WHEN NO ONE SAW US

They thought no one saw them.
Not in the mango grove where shadows bent to shelter them,
not in the fog where their fingers brushed,
not in the silence that lingered after curfew bells.

But love always leaves traces.
A thread tied too tightly.
A look held too long.
A promise whispered where fire waits to answer.

Ash drifted over the village like a second skin,
settling into breath, into fabric, into memory.
Notices nailed to wooden posts split families with ink,
and the overseers’ voices carried further than mercy.

In such a world, even love becomes dangerous.
Even silence could betray.

This is where the story begins:
with two hands almost touching,
and everything is already slipping away.