat bunches.

Everything looked festive. Traditional brass lamps glowed in every corner. Jasmine garlands hung on the windows. Steel trays of sweets were lined up near the pooja mandapam. The tulasi plant had fresh turmeric smeared on its base, glowing in the soft evening light. The aroma of coconut and sandalwood clung to the air like memory.

But none of it meant anything to me.

Because I was suffocating.

Shravan was near the large mirror in the hallway, trying on a cream sherwani with golden embroidery. He adjusted his collar, examined himself with the same pride he always carried, like he was already living in a future sculpted perfectly for him. The engagement was merely a box to tick on his path to domestic perfection.

I stood in the doorway, my arms crossed, watching him.

He caught my eyes in the mirror. That smug smile.

“You like the color?” he asked casually, flicking an invisible speck off his shoulder. “Pranu picked it.”

His voice sliced through my patience. “You don’t deserve her.”

He turned around slowly, his expression tightening.

“And you do?” he asked, voice cold. “You walked away, Anna. You disappeared when she needed you. I was the one who stayed.”

“You manipulated her,” I snapped, stepping closer.

He laughed—bitter and small. “I loved her. You? You watched her fall for you, and you stood like a statue. You kissed her, then vanished. You pushed her right into my arms. Don't cry about it now”

I could’ve punched him. Right there. In the middle of the hallway, beneath Amma’s framed wedding photo.

But I didn’t.

Because a punch would be a battle.

And this was war.

Later that evening, the rooftop was crowded again. Cousins spread mattresses everywhere, string lights swaying gently above us, casting golden halos across the tiled floor. Anu and Maneesha were retelling a ghost story from their hostel days. Uma was trying to convince Mahesh to stop throwing popcorn into Sai's. Shweta was massaging her feet with coconut oil and complaining about being the only pregnant woman among older cousins.

In the corner, near the parapet, sat Pranati.

Alone.

Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her head resting on them. The wind tugged at the blanket draped over her shoulder. Even in the moonlight, I could see the dark circles under her eyes. The engagement ring caught a gleam from the fairy lights—but her face… it was worn. Hollowed. Like someone fighting a battle no one else saw.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

When the others went downstairs to fetch tea and leftover sweets, I stayed.

I walked toward her, every step echoing louder in my chest than in the night air. She didn’t look up. Her breath was steady, but too still.

I crouched beside her.

The blanket had slipped from her shoulder. I reached to pull it up.

“Cold?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Sleep’s not coming easily these days?”

She looked at me then. Her eyes were gentle, but guarded. Like they’d been locked from the inside.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it,” I said, unable to hide the ache in my voice.

She turned her face away. “And what do you care now?”

That hurt. More than it should have.

“I care,” I said after a moment. “Too much. That’s the problem.”

She didn’t reply.

So I did the unthinkable. I told the truth.

“I can’t watch you marry him.”

Her eyes widened.

“I won’t let it happen,” I continued, my voice low. “I’ll talk to Amma. To Ammamma. I don’t care if it burns everything down.”

Her voice trembled. “Why now, Siddharth? Why wait until after the ring? After the pelli chupulu?”

I didn’t have an answer. Not a good one. Only the truth.

“Because the thought of him touching you drives me insane.”

We stared at each other. The silence between us wasn’t quiet. It thundered. Every heartbeat, every unsaid word roared in that stillness.

Then from the stairwell—Shravan’s voice, casual, unaware. “Pranu? Come down. Nannamma’s calling you.”

Her body tensed. She stood up slowly. Like she was waking from a dream.

And left.

Without a word.

I sat there long after she was gone. Her scent lingered in the blanket, her warmth still folded in the fabric.

And I hated myself.

Not for loving her.

But for loving her too late.

I didn’t go back inside. I walked down the back steps, through the narrow gravel path between Satakka’s rooftop and the old well. Fireflies flickered near the neem tree. Crickets chirped in the distance.

Then I saw him.

A shadow. Still. Watching.

He wasn’t smoking. Wasn’t moving. Just… standing. His head turned toward the house. Toward her window.

My fists clenched.

“Who’s there?” I called out, voice sharp.

The figure didn’t flinch. Then—like smoke—he disappeared into the field.

I ran after him, past the boundary, into the sugarcane path. But he was gone. Only footprints remained. Small. Light. Not any of the cousins.

My stomach dropped.

It wasn’t one of us.

Something was off. 

Something wrong. 

Back inside, Amma was sorting bangles with Dhana Aunty. The room was bright, filled with marigolds and laughter. But I could barely breathe.

I pulled Amma aside. My voice was a whisper, but my hands were shaking. “Amma, cancel this engagement.” 

Her face stiffened. “Siddhu—” 

“I’m not asking. I’m telling. This is a mistake.” 

“And you realized that after they exchanged rings?” 

“I’ll fix it. I’ll talk to Pranati. I’ll—” 

She put a hand on my chest. 

“Stop.” 

Her eyes were soft, but fierce. 

“She said yes to Shravan. You had your chance.” 

I walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back. 

Because she was right.

But being right didn’t make it hurt less.

And now it was too late.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it had just begun.

Because I knew something now. With clarity I’d never had before.

Shravan might’ve placed that ring on her finger.

But her heart?

It still beat for me.

And I would not let her go.

Not again.

Not to him.

Not to anyone.