chapter six.

I took a deep breath and turned to the boy sitting next to me. "From now on, just play along and don't do anything stupid, okay? If you mess this up, our plan is done for." My voice was firm, but my gaze softened as I met his eyes. His intense stare locked with mine for a moment before he gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Suddenly, the quiet of the forest was interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps. A shadow emerged from the trees, causing the boy beside me to tense. His once-calm demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing with caution. It was the first time I saw him react so sharply, his silent wariness palpable.

"Hey, calm down," I whispered urgently, hoping to diffuse the situation. "He's our target." I could feel his tension as he glanced at me, his body still coiled, ready to react. But after a brief moment, he relaxed against the rock, though his eyes remained watchful.

The figure stepped closer, revealing an elderly man dressed in a thin, transparent cotton shirt paired with a traditional orange dhoti.

[ A traditional clothing mostly wore by monks]

His fragile frame was supported by a wooden walking stick in one hand, while the other clutched a small, intricately carved golden pot. He moved slowly, his steps deliberate, his presence almost otherworldly as he approached the lake.

As he neared, his wrinkled face broke into a gentle smile when our eyes met. His white beard and weathered features gave him a wise, monk-like appearance. I returned his smile, though I quickly lowered my head, acting as if weighed down by deep worries.

He bent to fill his golden pot at the lake's edge, but as he did, his stick slipped from his grasp, and he wobbled, his frail body threatening to collapse. Instinctively, I shot up from my seat, rushing to catch him before he could fall. I steadied him and handed back his stick, helping him regain his balance.

"Dhanyawad,"

[ Thanks]

he said, his voice calm and raspy with age. There was something soothing about his tone, like the wisdom of years settled in every word. I smiled warmly. " It's okay ," I replied, noticing that the pot had tipped over during the commotion.

I knelt down, refilled the pot, and handed it back to him. His eyes crinkled with genuine warmth now, touched by the gesture. It wasn't hard to make someone like him smile—older people, with their kind souls, were the easiest to please.

He looked at me curiously.

"Is jungle mein kaise, beta?"

[ "How did you end up in this jungle, child?" ]

he asked, his voice full of interest.

I softened my tone, keeping it respectful.

"Yahin paas hi ek mandir suna hai... bas ussi ko dekhne aaye."

["I heard there's a temple nearby... just came to see it."]

The lie slipped out easily, wrapped in the kind of sweetness that put elders at ease. He nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention to the boy who remained silent throughout.

The old man's eyes lingered on him, observing the boy's calm yet calculating gaze as he watched our interaction from the sidelines. There was something about the boy that piqued the old man's curiosity, but, as always, he stayed silent, his deep eyes giving away nothing.

"He is my husband," I said softly, my voice timid as I tried to hold the old man's gaze. His eyes slowly shifted back to me, and he nodded in acknowledgment. But then, I caught his gaze drifting to my neck and head.

Damn, the symbols of a married woman—mangalsutra, sindoor.

His eyes lingered for a moment, and I forced a laugh, understanding the unspoken question.

"We just got married... a court marriage," I added, lowering my voice as if the last words carried a heavy weight. My smile faded as I spoke, my eyes glossing over with a distant look, as if something from the past had just resurfaced. A memory I didn't want to face, but that had crept up on me anyway.

The old man's gaze softened as if he was trying to read between the lines of my forced smile, sensing that something was wrong. For a brief second, I could feel him trying to figure out what I wasn't saying. But before he could ask anything further, I let out a short, brittle laugh, pretending it didn't matter.

"you live here, nearby ?" I asked, eager to change the topic, my voice light but strained. His warm smile returned, and he nodded, blinking as he looked up at the sky, which had now turned dark.

"Yes... "

" Oh, the temple must have been closed by now, dear," he said, his genuine concern etched on his face. The darkness settling in only deepened the wrinkles around his kind eyes.

I smiled reassuringly, trying to dispel his worry. "we Will look for a hotel close by ," I said, attempting to sound casual, though it was exactly what I wanted.

He frowned slightly, shaking his head.

"Yahaan paas mein koi shrey nahi milega,"

["There's no place to stay around here."]

he replied thoughtfully. Then, after a brief pause, he added with a warm invitation,

"Agar dikkat na ho toh meri kutiya mein rukh sakte ho."

["You're welcome to stay in my hut, if that's alright with you."]

His offer hung in the air, and for a moment, I swiftly looked at the boy who sat there calmly while looking at us. After pretending to think for a while I nod in acceptance.

"Thank you," I said softly, the words a little more sincere than I had intended. The old man's simple kindness was much more heartwarming than I thought it would be.

———————

"can i call you, grandpa ?"

I asked, my voice hesitant but hopeful. We were walking deeper into the forest, away from the path we had come from. The boy stayed silently beside me, and I trailed just a step behind my soon-to-be grandpa.

A warm, genuine laugh echoed softly through the trees, and I could sense his happiness. He turned his head slightly, nodding with a smile. "Sure sure," he replied, his voice rich with affection.

As we continued walking, the faint glow of a soft golden light became visible ahead. I squinted, curious about what was coming into view. And then, as we drew nearer, my eyes widened in surprise. This was not a hut at all—it was a bungalow, and a beautiful one at that! Made entirely of wood, it stood tall and proud, its warm glow illuminating the surrounding trees.

I looked around in awe as we approached the bungalow. It wasn't what I had expected at all.

The wooden house, standing in the heart of the forest, had an undeniable charm. It was a large, handcrafted bungalow made entirely of rich, dark teak wood, polished to a smooth finish, reflecting the subtle golden light from oil lamps hung around its exterior.

The main door, wide and inviting, had large brass handles shaped like elephants. As you stepped inside, the air was filled with the subtle scent of sandalwood and camphor, making the home feel like a peaceful sanctuary.

The roof was sloped, typical of traditional Indian architecture, with intricate carvings running along the edges—depictions of ancient motifs, lotus flowers, and divine symbols, as if telling a story. Each window had wooden jali (lattice) work, intricately designed to allow just the right amount of light and air inside, casting delicate shadows on the interior.

A broad veranda ran along the front of the house, supported by thick wooden pillars adorned with brass bells and small hanging lanterns that swayed gently with the breeze. The veranda was lined with handwoven straw mats and low wooden stools, welcoming guests with a simplicity that felt luxurious in its own way.

A few young men were outside in the veranda , gathered around a large pot simmering over a fire made of burning sticks. They were dressed similarly to dada ji, though they wore cotton pants instead of dhotis. The scent of something delicious cooking filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the forest.

Inside, the rooms were spacious, with low, traditional charpiys (woven beds) and brass oil lamps placed on wooden stands. The flooring was made of terracotta tiles, cool underfoot. water for drinking, and wooden shelves displayed earthenware and copper utensils used for cooking.

Dada ji glanced back at me, catching my expression of surprise, and chuckled .

"Yeh mera ghar hai... shrey thoda bada hai, par yeh bhi kutiya hi samjho,"

[ "This is my home... the shelter may be a bit bigger, but think of it as a hut all the same." ]

he said with a twinkle in his eye, as if he was sharing a private joke.

I couldn't help but smile back, still taking in the scene around me. This place felt like a hidden treasure, tucked away deep in the forest.

The boy walked silently beside me, still as stoic as ever, while grandpa led the way, his slow, deliberate steps accompanied by the soft jingle of the bells hanging from the wooden beams above.

The young men, busy stirring the large pot over an open fire, looked up as we neared. Their faces were lit by the orange flames, and they greeted grandpa with a respectful nod, but curiosity flickered in their eyes when they saw me and the boy. I could sense they wanted to ask questions but held back, either out of respect or a deeper understanding of this place's unspoken rules.

We stepped onto the wide veranda, and the house was even more beautiful up close. I couldn't help but admire the intricacies of the carvings and the peaceful energy that seemed to radiate from it. It was hard to believe a place like this existed.

"Come inside, dear," Dada Ji gestured with a warm smile, his hand raised in welcome.

The boy and I exchanged a quick glance before stepping through the wide doorway. Inside, the house felt even more spacious. Low wooden furniture, simple but elegant, filled the room, and the walls were adorned with framed sketches of mythological scenes.

Dada Ji led us to the center of the room, where a large wooden charpoy sat, draped with handmade quilts. He gestured for us to sit, and I gratefully lowered myself onto the charpoy, the boy following suit.

"I will have some food brought to you," Dada Ji said, his voice gentle but commanding. He called to one of the young men outside, who hurried off to prepare something.

As we waited, I glanced at the boy. He was quiet, as usual, his face expressionless, but there was a slight tension in his shoulders. Was he uncomfortable? Or maybe it was the place, the isolation of the forest, the unfamiliar faces?

"You're safe here," I found myself saying softly, " we can trust Dada Ji."

The boy didn't respond, but he didn't have to. Somehow, his silence had become a strange form of understanding between us. I leaned back against the quilted cushions, trying to relax, but my mind was racing.

"Such nice people live here," she muttered under her breath, glancing around at the simplicity and honesty of the surroundings. "Is it okay for me to fool them like this?"

She glanced at the boy, who sat silently beside her, still as expressionless as before. His quiet presence reminded her of the weight on her shoulders. But if we see logically... She tilted her head, trying to convince herself. I'm just helping someone get cured. It's not like I'm stealing from them or anything. Mai konsi luteri hu! She smiled slightly at her own justification, letting the air of righteousness settle around her.

Then , one of the young men returned with two metal thalis, each filled with simple but fragrant food—dal, chapati, and a small bowl of rice. He placed the plates in front of us with a nod, and I offered him a polite smile.

I glanced at the boy again, watching as he eyed the food but didn't move to eat. "You have to eat, you know," I said, picking up a piece of chapati and dipping it into the dal. "I don't care if you're not hungry. If you're going to survive, you need to keep your strength up."

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes studying me. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he picked up a piece of chapati and began to eat. It was a small victory, but it felt significant.

Dada Ji reappeared, standing by the entrance, watching us with a peaceful expression. "It gets cold in the forest at night," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "You should rest after your meal. The journey to the temple will be easier in the morning."

I nodded, thanking him quietly as he walked back outside, leaving us alone in the warm glow of the house. The boy continued eating in silence, but I could sense a shift in him, a slight loosening of the tension that had been there since we arrived.

As we finished the meal, the night fully settled around us, and the forest outside became a quiet symphony of rustling leaves and distant animal calls. I stretched, feeling the exhaustion of the day wash over me.

"Let's rest," I said softly.

As soon as I lay down, a thought hit me, and I shot upright, glancing at the boy beside me. He was sitting on the charpai next to mine, already watching me, his dark brown eyes calm yet unwavering. I glanced around, ensuring we were alone, before lowering my voice.

"Ahh, i forgot to tell you " I began, keeping my tone light but steady, "you are my husband from now on."

His gaze didn't waver, but there was a flicker of surprise—and maybe something else—deep within his eyes. After a pause, he pulled out his phone and typed, holding the screen toward me: I am your what?

I cleared my throat, trying to make it sound like it was the most casual thing in the world. "Husband," I repeated, barely meeting his eyes.

He didn't say anything, but his eyes caught a strange glint as he continued to look at me, unblinking and unreadable. I could feel the weight of his stare. It was intense, maybe a bit amused, but still unreadable.

"understood ?" I whispered, feeling my nerves settle. "I told you to play along. Remember ?" My voice was quiet, conspiratorial, as if we were partners in crime rather than strangers thrown together by circumstance.

After another pause, he gave the smallest of nods, his expression unreadable yet somehow more assured. For better or worse, it seemed he'd play his part.

My back ached, craving rest, and I was about to lay back when—wait a minute! I've been helping this boy nonstop, practically twisting myself into knots and putting on Oscar-worthy performances… but who is he, anyway? I mean what's his identity?

I turned toward him, my face contorted in a mix of confusion and exasperation. Honestly, I had to be the dumbest person in this entire plot. "Who are you?" I finally asked, I want to ask for his name but anyhow it was the question that had been nagging at me all day.

He looked at me, clearly amused by my array of strange behaviour, and, with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, pulled out his phone and typed a single word: Husband.

I groaned, slapping my forehead. Frustration built up like a dam on the verge of breaking, but somehow, no tears came out. What kind of sadist had I stumbled into? He doesn't say a word—just types things that make you want to scream, " Are you a bit mad ?!"

"Listen," I muttered, rolling my eyes, " Sleep , it was a out of syllabus question for you " With a huff, I stood up, deciding a walk might be the only way to clear my head.

A stroll through this quiet place might be just what I needed to figure out what in the world I'd gotten myself into.