CHAPTER 2

Aarvi’s POV

I turned seventeen today.

No flowers. No vermillion dot on my forehead for blessing. No words of joy or even remembrance.

In this ashram, birthdays are not celebrated. Life is not honored — it is contained.

And I have been contained for fifteen years.

I woke before the conch shell was blown, as I always did.
But today, there was a trembling in my chest. Not fear. Not illness.
Something unspoken. Something stirring.

When I stepped out into the temple courtyard, the morning felt strange. Still, as if the wind was holding its breath.

The tulsi leaves were wet with dew. The peepal tree didn’t rustle like it usually did.

And the sky... wasn’t golden. It was grey.

“Aarvi, tulsi mein paani de diya?”
“Haan, Didi,” I replied softly, bowing slightly, though my hands shook around the brass pot.

I moved through my tasks like I was meant to — sweeping, dusting the idols, chanting softly under my breath. But my eyes kept drifting to the iron gates.

The same gates that had stood still every day of my life.

The same gates I had never dared to walk beyond.

“Baahar ki duniya dukhi hai,” Didi used to say, when I was a child and pointed toward the road.
“Tum jaisi pavitra ladkiyon ke liye woh nahi bani hai.”

So I believed her. I never questioned. Never asked.

But today… I was questioning everything without saying a word.

They say I was left at the ashram gates when I was barely two.

No name. No explanation. Just a thin white cloth and a pair of frightened eyes.

The priests raised me. The devotees respected me.

Some worshipped me. Others avoided me.

To them, I was sacred. Or strange. Or both.
To myself… I was just a girl waiting for something she couldn’t name.

I swept the steps of the main temple slowly, purposefully — trying to bury my thoughts in the movements.

But I kept glancing toward the main gates.
They looked… different today. Not like a wall. Not like a command.
But like an invitation.

I pressed my hand against my chest. My heartbeat was louder than the temple bell.

“Kya sirf ek baar dekhne mein paap hota hai?”

The day passed in routine:

I helped in the kitchen, folded prasad cloths, arranged flowers for the evening aarti.
But my fingers trembled when they shouldn’t.
I dropped a diya. I spilled the milk during abhishekam.

Didi scolded me gently, but her eyes lingered on me longer than usual — as if she sensed the storm I didn’t know how to hide.

By nightfall, the ashram began to settle.

Chants softened. Lamps flickered low.
The world of discipline, of ritual and peace, began to sleep.

But not me.

I stood in the courtyard under the peepal tree, barefoot, staring at the shadows beyond the gate.

It wasn’t rebellion.

It wasn’t desire.

It was… yearning.

Like something was pulling me gently by the wrist, whispering without words:

“You don’t belong to stone walls, Aarvi. Just tonight — step forward.”

My dupatta slipped from my shoulder as I took the first step.

I didn’t fix it.

The gate loomed before me.

Painted red, decorated with peepal leaves and turmeric lines — it had always looked like a symbol of protection.
But tonight, under the faint moonlight, it looked like a boundary.

Not just of the ashram.
Of me.

It was just past midnight. Everyone was asleep.

The night breeze carried the scent of wild jasmine and wet earth. A distant owl called. The aarti lamps had long gone cold.

I stepped carefully across the marble floor of the ashram corridor, heart thudding in my ears louder than my footsteps.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I know I shouldn’t.

But tonight felt different.

All my life, I'd stood on the steps of the mandir and looked out through the gate’s wooden gaps — at trees swaying beyond, at the forest that looked like a painting. Still. Quiet. Untouchable.

I used to wonder if the wind felt different beyond those gates. If grass there whispered in a different tongue.

Maybe I just wanted to hear the world speak for once — in a voice that wasn’t a shlok or a bhajan.

"Thoda sa hi toh dekhna hai... bas kuch kadam.”

I pushed the gate open. It creaked faintly — like a warning — but didn’t resist.

My feet hesitated at first. The ground outside was colder, softer. Wild grass tickled my toes.

A strange thrill ran through me. Like freedom. Or fear. Or both.

Above me, stars blinked — thousands of them.
The sky outside was wider than I had ever known. Unfiltered. Untouched.

I walked slowly. Step by step. Into the forest that bordered the temple grounds.

The trees were tall — older than time, maybe. Shadows moved between their trunks. Not creatures. Just silence taking shape.

My fingers brushed against leaves. They felt alive.

There were sounds too — frogs croaking, crickets singing, something rustling far off.

I smiled.

Not because I was brave.
But because this — this felt like mine. Real.

I didn’t plan to go far. Just enough to breathe something wild.

But then — voices.

Male. Rough. Slurred.

“Kya dekh rahe ho be… koi ladki hai…”
“Akeli hai? Raat ke time? Yahaan?”
“Kya maal hai yeh…”

My blood turned to ice.

I turned. Three men stood in the clearing behind me, half-drunk, lantern in hand, leering.

I froze. My mind screamed for a prayer, but all mantras flew from me like frightened birds.

“Mat aana paas!” I shouted, voice trembling.

They laughed.

I took a step back. Then another.
They took steps forward. Casual. Confident.

“Ashram ki hai lagti hai… par bahar kya kar rahi hai, devi?”
“Kya bhagwaan bhej diya humein aaj…”

I turned and ran.

I didn’t know the forest.
I didn’t know where the road was.
I didn’t know if anyone would help even if I screamed.

Branches scratched at my arms. My feet stumbled over roots and stones.
The night, once peaceful, now roared in my ears — filled with thudding heartbeats and dry leaves cracking under my steps.

I didn’t look back.

The voices behind grew distant, but I didn’t stop.

And then — light.

A beam of it cutting through trees.

The forest opened to a narrow main road, asphalt glinting faintly under headlights.

A single car. Fast. Sleek. A black shadow flying down the road.

“Ruko…” I whispered.
“Dekho mujhe…”

But it didn’t stop.

I stepped onto the road — half panicked, half blind. My mind couldn’t decide whether to flee or plead.

The car swerved.

Tires screamed.

I couldn’t even scream before the world tipped sideways — light flashing, the sound of metal, and a sharp crack in my ribs.

Pain hit me like lightning.
The ground kissed me hard.

Then — nothing.

My eyes blinked open for a second.

Blurry shapes. Warm blood on my arm. My breath shallow and cracked.

Voices again — hurried, panicked, different this time. Not cruel.

Strong arms lifting me. A strange scent — unfamiliar, expensive — brushed past my skin.

And in that half-conscious haze, for the first time ever… I saw him.

Not his face. Just the outline.
Tall. Dark. Still.

Like the man from my dreams — only this time, real.

The world slipped away again.

But even as blackness pulled me under, one thought stayed:

“This is not a dream.”

My breath caught. My chest heaved.

I wanted to ask his name. I wanted to ask what this place was.

But the light above flickered again.

And my body, too weak to hold questions, gave in.

I had only wanted to see the forest.
Just a few steps beyond the gate.

But in one night, I crossed into a world I was never told existed.

And the eyes I saw last…
Felt like they belonged to someone who already knew me.

Even if I didn’t know myself anymore.