Ketki was in the garden when we arrived at Murle Wada, plucking flowers with careful precision. She spotted us at the entrance and beckoned us inside.

As we stepped into the verandah, she handed us cool jaggery water. "You've grown thin," she remarked, her sharp gaze raking over me.

She looked just like Anita except for her eyes. Hers were colder.

"Isn't that a good thing?" I joked, forcing a smile.

"What nonsense. You look haggard." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "How old are you now? Poor Radha," she muttered under her breath.

Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle.

Ignoring the uneasy feeling in my gut, I pressed on. "I wanted to write a letter to Sita. Could I have her address?"

For the briefest moment, her eyes widened.

Then, just as quickly, she masked it. "Yes, wait here. I'll write it down for you."

She disappeared into the house, leaving Raghu and me waiting in the shaded verandah.

The minutes stretched.

I stared at the flower garlands hanging from the wooden beams, my mind a whirlwind.

Saudamini and I had both drowned on a new moon night.

But back then, someone had tampered with the offerings.

That someone was Raghu.

And the goddess had asked me about them before I drowned.

Why would Saudamini and Sita risk angering the Sati Asras?

And why was Aunt Ketki acting so... off?

The questions clawed at my mind.

Before I could dwell on them further, Aunt Ketki returned, handing me a folded piece of paper.

"Damu wrote it down for you," she said.

Then, with a sly smile, she added, "I heard you wanted to be a teacher."

"Yes."

"But the village head has already welcomed a new teacher. He should arrive soon," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "I don't know why you want to work. Let your servants do that."

The scorn in her tone wasn't lost on me.

I forced a polite smile. "I just wanted to be useful. Sita wanted to complete her matric exam."

Aunt Ketki's expression twisted into something amused almost cruel.

"Sita and exams?" she scoffed. "Of course not. Her marriage is already fixed. She's fourteen. It's too late for her."

My stomach dropped.

"You should stop putting ideas in her head," she added, waving a dismissive hand.

"But "

Her demeanor changed instantly. She pressed her fingers to her temple, sighing. "My head is aching. I'm going to rest."

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Raghu and I left the garden, her cold words still ringing in my ears.

As we walked away, I heard her scolding the maids in the background.

Raghu snickered. "The cure for Aunt Ketki's headache is bellowing like an ox."

I burst into laughter.

But the unease remained.

Something was wrong.

And I was going to find out what.