Siddharth’s POV

The village had a way of holding its breath at night. A kind of sacred hush that wrapped around the tiled roofs, the half-burnt incense coils, and the faint echoes of temple bells still ringing in the wind. From a distance, it looked peaceful—sleeping babies in cradles, women locking kitchen doors, men pulling cotton blankets over their shoulders.

But I knew better.

Silence like that didn't come from peace.

It came from fear.

It came from houses that kept their doors bolted, from women who double-checked the windows, from the cautious eyes that darted toward the smallest sound.

And now, it came from her.

From Pranati.

Every breath she took felt like it was dipped in hesitation. Every step, every glance, was careful—measured like she was walking across a frozen lake, afraid the ice might shatter beneath her.

It killed me that I couldn’t take that weight off her chest.

But maybe I could bear it beside her.

That night, I walked the perimeter of the village. Not out of duty. Out of instinct. My eyes scanned rooftops, alleyways, the sharp turns behind Satya akka’s house where shadows liked to linger too long. My mind kept circling one name like a hound

I didn’t say his name aloud. Not even once.

Some names lose power when you don't speak them. Others gain it. And he was the latter.

His name had lodged itself in my head like a splinter. Not because of what he’d done, but because of what he still wanted to do. That email wasn’t just a threat. It was a declaration. A signature scrawled in obsession. 

I’d seen men like him before. 

In Dubai, I dealt with powerful clients. People who smiled with their teeth but held knives behind their backs. Pravin wasn’t powerful. But he was desperate. And desperation made people reckless. 

I forwarded the email to someone I trusted back in Dubai—Rafiq, my ex-colleague from the security firm days. I didn’t say much. Just: 

 "Need a trace on the sender. Fast. Discreet. Dangerous." 

He responded in minutes. 

 “I’m on it. Give me 24 hours.” 

After that, I didn’t sleep. 

I stopped beneath the ancient banyan near the temple, its hanging roots like prison bars in the dark. This was where we played as children - Pranati chasing fireflies, me pretending not to watch her instead. Now its shadows hid different games.

A rustle in the bushes. My body tensed before recognizing the feral cat that always lurked near the grain store. He wouldn't come tonight. Men like him preferred psychological warfare before physical confrontation. Still, I checked every shadow twice.

The walk home took me past the old schoolhouse. Chalk marks still decorated the walls where we'd played hopscotch. Pranati used to cheat by jumping diagonally, her braids flying, challenging me to call her out. I never did. Even then, her smile was worth more than winning.

Now? Now winning might mean keeping her alive.

Rafiq had emailed earlier.

“Found the IP address. It pinged from Hyderabad. Hotel Wi-Fi. He's still close.”

I had stared at that message for a long time.

Not because I was surprised. But because I wasn’t.

Some part of me had known he wouldn’t leave. Not quietly. Not completely. He wasn’t done feeding off her fear.

And I wasn’t done hunting him.

I looked up at the house—Satakka’s. The lights on the terrace were still glowing faintly. The cousins were asleep under the stars, their voices long gone. But she…

She was still up.

I could see her. Sitting at the far edge, knees pulled up to her chest. Her dupatta wrapped tightly around her like armor. Her hair spilling down her back, a river of black in the moonlight.

I stayed in the shadows. Watching. Not because I wanted to spy—but because I needed to be sure she was okay.

Shravan was there too. Sitting beside her, too close.

I watched his hand move toward hers. She flinched. Barely—but I saw it.

She didn’t want to be touched.

And he didn’t notice.

Or maybe he didn’t care.

It burned something inside me. Something fierce. But I didn’t move. Because that wasn’t my battle to fight.

At least not tonight.

Instead, I turned away and walked to the old neem tree outside Satya akka’s compound. My place. My corner of the world where I could breathe.

It was strange how familiar that tree had become. As if it had always known I’d return to this village—not just to my roots, but to something… more. Something I hadn’t even known I needed until she looked at me that night with tears in her eyes and said, “I thought it was you.”

She had accused me.

And still—I had never been more certain of what I wanted than I was in that moment.

Not vengeance.

Not redemption.

Just her safety.

I sat under the neem tree. Back pressed against the bark. Fingers grazing the dirt. Letting the silence speak. Letting the ache settle.

That’s when I heard her.

Soft footsteps on stone.

She didn’t say anything as she sat beside me. Didn’t look at me. Just pulled her knees to her chest and let out a long, quivering breath like it had been sitting in her throat for hours.

We sat like that. Two shadows carved into the night.

Then her voice, barely a whisper: “You found something, didn’t you?”

I didn’t look at her. Just nodded. “He’s still watching. From Hyderabad.”

She didn’t react the way I expected.

She didn’t panic. She didn’t cry. She just… trembled. Like her body was reliving it all again. The room. The touch. The fear that had crawled under her skin and refused to leave.

I looked down at the ground. “He’s not going to stop on his own.”

Her breath hitched. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

My voice was steel. “He won’t get the chance.”

She was quiet for a long time.

Then, barely audible, she asked, “Why are you doing all this?”

I turned my head, just enough to see her face in the pale glow of moonlight.

She wasn’t asking out of suspicion.

She was asking from a place of deep exhaustion.

Of having learned, over and over again, that even the people who say they care often only stay until the fire dies down.

And I couldn’t lie to her.

Not tonight.

I said, “Because no one should have to pretend to be happy in order to feel safe.”

She turned away. Eyes glistening.

And I wanted to take it all from her—the shame, the fear, the broken trust.

But I couldn’t.

All I could do was stay.

So I did.

I didn’t reach for her hand.

Didn’t lean in.

I just stayed beside her, offering nothing but presence.

And slowly… she leaned. Just slightly. Until her shoulder brushed mine.

She didn’t speak again. But I heard her silence. I felt it.

It said: Don’t go.

It said: I can’t say it yet, but please, stay.

So I did.

I sat there till the moon dipped lower and the wind picked up and the stars blinked sleepily overhead.

And for the first time since I came back to this village, I didn’t feel like a visitor.

I felt like I was where I was meant to be.

Right there—beneath a neem tree, beside a woman who didn’t yet know if she could trust love again.

But who let herself trust me.

Morning brought no clarity.

Sunlight polished the village into something picturesque - women drawing water at the well, shopkeepers rolling up shutters, the scent of roasting coffee beans cutting through the morning chill. Normalcy as camouflage.

I found Shravan holding court near the tea stall, regaling cousins with exaggerated proposals stories. I could see the way he flaunted the ring, told relatives stories of how he proposed—even though we both knew he hadn’t. 

He was performing. 

Pranati stood beside him like a beautifully wrapped package, her smile not reaching her eyes. When their fingers intertwined, hers lay limp. I catalogued every tell - the way her breath hitched when wedding dates were mentioned, how she rubbed her ring finger absently, as if trying to erase the imprint of metal.

"Brooding as usual, Siddu?"

I turned to find Aunt Lakshmi offering me tea, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

"Just tired," I lied, accepting the steel tumbler.

She hummed skeptically. "This family has enough drama without you adding mystery." Her gaze flickered toward Pranati. "That girl's wearing shadows under her eyes like bangles. You know why?"

The tea scalded my tongue. "Ask her fiancé."

Auntie's snort said everything. We both watched as Shravan pulled Pranati into a sudden embrace, spinning her dramatically. Her startled laugh sounded genuine until you noticed how her hands braced against his chest instead of curling into his shirt. How her feet sought solid ground the instant he released her.

She's drowning in plain sight, I realized. And we're all applauding the performance.

The confrontation came at midday.

I was reviewing Rafiq's dossier behind the temple when Shravan materialized like a bad omen.

"Stalking us now?" He blocked the sunlight, his shadow falling across Pravin's photograph in my hands.

I closed the file slowly. "Doing what you won't."

He flicked the dossier. "This? Police work. My friend's uncle the sub-inspector. I'll handle it."

"That's your solution for everything? Friend's uncle connections?"

The punch came fast but telegraphed. I caught his wrist an inch from my jaw. For a heartbeat, we were frozen - his rage, my calm, the past screaming between us.

Then his other hand shot out, snatching the papers. "She's mine to protect now."

I let him take them. Let him think he'd won. "Protection isn't ownership, Shravan."

He left with the dossier and a threat in his eyes. I waited until his footsteps faded before pulling out my phone. The encrypted backup files were already syncing to the cloud.

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