SHARED SECRETS - STORY BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI

Priya glanced at the ethereal grey tendrils snaking across the emerald tea bushes.

 "It reflects my mood," she replied, a subtle edge of bitterness coloring her tone. She had sought solace here, but the weight of unacknowledged anxieties pressed down on her, heavier than the humid air.
Days bled into a monotonous rhythm of solitude. Priya sought refuge in worn novels and aimless wanderings through the seemingly endless tea gardens.
Yet, the unsettling sensation of being observed lingered. She would occasionally catch Arjun's gaze upon her, a fleeting, unreadable flicker in his deep eyes, before he would swiftly avert them. Was it mere curiosity? Or something more profound?
One stormy evening, the heavens mirrored the tempest brewing within Priya. The wind howled like a tormented spirit, and the rain lashed against the aged windows. She found Arjun in the grand hall, his silhouette framed by the flickering warmth of the crackling fireplace. The dancing flames cast an almost mystical glow on his features.
"This storm… it feels ominous," Priya whispered, her voice barely audible above the raging elements.
Arjun nodded slowly. "The monsoon… it stirs the depths," he replied, his voice carrying an unsettling undercurrent.
A sudden shiver traced Priya's spine. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, and then met her gaze directly. "This place… it holds onto echoes, Madam. Echoes that the rain sometimes washes away, and sometimes… amplifies."
A deafening clap of thunder rattled the bungalow, causing the antique chandeliers to sway precariously. Priya gasped, her heart pounding against her ribs. "What kind of echoes?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Arjun's expression remained inscrutable. "Echoes best left undisturbed," he said softly, turning his attention back to the fire.
But Priya couldn't shake the growing conviction that these echoes were somehow intertwined with her own presence here, with the real reason she had sought refuge in “ Coorg”.
 She had told everyone she needed a break, but the truth was far more intricate. She was searching for fragments of a past she barely knew.
The following morning, driven by an insatiable need for answers, Priya decided to explore the long-abandoned east wing of the bungalow. She had noticed a loosened latch on a window and, propelled by a rising sense of foreboding, managed to slip inside.
Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the grimy panes, illuminating a scene of faded grandeur. Antique furniture lay draped in white sheets, like ghostly relics of a bygone era.
As she ventured deeper into the silent wing, her gaze fell upon a small, intricately carved sandalwood chest tucked away in a shadowy corner. Her hands trembled as she lifted the heavy, fragrant lid.

 Inside, nestled amongst yellowed silk scarves and dried flower petals, she found a collection of sepia-toned photographs, bundles of letters bound with frayed satin ribbons, and a delicate silver anklet.
One of the photographs made her breath catch – a portrait of a young woman with a striking resemblance to herself.
The same almond-shaped eyes, the same determined set of her jaw… It was her paternal aunt, a woman whose name was rarely spoken in her family, shrouded in an unspoken sorrow. Her name was Rohini.
Suddenly, a floorboard creaked behind her. Priya whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat. Arjun stood in the doorway, his face etched with a mixture of shock and something akin to sorrow.
"You shouldn't be in here, Madam," he said, his voice low and strained.

Priya clutched the photograph to her chest. "Who was Rohini?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and dawning recognition.
Arjun hesitated, his gaze fixed on the photograph in her hand. "Rohini… she was your father's sister. They were very close. She… she loved this estate dearly." A flicker of pain crossed his eyes.
"Loved?" Priya questioned, a knot tightening in her stomach. "What happened to her?"
Just then, another figure appeared in the doorway behind Arjun. It was Rohan, a charming and articulate young man who had introduced himself as a distant relative of the estate owners and had been a surprisingly frequent visitor during Priya's stay.

He had a disarming smile and a way of making her feel seen, a welcome contrast to Arjun's quiet intensity.
"Priya! What are you doing in this dusty old wing?" Rohan asked, his voice a smooth blend of concern and mild amusement.
Priya, flustered by their sudden appearance, stammered, "I… I was just exploring. I found this photograph." She held it out, her eyes darting between the two men.
Rohan's smile faltered slightly as he looked at the picture. "Ah, yes. That's Rohini. A tragic story, really. She… she met with an accident some years ago, near the old well on the northern edge of the property." His tone was carefully neutral.
But Priya sensed a subtle tension in the air, a silent communication passing between the two men. Arjun's gaze was fixed on Rohan, a hint of something unreadable in his dark eyes.
"An accident?" Priya repeated, a seed of doubt taking root in her mind. "What kind of accident?"
Arjun finally broke the silence, his voice low and grave. "It was a fall, Madam. A terrible tragedy."

Priya felt a prickle of unease. Something about their carefully constructed narrative felt wrong. Rohan's too-casual dismissal, Arjun's veiled sadness… it didn't add up.
Over the next few days, Priya found herself increasingly drawn to both men, albeit in vastly different ways. Rohan's easy charm and engaging conversation offered a welcome distraction from the oppressive atmosphere of the estate.
He would take her on walks through the sprawling gardens, regaling her with stories of the region, his hand occasionally brushing against hers, sending a nervous flutter through her.

 She found herself enjoying his company, a fragile seed of attraction beginning to bloom in the desolate landscape of her heart.
Arjun, on the other hand, remained an enigma. His watchful presence, though initially unsettling, now held a strange sort of comfort. He seemed to anticipate her needs without being asked, leaving a perfectly brewed cup of chai on her bedside table or silently guiding her away from potentially hazardous paths during her walks.
Their interactions were mostly non-verbal, yet Priya felt a deep, unspoken connection with him, a sense that he understood her unspoken anxieties in a way Rohan, with all his charm, did not.
One afternoon, while exploring the overgrown northern part of the estate, Priya found herself near the dilapidated old well Rohan had mentioned. A sense of unease washed over her. The area felt strangely neglected, almost deliberately avoided.
As she peered into the dark, moss-covered depths, a glint of metal caught her eye. It was a tarnished silver locket, identical to the one she had found in the sandalwood chest.
Her heart pounded in her chest. This couldn't be a coincidence.
That evening, during a rare moment alone with Arjun, Priya couldn't contain her questions any longer. The storm within her had reached its peak.
"Arjun," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "Rohan told me my aunt Rohini died in a fall near the old well."
Arjun's usual stoic facade cracked. His eyes, usually guarded, now held a raw intensity. He looked around cautiously before speaking, his voice barely a whisper. "Madam… what Mr. Rohan told you… it is not the complete truth."
Priya's breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
Arjun hesitated, his gaze filled with a conflict she couldn't decipher. "Rohini… she and your father… they were deeply in love. They planned to leave together, to escape the expectations of their families."
Priya stared at him, stunned. "But… the accident?"
Arjun's jaw tightened. "There was no accident, Madam. Rohini… she didn't fall."

Just then, Rohan entered the hall, a forced smile on his face. "Everything alright here?" he asked, his eyes flicking nervously between Priya and Arjun.
Arjun fell silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Priya felt a cold dread creep through her veins. She looked at Rohan, his charming facade suddenly feeling brittle. "Rohan," she said, her voice dangerously low, "what really happened to my aunt?"
Rohan's smile vanished. A flicker of something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. "Priya, darling, why dwell on such morbid things? It was a long time ago. Let the past remain buried."
His evasiveness only fueled Priya's suspicion. She turned back to Arjun, her eyes pleading for the truth.
Arjun, seeing the fear and determination in her gaze, finally broke his silence. "Madam… your grandmother, Rohini's mother… she never accepted their love. She believed it would bring shame to the family.