Darkness pressed down like a weight. My eyes stayed fixed on the grain of the wood above me. Not a sound came from outside, only the uneven breaths through the wall. Sleep never touched her that evening, though she lay still. The silence between walls felt heavier than before.

  A noise, gentle but sudden, tapped against the glass near me.

  My body locked in place. A moment passed - another sound arrived. Heavy. Dull.

  From my hands and knees, I reached the window, forcing it wide. Below, among dark shapes by the flowers, George waited. Not today did he clutch an umbrella. A scrap of paper filled his grip instead.

  Today I kept you safe, Dhanya, he murmured, words drifting into the thick warmth around them.

  What made you tell that lie, George? The words slipped out, so quiet they almost vanished.

  "Because I don't want your father to send you away before I get to know you," he said. "But that boy... Rishi... he’s in love with you. Even a blind man could see that. And I don't like losing to boys who can't even hold an umbrella straight."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He reached up and tucked the paper into a crevice in the window frame. "My number is on there. If you don't call me by tomorrow, I might just 'remember' a few more details to tell your father about the tourist."

  Off he went, swallowed by the night, leaving no chance to speak.

  Inside, the paper dragged through my fingers. Heavy. Like it carried more than just words. Thirteen then. Stuck between people who claimed they cared too much, others who resented what they didn’t have, and a dad slipping further from someone he believed he’d raised right.

  A shape caught my eye - the numeral on the page. Beside it, tucked in fabric folds, rested a carved flute made of wood.

  Back then, eighth grade should have meant building volcanoes for class or hitting high notes in choir. Life had different plans. Survival took center stage. Trouble didn’t come from distant faces like Vikram, the harsh older kid from Punjab days. This time, danger lived right beside me - in Thiruvananthapuram - where a neighbor boy quietly decided what came next.