Chapter 6: Ink and Tears

I dreaded meeting Ananya. Would she too be lost to me? Would she choose Priya?

I waited in the veranda, dusk settling, the azaan drifting over rooftops. My memories pressed close, their weight almost unbearable.

Sunita brought news: "Madam, Sir sent word to the Shenoys. The young miss will be home soon."

At sunset, Ananya arrived, anklets tinkling on the stairs, the scent of ink and turpentine clinging to her.

She ran to me, skirt flying, and flung herself into my arms. "Maa!"

I hugged her tight, her hair tangling in my bangles, her tears soaking my shoulder.

She sobbed, "Maa, I always thought I killed you..."

My heart clenched. The guilt of a child is a heavy thing.

I wiped her tears with my handkerchief, my hands trembling.

"Don’t cry, Ananya. It was an attacker who made me fall—not you."

Those years, Rohan’s politics had brought enemies to our door. On temple day, masked goons attacked us. To save Ananya, I wore Rohan’s jacket, luring them away—the smell of sweat and fear still haunted me. Fleeing, I slipped from the cliff, waking up in Kaveripur, where fate led me to Kabir.

I soothed her until her sobs faded. She pulled out a crumpled sheet—her painting of me, the smile, the mole above my brow.

She sniffled, "Mrs. Shenoy taught me. Priya aunty said my painting is poor, but Mrs. Shenoy said you were the best in calligraphy and painting. I want to be like you."

I smiled, wiping away tears. "For your age, your painting is wonderful."

She managed a teary smile, hope flickering in her eyes.

I asked gently, "Ananya, will you come to Kaveripur with me?"

She nodded without hesitation.

Relief flooded me. "Good. I’ll have your things packed. We’ll leave in a few days."

At the threshold, a servant switched off the fan and the distant muezzin’s call lingered—a reminder that the world outside was waiting.