What happens when love doesn't fit inside marriage halls, temple rituals, or caste boundaries?

What remains when no one remembers the names?

This book is a gathering of stories that were never officially archived—because love doesn't always make it to the panchayat records, nor does it wear a mangalsutra or sign its name in ink.

Each story comes from a different corner of the South: from the banks of the Chalakkudy river, the backwaters of Thiruvananthapuram, the alleyways of Madurai, the rain-soaked rooftops of Coimbatore.

These are not urban romances. These are stories soaked in jasmine oil and protest, stories that smell of rasam, rain, gunpowder, and longing.

The language here isn't just Tamil or Malayalam or Telugu—it's the language of absence, of unspoken yearning, of rituals undone.

You may find yourself in these pages.
Or someone you almost loved.
Or someone who almost loved you.