They thought no one saw them.
Not in the mango grove where shadows bent to shelter them,
not in the fog where their fingers brushed,
not in the silence that lingered after curfew bells.

But love always leaves traces.
A thread tied too tightly.
A look held too long.
A promise whispered where fire waits to answer.

Ash drifted over the village like a second skin,
settling into breath, into fabric, into memory.
Notices nailed to wooden posts split families with ink,
and the overseers’ voices carried further than mercy.

In such a world, even love becomes dangerous.
Even silence could betray.

This is where the story begins:
with two hands almost touching,
and everything is already slipping away.

(She went because she loved him; he must survive because she had chosen to protect him with her life.)


The poison crept slowly, winding through his veins like a shadow. Each heartbeat grew heavier, each breath a labor. He had hoped for a swift end, a quiet slipping into nothingness—but it was a slow drowning. The edges of the world blurred. The sounds of battle faded into a distant, muffled roar.


He reached for her hand, trembling, pressing against the cold skin of her wrist. But it was useless. She was already beyond reach, slipping through his fingers like wind through the trees. Still, he could not stop. He could not leave her like this.


His eyes fluttered closed—and suddenly, the world wasn't silent anymore.


The memory struck sharp, vivid, and merciless. They had been younger, carefree in the reckless way youth demanded. The mango grove behind the healer's hut was their secret place. The sun hung low, golden rays filtering through the branches, dappling the ground in shifting patterns of light.


They sat beneath the tree, backs against rough bark, legs tangled. Asha had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a habit he loved. Even the simplest gestures seemed to her like poetry.


"You ever wonder how long it'll take for us to forget the world?" he asked once, eyes tracing the leaves above.


Asha laughed, a melody he could never forget. "Forget the world? I think it's the world that's going to forget about us."


He had smiled, but beneath it lingered sadness. They knew the world held weight far heavier than their small corner of it, yet they had not cared. Not then.


Now, in the battlefield's silence, those moments felt like a life erased—a life he could never return to. A life before she had been taken from him.


He shook his head, trying to escape the pull of memory. The poison spread faster, clouding his vision, draining strength. Yet his mind clung to her—the softness of her touch, the unspoken understanding that had always existed between them.


Eyes closing again, he was back in the grove: laughter spilling between them, secrets whispered beneath the tree's shadow. All of it now a beautiful, tragic memory. And he was about to join it.


Chapter 11 - Chapter 10: The Sound of Silence