Love Before Graduation-Chapter 72: Price of Desire

The sun had long sunk behind the jagged school walls. Shadows stretched across the barren land like broken limbs. The wind rasped through brittle leaves, whispering secrets only the night could understand.

We stood before him—a thin boy, eyes darting like trapped fireflies. Riyan and Arin flanked him, silent sentinels. He looked up, his gaze trembling under the weight of fear.

"Who is he?" I asked.

He hesitated, eyes flickering, as if searching for courage among ghosts. "Subh...he was my friend," he whispered. "We met at a concert. He always talked about Suhina. Said she saw him...saw right through him."

I studied his face. In his eyes, I caught the glimmer of something fractured. He looked away, retreating back into his silence.

"What happened then?" Riyan's voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving.

The boy took a breath, brittle as the wind. "One day, he came to me...broken. Suhina had rejected him. He kept saying, 'I can't breathe without her.' They laughed at him...everyone did." His hands twisted nervously. "That's when he got the idea."

"Idea?" I leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.

The boy nodded, his eyes distant. "I'm from Assam...near my village, there's a place...Mayong."

Riyan's eyes flickered with recognition. He stubbed out his cigarette, gaze sharp. "Mayong? That Mayong?"

The boy's lips curled bitterly. "The village of black magic."

A shadow passed over us, like something ancient had stirred. "Subh knew about it. He wanted to go...and I went with him."

The boy's voice lowered. "We met a tantrik there. Baba Kalidas. Subh begged him for help. The tantrik said, 'If you want Suhina, bring me her picture and something that belongs to her—hair, cloth, anything.'"

Riyan scoffed, disbelief thick in his voice. "You're kidding...he actually did it?"

The boy nodded, eyes hollow. "He stole one of her selfies from Facebook...had one of her hairpins too."

A chill settled between us. I could almost hear the rustle of vermillion-stained leaves.

"What happened?" Riyan's voice was edged with impatience.

"The ritual happened on Amavasya. Her name was carved on a lemon, smeared with sindoor, her hairpin pinned inside...and buried deep in the earth. The tantrik said a chant had to be repeated for seven nights: 'Om Kleem Suhina Vasham Kuru Swaha.'"

The silence that followed was like a curse—heavy, suffocating.

"Did it work?" Riyan asked, hesitant.

The boy's eyes flared with regret. "Yes. She started calling him...talking to him. Subh thought it was love, but it wasn't. He began seeing her in his dreams...her face...distorted. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Neither could she."

Arin's voice was ice. "And the tantrik?"

The boy laughed, hollow and bitter. "He smiled...said, 'What's begun is no longer mine to control. The spirit that was summoned...it's inside her now.'"

Nami took a step back. "Spirit? What spirit?"

I cut through the silence, my voice sharp. "When men play with fire, it's always the woman who burns." My words hung heavy, raw, unyielding—like the blunt edge of truth.

"If you play the game, you pay the price. And this tantrik...he's just a spectator, a broker of deals. The truth is...no matter whose hunger it is...it's always the woman who pays the price."

The boy flinched, like I had struck him. "Subh tried to dig up the lemon..." His voice cracked. "It wasn't there anymore. Just a stone...with Suhina's name carved into it."

I stared at him, disbelief clawing at my throat. "You're lying."

He met my eyes, steady, resigned. "I wish I was."

The wind crept through the leaves, whispering a sob that belonged to no one.

"What now?" Arin's voice came out cold and distant.

The boy lowered his gaze. "A sacrifice. Subh knew that. So he took his own life."

We stood there, the truth heavy like wet earth, suffocating and inescapable.

Riyan finally spoke, voice fractured. "He did it...to stop it?"

The boy's laugh was bitter, stripped bare. "No...he did it because he knew he'd destroyed her. And he couldn't live with it."

The wind stilled. Somewhere far away, a leaf surrendered to the earth.