The evening came too quickly.
Aarya sat in the old veranda, staring at the willow tree. The villagers' words echoed in her mind, clinging to her like mist.
"He is the reason the Bride still waits."
"Every woman who falls in love…"
No.
She shook her head.
This was madness.
Coincidence. Old wives' tales.
The floorboards creaked behind her.
She didn't have to turn to know who it was.
Ayan stood in the doorway — silent, still, like a memory taking shape.
His clothes were dry this time. His hair fell loosely around his face. He looked like someone out of a different time — someone who had stood under many skies, waited at many doorsteps, seen years pass like seasons.
"You went to the village," he said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
Aarya's throat tightened. "They said things."
Ayan exhaled — slow, weary — as if he had heard these "things" for a very long time.
"What did they tell you?" he asked.
"That there's a curse," she whispered.
"That a bride died beneath the willow. That her lover never returned."
Her voice faltered.
"That you—"
Ayan stepped closer.
Close enough that she could see the faint tremor in his jaw.
Close enough to see his eyes darken, like a storm gathering.
"Do you believe them?" he asked, voice barely above a breath.
Aarya's heart beat faster.
Not from fear.
From something else.
"I don't know what to believe," she whispered.
Ayan looked at her then — truly looked.
As if memorizing her face.
As if he already had… centuries ago.
"You shouldn't stay here," he said, his voice tight.
"This house… this land… it remembers love too well."
Aarya's breath caught.
There was sorrow in his voice — deep and buried — like grief that had lived far too long.
"Why does the tree scare you?" she asked softly.
His eyes flicked to the willow.
"It doesn't scare me," he said.
"It owns me."
The words hit her like wind.
Ayan stepped back, as if he had said too much.
As if the world itself would react.
"Ayan," she whispered, taking one step forward without meaning to.
He froze.
Her hand hovered — just an inch from his.
Close enough to feel the air between them warm.
For a heartbeat, the entire house felt still.
No whispers.
No rain.
Just them.
Ayan closed his eyes.
"If you touch me," he said softly, painfully,
"everything begins."
Aarya didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Because she finally realized —
he was not protecting her from him.
He was protecting her from loving him.
Ayan opened his eyes, stepped back into the doorway's shadow, and vanished without sound — like someone walking out of a dream.
Leaving Aarya alone with her heartbeat and the slowly swaying willow.