Ratna stood at the edge of the terrace, gazing out at the vast, unbroken stretch of the Thar, where earth and sky blurred into one uneasy horizon. The sun was sinking fast, staining the world in amber and ash, as though it wished to devour everything in a single, aching breath before vanishing. Birds cut through the darkening sky in scattered flocks, their hurried calls sharp with urgency, as if even they sensed the hour was not meant to linger. A cold wind surged upward from the desert below, winding itself around the terrace stones and slipping beneath Ratna's skin. She shivered. The iron railing beneath her fingers quivered faintly—old, worn, unsettled. For a moment, it felt as though the structure itself was listening.
She drew her odhani tighter around her arm and turned slowly.
Sagar sat behind her, stiff on the cemented chair, his hands hidden from view, his eyes fixed on her back as if afraid that if he looked away, she might disappear. Ratna caught his gaze and smiled—soft at first, then deliberately teasing.
"You're hiding something," she said, her voice low, almost intimate. "And you're terrible at it."
She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of mitti and jasmine clinging to her clothes. "How do you manage to be so adorable and foolish at the same time?" she added gently. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice?"
Her fingers pointed toward the cushion beside him. Beneath it, the edge of a red pouch peeked out like a secret begging to be discovered.
Sagar swallowed. His fingers twitched before he lifted the cushion just enough to reassure himself that it was still there. He replaced it carefully, as if handling something fragile—and far more important than it appeared. When he looked up at her again, his smile was nervous, unguarded, almost helpless. It was the kind of smile that carried words he couldn't yet say.
Ratna felt something stir uncomfortably in her chest.
She turned back toward the horizon, though she could feel his gaze following her, heavy and warm against her spine. The sun was now only a thin, burning arc clinging to the edge of the world. The sky deepened into bruised purples and muted pinks, the colors bleeding softly into one another. The last rays stretched stubbornly across the terrace, as if resisting the night, as if aware that once darkness settled, something would awaken with it.
They stood on the terrace of the Dhusariya kothi—an imposing structure built around a broad courtyard, its rooms enclosing secrets as much as space. Balanced on a cliff, the mansion overlooked a deep trench on one side, beyond which the desert spread endlessly, silent and watchful. Three gateways opened toward the village below, but the fourth faced only emptiness, falling away into shadow.
The surrounding houses were small kachcha homes, their mud walls and thatched roofs clustered close together. The villagers lived simply—tending camels and goats, coaxing life from patches of land where bajra and makka dared to grow. Above them all, the Dhusariya kothi loomed—respected, whispered about, and never truly questioned.
People spoke often of the desert's merciless summers, but those who belonged to this land knew winter was far more unforgiving. November had just arrived, carrying those deceptively gentle pink evenings—soft to the touch, almost kind. Yet beneath that calm lay something sharper. As the wind grew louder and the silence deeper, it felt as though the desert was holding its breath.
And so were they.
Sagar was leaving for the city at dawn. This night—thin and trembling at the edges—was the last he had claimed for Ratna before life carried him away, or rather, before he was forced to let himself be carried. Ratna understood the weight of customs too well; the desert taught you early what was allowed and what was forbidden. She kept her eyes on the dying sun and spoke softly, as if afraid the wind might overhear.
"I know you love me," she said, her voice barely more than breath. "Don't you?"
Sagar gave a nervous smile, one that failed to hide the ache beneath it."Is it… that obvious?"
"That," Ratna replied, a faint laugh escaping her, "is why I called you stupid." Then her smile faded, leaving something raw behind. "They will never let us be together. Don't you see how their eyes darken when I come to meet you? You should go, Sagar. You have a life waiting for you." Her throat tightened. "I could die for you—but I cannot let you die with me."
There was a pause. The wind seemed to still.
"And what if I take you with me?" Sagar said—not loudly, not dramatically, but with a steadiness that cut through the night.
Ratna turned sharply.
Sagar was on one knee.
The sight struck her breathless. In his hands was a bouquet of roses, their petals bruised by the fading light. His face, usually so unsure, was stripped bare of doubt."Ratna," he said, his voice breaking despite his resolve, "I cannot live without you. I've tried—truly tried—but I fail every time. Your smile pulls me out of despair. Your laughter heals places in me I didn't know were broken." Tears brimmed in his eyes. "If you say no tonight, I won't stop you. I'll leave on the first train tomorrow and never look back. But if you love me—even a little—then I will not leave you. Not now. Not ever. Let's run away. Somewhere far from these rules and names and traditions. We'll work, we'll struggle, we'll build a life that belongs only to us."
He reached into his pocket and placed a ring in front of her.
Ratna did not gasp. She did not recoil. The truth was, this love had grown so quietly, so deeply, that she could no longer remember when it had begun. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she picked up the ring. It glimmered softly in the half-light—golden leaves curling protectively around a delicate rose carved from crystal. The rose gleamed crimson… or perhaps something darker. For a moment, it reminded her of blood, though she could not say why.
She hesitated."Think carefully, mister," she whispered. "Once we run, there is no turning back. If we're caught, you might still be spared. I won't."
"Then we'll leave this country," Sagar said quickly, wiping his tears, hope desperate in his eyes. "We'll go anywhere. Everywhere."
Ratna studied his face—so earnest, so frightened, so full of love. Then she nodded slightly."Hm. Then why don't you put it on for me?"
Sagar's breath broke into a sob of joy."So… that means yes?"
He rose, took her hand, and slid the ring onto her finger. The terrace remained unnaturally silent—as if the world had stepped back to watch. Sagar's hand found her waist, tentative, reverent. He leaned in to embrace her—
Thud.
A violent jolt tore him backward. Fingers clutched his kurta from behind and yanked him away. Before he could even turn, before his mind could form a question, his eyes fell to the ground.
Ratna lay sprawled on the sand below.
Lifeless.
The desert wind rose suddenly, the grains of sand shifting hungrily, crawling over her body as if trying to claim her whole. The ring on her finger glistened wetly now. What had once looked crimson was unmistakably blood-red.
"Ratna…"The name escaped Sagar's lips like a dying whisper.
He turned, shaking, to face the one who had pulled him back. His voice shattered."Megha…? But why…? You—did you push her on purpose? Or was it… what happened…?"
His sobs tore through the silence, rising into a shrill, animal cry before collapsing into nothing. The world dimmed. His body gave way, and he crumpled into Megha's arms—breathing, alive, yet emptied of sense.
The night finally closed in, swallowing the last trace of sunlight.
And the desert said nothing.