They chose not to venture into the forest that same night — Prem Singh was notably firm on that particular point, insisting that whatever specifically waited for them there required proper daylight, careful preparation, and considerably more caution than two exhausted teenagers currently possessed after an already emotionally draining day.
But before they departed, he offered one final piece of crucial guidance, delivered with the weight of someone who clearly felt he owed a debt to people who reminded him uncomfortably of others he had previously failed to properly help in time.
“The forest specifically listens for grief disguising itself as love,” he warned them both seriously.
“It will answer using voices that sound exactly like people you have genuinely lost.
Do not, under any circumstances, answer if you hear someone call out your name using a voice you recognize.
Not until you are absolutely certain who is actually speaking to you.” That same night, walking slowly back through the quiet, sleeping market with a boy’s flickering, half-restored image now visible only to the two of them — trailing carefully a few steps behind, silent and patient — Aanya finally voiced what had clearly been sitting heavily behind her eyes for hours already.
“We’re no longer simply tourists wandering through someone else’s private mystery, are we.” “No,” Vihaan agreed quietly.
“Our respective families have apparently been fighting this exact battle for generations, and neither of them ever told either of us a single genuine thing about it.” “No, they haven’t.” She glanced sideways at him then, some of her usual brightness and humor gradually returning despite everything they’d just experienced.
“You know, for someone who barely talks most of the time, you’re surprisingly, remarkably good at agreeing with absolutely everything I say.” “You’re usually right about most things.” Aanya blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the plain, completely unguarded honesty of that particular response — no joke attached, no deflection, simply Vihaan Rawat saying exactly what he genuinely meant, precisely the way he always did whenever something actually mattered to him.
Behind them both, faint and infinitely patient, Kanhaiya’s half-formed shape continued following them quietly homeward, an unfinished promise waiting patiently for the forest to finally give up the remaining pieces of what it had originally taken.