Heavy light hung in the air above Thiruvananthapuram, thick with smoke from burning spices. Toward the old temple we walked, drawn by something older than memory - the place where names carved in stone remembered us before we arrived.
Behind Papa I stepped, just a little back, the soft rustle of my silk half-saree brushing my skin with each move. Down at my hands I’d glance - and then his eyes would come back to me, George’s quiet look when he wanted my number like it meant nothing at all. Back home such things caused talk, whispers through village lanes; but here, where heat hung thick, it tugged at the girl they thought I was, the one who always stayed silent, stayed proper. That version of me now seemed far away, almost strange.
Snap out of it, Akka. That boy is still on your mind,” Shwetha murmured, tugging at my arm. Her fingers smoothed down her pleated skirt - she resembled a tiny Kerala bride, almost too perfect. “Your face gives you away. George might as well be printed across your forehead. One glance from Papa, and neither of us survives.”
Funny how lies slip out so easily, Shwetha, when the truth is tangled in a pulse racing for someone else. My words claimed calm thoughts of ritual, yet every beat under my ribs shouted his name instead.
The Temple of Echoes
Underfoot, the stone greeted us with quiet chill. Built long ago, the place stood in cracked but proud stonework. Flame danced inside small brass holders, casting wavered light along the edges. From somewhere within came the low hum of a conch being blown. Stepping past its threshold brought relief, as if the ground itself exhaled coolness through bare floors.
Papa seemed right where he belonged. Not so much the stern boss from that factory up north, but someone softer now - like a boy back at his mother's door. We moved step by step through what the family called Kudumbakshetra, speaking regret to the god for having stayed away too long. While the holy man recited old verses in Sanskrit, I let my eyelids drop.
That moment brought Rishi to mind - somewhere in Punjab now - he’d laugh at how loudly the priest spoke. Light falling on bronze statues - that’s what Chandru would care about, trying to draw it later. Then there was George, standing beyond the wall, already waiting.
Dhanya, ask for help with your schoolwork,” Amma murmured, giving a small push toward the back room.
I bowed my head, but my prayer was different. “God, give me the strength to know who I am. Am I the girl who obeys, or the girl who finally speaks up?”
The Uninvited Shadow
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Back at the trail from the temple, words faded. Heavy stillness followed, though Kerala’s wild weather wasn’t done yet. Dark purple clouds swallowed the light fast - rain cracked open, forcing us under the roof of the old house.
A shape came into view near the drive while we stood dripping, ridding our coats of water. It moved awkwardly, tangled in a ruined umbrella that refused to stay open.
Through the downpour, Shwetha narrowed her eyes. "Could it be…?".
I stood frozen. Not George at the door. Neither was it family.
There he stood, soaked right through, yet grinning just like always - crooked, unshaken. Rishi hadn’t changed a bit.
Rishi Bhaiya?” Shwetha whispered, breath caught as lightning cracked above. Thunder swallowed her words like a hungry mouth.
It turned out he really did it. Back then, in the school corridor, he’d said something about his family going to Kochi during summer - yet somehow he ended up in a far-off village near Thiruvananthapuram.
"Dhanya!" he called out, waving a soggy map. "I think I took a wrong turn at the coconut grove, but your house is exactly as big as you described!"
My eyes moved to Papa. There he stood, facing away, deep in conversation with a family member about temple records. Should he pivot and spot me - a teen from Punjab - calling out his daughter’s name on that old driveway - the quiet moment of regret we offered heaven might become my final breath.
"Shwetha, distract Papa!" I hissed.
This’ll take more than fancy erasers to fix, Akka,” Shwetha murmured, then dashed off to Papa, yelling that a huge frog had jumped through the garden.
Out on the porch I went, water stinging my skin. Rishi stood there - what was he thinking coming now? He shouldn’t have come. Dad would lose it
Fine, fine,” Rishi muttered, brushing wet strands from his face. The huge Tharavadu stretched before him, sudden silence where laughter had been. Seeing it made something shift inside. You weren’t answering, so he reached out - Vikram did, Dhanya. Figuring out your location is what he’s focused on right now. Just thought you should know, in case things go sideways
Out of the corner of my eye, someone else appeared - George Mathews, stepping from next door. Before Rishi managed more than a breath, he stood there, umbrella in hand, untouched by rain. His gaze shifted slowly, taking in the soaked kid on the drive, then landing on me.
Could it be her, the one you hoped would show up, Dhanya? George said, his words edged suddenly with something raw.
One foot in Punjab, where duty called. The other near Kerala’s quiet warmth. Not both at once - just pulled in each direction. Then came the creak of a stair. His shadow shifting down the hall. No shout yet. Just steps. Heavy. Familiar.
