Words - once spoken can only be forgiven. The irreversible nature of them have always made the oldest caution the young lest they carry the regret like their ancestors. Alas! No one learns this lesson until it is too late.
(Blurb to be edited)
Vāc i...
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The days in hiding had blurred together into something strangely pleasant.
Ahim sat near the open window, watching the early morning sun spill golden light across the courtyard. The gentle chatter of voices, the occasional clang of vessels from the kitchen—it was peaceful, almost domestic. Jayati moved about the room with effortless grace, bringing a tray of warm milk and dates.
“You should eat more,” she chided gently. “You won’t heal if you don’t.”
Ahim smirked, stretching his sore limbs. “You sound like my sister.”
Jayati arched an eyebrow. “Leelavati must be wise, then.”
That made him laugh. Wise? Leelavati? She was fierce, hot-tempered, and far too sentimental for her own good. But she loved him in the way only an elder sister could—with a loyalty that defied reason.
He took a sip of the milk, savoring the unexpected comfort. It was strange—this safe house, these unfamiliar people—yet he felt at ease. Jayati made him feel at ease.
And then, slowly, things began to shift.
At first, it was a small thing—one of the men in the household brushing past him in the hallway, not even acknowledging his presence. He had assumed they were Jayati’s family, yet their interactions were… distant. There was no warmth between them.
Then there was the night he had woken up restless and overheard a murmur from the other room.
“…has not sent word…”
“…we must wait…”
The words barely registered in his drowsy state. He turned over, exhaustion pulling him back into sleep.
It wasn’t until later—when he absentmindedly reached for a letter, intending to send word to Atulya—that the realization struck him.
His usual contact—the man who had smuggled messages for him—had not come. Not once in the past few days.
A cold thread of unease wove through his mind.
He sought Jayati, intending to ask. She was in the courtyard, tying her hair up, the setting sun catching in the strands. When he approached, she turned with an easy smile.
“Vibhuta—he hasn’t come by lately.” Ahim kept his voice light. “Do you know why?”
Jayati tilted her head, as if surprised by the question. “He is unwell.”
Something about the way she said it—calm, too unconcerned—made his stomach tighten. She wasn't supposed to know that. The previous hosts of the safe houses didn't know about the messenger's code name.
Doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Something was wrong.
