That morning brought the trip to the family temple. A quiet kind of weight settled in the air - part duty, part memory. Not celebration, but something deeper held everyone still.

  Out came Dhanya and Shwetha, draped in bright half-sarees that shimmered like temple idols at dawn. Not just cloth - those silks pulled you in: dark blue folding into golden threads, glowing warm under the sun. While one adjusted folds at the waist, the other reached behind to twist strands of hair into place, tucking white jasmine where it caught the light. With every clip and fold, even Nidhi began to shift, her usual self fading beneath careful touches and quiet giggles. By midmorning, three girls stood there, changed without saying a word.

  Footsteps quick on the dirt, Dhanya stepped forward when the others began packing up. She said she’d go - off toward an aunt’s place just down the lane. That route cut close beside the Mathews home, near enough to see smoke curling from their chimney.

  Bright light spilled through the trees, turning water on foliage into tiny sparks. Out came George then, emerging past his fence, cleaner now compared to how he appeared at night.

  Hold on a second, Dhanya!” he shouted.

  Dhanya stopped, her silk skirt rustling. "Yes, George? We’re heading to the temple."

  Wow, you look… amazing,” he said, caught off guard by how the old-style change suited her. Shaking free of the pause, he moved nearer. Tell me, could I have your number?

  Dhanya opened her eyes slowly - two versions of herself pushing against each other inside. One stayed quiet, kept to herself; the other always did what was expected. Her voice came out thin, surprised: “You want my number… for what reason?”

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  George gave a charming, half-embarrassed shrug. "We spoke last night, remember? It was a good talk. I’d like to keep it going after you leave Thiruvananthapuram."

  Dhanya looked his way. Numbers in Punjab stayed hidden, treated as if they belonged to a silent code. Here, deep in an old village, with her family’s past watching close and her father standing nearby, asking such a thing seemed to light a match inside a barn full of dry grass.

  "George," she said, her voice steady but her heart racing. "I remember the talk. But in my house, numbers aren't just for 'talking.' If my father sees me giving a number to a neighbour I met in the dark... the 'apology' we’re doing at the temple won't be enough to save me."

  A word formed on George's lips, yet right then - Shwetha stepped into view down the path. Her gaze tightened when she saw them together.

  "Akka! Papa is asking if you've reached the house yet!" Shwetha shouted, her voice laced with a "you’re-in-trouble" tone.

  Dhanya held George in her gaze, just once more. Then she said the words: it was time to leave

  Her steps carried her forward, pulse jumping with the jittery thrill of being seen for the first time. Unknown to her, George wasn’t alone in his attention. High up in the Mathews’ home, a figure lingered at an open pane - Franklin, eyes fixed on her retreating form. Around them, the air thickened. Summer in Thiruvananthapuram had barely begun.