8

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/Sometimes, the quietest moments hold the loudest emotions, where words fade and only the heartbeat speaks./

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The bridge of Nekpura city stretched out, a relic of the Mughal era. It was said that when Shehanshah Akbar tried to capture Nekpura, the ravine below—300 feet deep and 150 feet wide—had thwarted him, forcing him to leave in frustration. Later, when Aurangzeb seized the city, he had this bridge built, crafted from white marble that still shone under the moonlight, even after all these years. The bridge was famous now, a tourist attraction, with its elegant arches and intricate carvings of flowers and vines wrapping around the balustrades. Tonight, the moon bathed it in a soft glow, the air cool from the water flowing beneath.

"They are looking for you," the girl said, standing beside the young man.

"Who?" he asked.

"The police," she replied.

He laughed.

"Why are you laughing? I'm serious," she insisted.

"Look where I am," he said, gesturing around.

"I don't understand."

"I mean, I'm right here in the city. And I don't care, even if they find me," he shrugged.

"Hey," she said, her voice sharper now, looking directly into his eyes, her face tightening with anger.

"What?" he replied, his face still light with laughter.

"Nothing. Bye."

"Hey, wait," he said, grabbing her arm.

"What? Leave me," she demanded.

He looked into her eyes. For a moment, her anger softened, but she quickly tried to hide it, looking away.

"Nothing. You can go," he said. She looked back at him with narrow eyes, but he kept smiling. She turned and began to walk away, and he hurried after her, matching her pace but keeping his gaze ahead. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and slowly, her expression shifted from anger to a reluctant smile. But she didn't speak.

The air was cool, carrying the fresh scent of water from the river below. Above them, the sky was clear, and the full moon hung low, bright and beautiful. The alley they had entered was narrow, surrounded by old buildings, their windows dark and empty. No one else was around—only a few street dogs lying in the middle of the road.

"Wow, look at the moon! Isn't that beautiful?" he said.

She stayed quiet.

"Oh God, is that me?" he said, noticing a poster on the wall. He walked over and wiped the dust away with his hand. She stopped and watched him.

The poster read: "Wanted: Three men. Reward: One lakh." His face was in the center, with the tall guy on one side and the fat guy on the other. He stared at the pictures, then leaned in and kissed the tall guy's photo. She watched him closely as he ran his fingers over his picture and the fat man's. His eyes turned misty.

"He likes you, doesn't he?" she asked softly, stepping closer.

He nodded. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he covered it with his. She pulled him into a side hug, and they both felt the warmth.

"I want to meet him," she whispered.

"It's not in my hands," he replied, releasing her hand but still holding onto it as they continued to walk.

"Then whose is it?" she asked.

"I'll tell him about you. But…" he paused.

"But what?"

"What should I tell him?" he pondered. She sighed, and he smiled at her. She stepped closer, holding his face in her hands. They were eye to eye, both the same height. Her lips, soft and pink, brushed against his, a tender touch and they feel heavens run doen their feet, whereas the narrator is alone looking at his life.

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