Sharmilla froze where she stood upon seeing Mannat. She tried to speak and a squeak came from her throat. Her eyes were burning for some reason. She rubbed the sleeve of her shirt over them and cleared her throat so she could speak.

“You really came back,” She said. However, the voice that came out of her throat was coarse like sand and sharp like the edge of a broken bottle.
This was not a chance encounter. Mannat knew she was there looking for him. He asked, “You came alone?”

His feet were moving. They were getting closer.

Sharmilla gave a curt nod, keeping her eyes on him as if he would fly away somewhere far away again if she didn’t keep him in her sight. Outside she looked calm, poised, but panic brewed inside her.

The two were alone on the road. The sky blazing in a bloodshot red was bursting with emotions. For a moment, the creeping darkness held back to give the two some space to get together.

“It’s nice to see you,” Sharmilla said. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She stood between the closed-door and Mannat, but she didn’t get out of the way. She stubbornly stood her place with her head high and red eyes staring back. Your turn, her actions seemed to say.

She wore the same kind of floral dress –light, knee-length, with naked shoulders-- that she had worn on that evening a few years ago when they had met by the pond. Mannat hadn’t forgotten her shaking eyes, the warmth of her breath, and her madly beating heart. She was the reason he had gone to the smithy instead of going to the clearing that day. He went past her to open the door.

Sharmilla was disappointed. She really was. She was the one to confess the first time. What more did she need to do to get his attention? 
She had made her mind when she left home that evening.
They --her sister, Chahhat and her-- and a long conversation about what she should do. The pain she suffered in those two days had hardened her heart and taught her that she was foolish to chase after a man. She had already expressed her feelings. He was the one who was delaying them. The words of her sister had really dug deep into her consciousness.
 
Chahhat had told her, “He’ll not let you go if he wants you enough. Give him a chance. If he can’t take it, then it’s his loss.”

“Then I’ll take leave,” Sharmilla said softly and started walking.

Sharmilla didn’t want to leave, but the words were said and they couldn’t be taken back. She might be in love but she also had her pride. She was also desperate -- they both were. She hoped Mannat would hold her hand, and swing her into his arms.

Of course, Mannat didn’t do anything like that, but asked, “Do you want to come inside?”

Sharmilla turned back sharply. “What do you want to do to me?” She blurted out and then blushed upon realizing the meaning of her words. This was her damned sister’s fault! She had filled poor, young Sharmilla’s head with those obscene, perverted things! The blush reached higher and flushed her cheeks.

It was impossible to see if Mannat understood what she meant, but he calmly answered, “I want to give you something,”
Though she did notice him hiding his eyes. He was nervous.
Sharmilla’s chest puffed up in excitement. “You brought a gift for me from the town?” That had to mean something, right?
“You will know,” Mannat said and led her into the smithy.

Happiness is a well-known cure for depression. All the morbid thoughts disappeared from her mind and a smile appeared on her face. She didn’t even notice the change in her mood and followed behind Mannat with a spring to her steps.

He didn’t take her into the workshop but asked her to take a seat behind the counter. “I still need to polish it a little; so you wait right here for me. Don’t worry. I won’t be gone for long.”

“Alright,” Sharmilla’s heart was pounding when she sat on the chair. However, the longer she waited, the darker it got outside. Soon, she was starting to get worried. She put a stop to her anxious feet from tapping the floor and called Mannat a few times. She stood up when he didn’t show up or even answered her back and walked into the corridor leading to the workshop after some hesitation.

She wanted to see what he was doing back there and stopped at the threshold. She didn’t step into the workshop.
Mannat was working on something. It was a knife – a small, white-handled kitchen knife. Did he want to kill her? She wrung her brain to get a clue, but couldn’t figure out anything.

Mannat was in the process of adding finishing touches to the knife handle when he felt someone coming over. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. There was only one other person in the smithy beside him.

“You are here,” He said. A question came from the other side.

“Why do you want to give me a knife? Is there a deeper meaning behind it? I thought it was a gift.”

Mannat stopped working for a second to spare her a glance. The freckles around her nose and cheeks were pooping out because of her flushed cheeks. She was taking deep breaths with her mouth open. The lantern light added a sunset glow to her face. She looked so beautiful.
He smiled and told her a story.

“Ever since I was little, I wanted to make a knife for my mother. She’s had one knife all her life and refused to change it. It was my father’s first work. He gave it to her with a promise to keep it in working condition if she stayed with him. He had never gifted her anything before it. When I was a child, I believed the knife was just a cutting tool and didn’t understand the values it held for my parents. I believed my father was too lazy to forge another knife for my mother and promised to make one for her. Only, I found a big box full of knives a few days ago. It had twenty-two knives in total, one for each year they had spent together.” Mannat said with a chuckle, “Turns out, my father wasn’t lazy, but my stubborn mother insisted on using the old, worn-out knife that was my father's first gift to her.”

Mannat looked at that the knife he was working on. He could see his face on the polished surface of the knife's blade. The handle was smooth in his hands, and the edge was sharp. He cleaned the excess varnish with a dry rag and stood up. He looked at Sharmilla. She was standing still, holding her hands in front of her chest with tears in her eyes. He gently placed the knife in the case and closed the box.

Smiling, he approached her holding the knife in his hand. Sharmilla couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to, but this was what she had been waiting for. He was finally there to hold her. Why would she run?

Mannat stooped an arm’s length away from her. He was still not as close as she wanted, but the distance no longer mattered. He raised the box in front of her and said without a shred of doubt or hesitation, “This is my first knife. This promise, I give it to you. I hope you will stay by my side and let me take care of you for the rest of my life.”

Later, he accompanied her back to the manor and left her with Chahhat. The older girl stared daggers at him until he disappeared from her sight, and then rushed after her dazed little sister.

She caught up with Sharmilla in their room. The case in her hand instantly drew Chahhat’s eyes and interest.

“What is that? Did he give you a gift? Show me.”

“No.” Sharmilla hid the case behind her back to hide it from her older sister. It was a futile attempt as Chahhat easily got it from her hands.

“Give it back! You will break it!” Sharmilla tried to get it back, but she was the shorter one among the two. Chahhat only had to raise her arms and the wooden case was out of Sharmilla’s reach. Chahhat opened the case and grabbed its contents, only for a frown to mar her beauty.

“Is this a knife? Did he ask you to commit suicide with it?” She asked. Sharmilla’s face burned bright red. She knew the girl was not angry, but extremely shy.

“Tell me what happened over there. Don’t hide it from me.” She grabbed Sharmilla’s shoulder. “You two didn’t do anything stupid did you?”

Sharmilla hid her eyes from her and whispered something that Chahhat didn’t quite catch.

“What was that? He asked you to give your life?”Chahhat said bluntly.

Sharmilla punched her sister in the gut. Chahhat wasn’t hurt but grinned wide. She put the knife back in the case and pounced on her sister. She sat on Sharmilla’s chest with her knees on her arms, immobilizing her.

“So what did he ask you?” Chahhat asked staring into her sister's eyes.
Sharmilla turned her head to look at the door and said with a trembling voice,

“He asked me to be his wife.”