10 August, 1974
Vardha
Aarya, my child,
If you are reading this, it means I am gone.
I pray the house was empty when you entered.
I pray the willow did not speak your name.
There are things I never told you — things I could not.
Not when you were small, not when you grew older, not even when you began to look at the world with woman's eyes instead of a child's.
Because I was afraid you would hear Him again.
Yes, Him.
The one beneath the willow.
You met him once, though you do not remember clearly. You were only eight, laughing, weaving crowns of leaves like the girl who came before you — the one who waited for her lover until her bones rested beneath those roots.
The villagers call her The Willow Bride.
She was not born a monster.
Love made her one.
And love holds her here still.
Her lover… he never left.
His name was Ayan.
If you have seen him — do not look into his eyes for long.
They remember too much.
They hold centuries of waiting.
He is not evil, my child.
But he is not living as we understand life.
The tree binds him — and those who fall in love with him share her fate.
If you hear whispers in the night, do not answer.
If you feel a presence behind you, do not turn.
If the willow calls your name —
run.
You are the last Malhotra woman left.
The curse must end with me.
But I fear I was too late.
— Dadi