A Quite Awakening
Radhika - drifting into memory as she continued in a low, intimate voice. "After that first evening - sitting on a quiet bench in the park, him barely speaking but looking at me like I was precious - we couldn't stay away. We'd sneak out after college, pretending I had extra classes or group projects. I'd tell my mother I was at the library studying late, then slip away to meet him at one place or the other. Sometimes he'd wait for hours just to hold my hand for ten minutes before I had to rush back. Once, during a family wedding, I faked a headache and left early so I could spend the afternoon in his tiny rented room, lying on his cot while he read me Urdu poetry he barely understood himself. Another time I lied about visiting a sick friend just to ride pillion on his borrowed bike through empty lanes at dusk, my arms around his waist, feeling his heartbeat through his kurta. Every stolen moment felt dangerous and alive - his rough fingers brushing my cheek, the way he'd whisper my name like a prayer. I lived for those excuses, those little rebellions. They made everything else fade."
