The afternoon sun cast a golden sheen over the Anga palace, yet the air within its walls felt heavy, almost suffocating. The massive gates creaked open as Vikram approached on his ebony horse. Dust clung to his dark cloak, his face hardened into a mask of fury. The guards at the gate exchanged uneasy glances before bowing deeply, sensing the storm swirling around their sovereign.

Vikram dismounted with practiced ease, his boots landing with a thud on the stone-paved courtyard. His piercing eyes, darkened by unspoken wrath, sent a shiver through those who dared to look his way. Without a word, he strode toward the palace, his every step echoing like a thunderclap.

In the cool shade of the palace corridors, Pristi stood waiting with Vasuhoma at her side. Pristi, regal in her emerald sari, held herself with a mixture of grace and authority. Beside her, Vasuhoma, draped in understated royal attire, observed the unfolding scene with his usual detached expression.

Pristi :- Brother, where have you been?

She called, her voice firm yet tinged with concern. Vikram did not pause. His stride remained unbroken, his eyes fixed on the path ahead as if he hadn't heard her.

Vasuhoma :- Father! You seem unsettled.

He said calmly, his tone devoid of any emotion. The boy's words, logical and straightforward, were met with silence. Vikram pushed past them without so much as a glance, his presence a storm contained in human form. Pristi's brow furrowed. Her brother's silence was troubling. She turned and followed him, her sari rustling softly against the polished marble floor. Vasuhoma trailed behind, his posture straight, his face unchanging.

Vikram entered his chamber and slammed the heavy wooden doors behind him. The dim room smelled faintly of sandalwood and wine. He strode to a carved wooden table, his fingers gripping the neck of a wine container. Pouring himself a generous amount into a crystal goblet, he downed the liquid in one go before refilling it. Pristi entered cautiously, her voice softer now.

Pristi :- Bhrata, speak to me. What has happened?

He didn't answer, staring into the goblet as if it held the answers to his torment.

Pristi :- Brother! Where have you been?

She pressed, stepping closer. Vikram's grip tightened on the goblet. Without turning to face her, he said in a low, gravelly voice,

Vikram :- Indraprasth.

Pristi's eyes widened.

Pristi :- Indraprasth? What business took you to meet Maharani Draupadi?

Her tone carried a note of accusation. She knew Vikram's reputation too well-his penchant for seeking out princesses and queens had often brought disgrace to their house. But something about his demeanor stopped her from launching into the scolding he so often earned.

Pristi :- What happened there? Why do you look as though you carry the weight of a thousand curses?

She asked, her voice softening. Still, he said nothing, his jaw clenching as he stared into the goblet.

Pristi :- Vikram! Speak!!

She snapped, her patience wearing thin. With a sudden burst of anger, Vikram hurled the goblet to the floor. It shattered with a sharp, ringing sound, red wine spreading like blood across the stone tiles.

Vikram :- She insulted me! Draupadi-the queen-mocked me, scorned me like I was nothing in front of her! I am burning in the fire of her insult!

He roared, his voice trembling with fury. Pristi flinched at the outburst, but her brother's anguish held her tongue. Vasuhoma stepped forward, his calm, unflinching gaze meeting Vikram's fiery one.

Vasuhoma :- If you feared insult, you should not have gone there.

The boy's words, delivered in a measured tone, struck Vikram like a slap. He turned sharply to face the young prince, his eyes narrowing as if seeing him for the first time.

Vikram :- And who are you to lecture me?

He demanded, his voice dripping with contempt. His eyes raked over the boy, taking in his fine but simple royal attire. Pristi stepped between them, raising a hand to pacify her brother.

Pristi :- Bhrata, this is Vasuhoma-your son.

For a moment, silence filled the chamber, broken only by the faint rustle of the curtains stirred by a passing breeze. Vikram's expression shifted, confusion flashing across his face before giving way to disbelief.

Vikram :- My son? This... child?

He repeated, the words heavy with skepticism. Vasuhoma stood unperturbed, his gaze steady.

Vasuhoma :- Yes. I am your son.

Pristi spoke quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Pristi :- He has been living in hiding.... your son is alive.... he's back now.

Vikram cut her off with a bitter laugh.

Vikram :- Am I supposed to simply believe that ? And what kind of son speaks to his father without a shred of respect?

Vasuhoma's expression remained unwavering.

Vasuhoma :- I speak with reason, respect must be earned, and your actions today do not inspire it.

Pristi gasped, surprised by the boy's bluntness.

Pristi :- Vasuhoma!

She admonished. But Vikram's anger boiled over. He took a step toward Vasuhoma, his hands clenched into fists.

Vikram :- You dare!

Vasuhoma didn't flinch.

Vasuhoma :- You left Anga to chase after a queen who would never even look at you. You returned empty-handed, carrying only your wounded pride. Tell me, Father, does this make you worthy of the throne you sit on?

The words hit Vikram like arrows, and for a moment, he was too stunned to respond. Pristi placed a hand on her brother's arm, her touch gentle but firm.

Pristi :- Enough, both of you.

She said, her voice trembling. Vikram pulled away from her, his gaze still locked on Vasuhoma.

Vikram :- You think yourself wise, but you know nothing of what it means to be a king.

He said, his voice low and dangerous.

Vasuhoma :- And you, seem to have forgotten what it means to be a father.

He countered. The room fell into a tense silence. Vikram's chest heaved with the effort to contain his rage. Pristi looked between them, her heart aching at the rift she saw forming before her eyes.

The tension in the room thickened like a storm cloud as Vikram turned away from the window. His gaze shifted back to Vasuhoma, dark and searing, carrying the weight of unspoken accusations. For a long moment, the boy and the king stood locked in a silent battle, one fueled by anger, the other by calm indifference.

Then Vikram exhaled sharply, his voice heavy with bitterness.

Vikram :- You call yourself my son, yet I buried my wife and child on the same cursed day.

Pristi stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her.

Pristi :- Bhrata, listen-

Vikram :- No!

He bellowed, cutting her off. His voice echoed through the chamber, rattling even the crystal decanters on the table.

Vikram :- Meenakshi died that day. I held her lifeless body in my arms! Do you think I would have left my child behind if he had survived?

Pristi :- Brother, Meenakshi did die, but your son... Vasuhoma... he lived.

She said, her voice trembling but resolute. Vikram froze, his expression caught between disbelief and fury.

Vikram :- What nonsense are you spouting now?

Pristi glanced at Vasuhoma, who stood unflinching, before turning back to her brother.

Pristi :- The nurses warned me that the child born that day was an incarnation of dark spirits. They whispered fears of curses and ill omens. I thought it was absurd, but... I couldn't risk bringing him to you then, not when you were broken by grief.

Vikram stared at her, his eyes narrowing.

Vikram :- And so, you hid my son from me? For what? Superstitious nonsense?

Pristi :- I didn't hide him! I kept him safe. Vikram, you were a shadow of yourself after Meenakshi's death. If I had told you then, would you have believed me? Would you have accepted him? Or would you have cast him out?

She defended, her voice rising.

Vikram :- You had no right! No right to decide what I could or could not bear!

He growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

Pristi :- Your grief blinded you! I had to think of the child. And as he grew, the truth became undeniable. Vasuhoma is no curse, bhrata. But he... he is different.

She countered, her voice cracking. Vikram's gaze flicked to Vasuhoma, who stood in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.

Vikram :- Different? What do you mean?

Vasuhoma's calm voice broke through the rising storm.

Vasuhoma :- I can speak with spirits.

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Vikram's head snapped toward the boy, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror.

Vikram :- What did you say?

He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Vasuhoma :- I can speak with spirits, it is a truth I have lived with all my life. The nurses feared me because of it, and so did many others. But it is not a curse, merely an ability.

He repeated, his tone steady. Vikram took a step back, shaking his head.

Vikram :- This is madness. Spirits? You expect me to believe such absurdities?

Pristi placed a gentle hand on her brother's arm.

Pristi :- Bhrata, I know it sounds unbelievable, but it is true. I've seen it myself. Vasuhoma has helped countless souls find peace. He is not cursed-he is gifted.

Vikram pulled away from her touch, pacing the room like a caged animal.

Vikram :- And you've known this all along? You knew, and you kept it from me?

Pristi :- I was afraid! Afraid of what you would do. Afraid of what it would mean for him, for you. I was only trying to protect him-and you.

She admitted, her voice breaking. Vikram stopped, turning to face her. His face was a mask of fury and betrayal.

Vikram :- You should have told me. I am his father. That was my right!

Vasuhoma :- Would you have accepted me then? A boy who could see what others could not? A child surrounded by whispers of fear and suspicion? Would you have raised me, or would you have abandoned me as those nurses suggested?

He interjected, his voice calm but cutting. Vikram's mouth opened, but no words came out. The truth of the boy's question struck deeper than any accusation. He sank into a nearby chair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the revelation.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint rustling of the curtains.

Vikram :- I don't know.... I don't know what I would have done.

He finally admitted, his voice a whisper. He looked up at Vasuhoma, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and anguish. Pristi knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his.

Pristi :- But you can decide now, bhrata. He is your son, and he needs you.

Vikram stared at her, then at Vasuhoma, who stood silently watching him. Slowly, the anger in his eyes began to fade, replaced by something more vulnerable-doubt, fear, and a glimmer of hope.

Vikram :- You say you speak with spirits. What... what do they tell you?

He said, his voice unsteady.

Vasuhoma :- They tell me their stories, heir regrets, their unfinished tasks, their hopes for those still living. I listen, and when I can, I help.

He replied simply. Vikram leaned back in his chair, his hand reaching for the wine container on the table. He poured himself another goblet and downed it in one long gulp. The alcohol did little to dull the storm raging in his mind.

Vikram :- I don't know what to think, first, the insult from Draupadi, and now this. My son, alive, and... this.

He admitted, his voice thick with emotion. Pristi reached for his hand again, squeezing it gently.

Pristi :- You don't have to understand it all at once, brother. Just accept that he is here, and he is yours.

Vikram nodded slowly, his eyes closing as exhaustion began to overtake him. The wine, the weight of the revelations, and the lingering anger sapped his strength. His head drooped forward, and within moments, he was slumped in the chair, unconscious.

Pristi rose and draped a nearby shawl over his shoulders. She turned to Vasuhoma, her face filled with a mixture of relief and sorrow.

Pristi :- He needs time, give him that.

She said softly. Vasuhoma nodded.

Vasuhoma :-:Time does not erase truths, but it does help in understanding them.

Pristi smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Pristi :- You are more like him than either of you realize.

Vasuhoma tilted his head, considering her words, before turning and leaving the room. The chamber grew silent once more, save for the steady sound of Vikram's breathing as he slept, burdened by the shadows of his past and the weight of a future he had yet to fully grasp.



The courtyard was bathed in golden light, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the stone walls and the cluster of trees that surrounded Radha's modest home. The scent of freshly turned earth and blooming jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of sweat.

Amrit sat on a large rock near the center of the courtyard, his chest rising and falling heavily as he recovered from the grueling practice session he had just completed. His bow, tall and gleaming, rested against the trunk of a sturdy neem tree, its string taut and unyielding. His eyes fixed on the weapon, and a faint smile crept across his lips as he imagined the day he would finally master it. In his mind's eye, he saw himself standing triumphant, his aura radiant, his name spoken with reverence-Amrit, not as Karn's brother, but as a warrior of unmatched valor.

The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention. Radha emerged from the house, her graceful figure framed by the sunlight. Dressed in a simple sari, she carried an earthen pot of water and a cloth to wipe the sweat from her son's brow. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of pride and worry, softened as she approached him.

Radha :- You've been at it all morning, Amrit, uou'll wear yourself out.

She said, her voice warm but tinged with concern. Amrit shrugged, reaching for the pot.

Amrit :- The body grows stronger with work.

He replied curtly, pouring water over his face and running his fingers through his damp hair. Radha watched him in silence for a moment, then sat beside him on the rock, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Radha :- You're always so focused, always so distant from others. Tell me, how was your day?

Amrit hesitated, his gaze drifting back to his bow.

Amrit :- It was good, as usual.

He said finally, his tone flat. Radha sighed, sensing the walls he always seemed to build around himself.

Radha :- Good, as usual.... You've always been a man of few words, Amrit. But there is so much more behind those eyes, I know it.

She repeated softly. Amrit didn't respond. He picked up a small pebble from the ground and turned it over in his fingers, his thoughts elsewhere. Radha decided to tread carefully. She glanced at the bow, then at her son's strong but tense figure.

Radha :- Amrit, you work so hard every day, but there's something else driving you, isn't there? Something you won't share with anyone.

Amrit stiffened but said nothing. She pressed on, her voice soft but firm.

Radha :- It's about Karn, isn't it?

At the mention of his elder brother's name, Amrit's expression darkened. He set the pebble down and stood abruptly, turning his back to her.

Amrit :- Why bring him up now, Ma? I don't want to talk about him.

He asked, his voice tight. Radha stood as well, her heart aching at the tension that seemed to grow stronger between her sons with each passing day.

Radha :- I bring him up because I'm worried, you've always held this anger, this... grudge against Karn. But why, Amrit? What has he done to you to deserve it?

She said, stepping closer to him. Amrit turned to face her, his eyes flashing with frustration.

Amrit :- You wouldn't understand.

He said sharply.

Radha :- Then help me understand, yell me what it is that makes you so resentful of your own brother.

She countered, her voice rising slightly. Amrit clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he struggled to hold back his emotions.

Amrit :- He overshadows everything, Ma! Wherever I go, whatever I do, I am not Amrit-I am Karn's brother! Always second, always compared to him.

He finally burst out. Radha's eyes softened, and she reached out to place a hand on his arm, but he pulled away.

Radha :- It's not his fault, Amrit, Karn has never sought to diminish you. If anything, he respects you, admires you even.

She said gently.

Amrit :- Respect? Admiration? That's easy for him to say when the world already bows at his feet. Do you know what it's like to live in his shadow? To have people dismiss you because they see only him?

He scoffed, his tone bitter. Radha frowned, her hand falling to her side.

Radha :- Is that why you've been training so relentlessly? To prove yourself? To step out of his shadow?

Amrit :- Yes... and I will. I will challenge him, fight him, and defeat him. Only then will people see me for who I am-not as his brother, but as Amrit.

He said firmly, his eyes blazing. Radha's heart sank at the determination in his voice.

Radha :- Amrit, do you think defeating Karn will bring you peace? Will it truly make people see you for who you are? Or will it only deepen the divide between you?

She said softly, Amrit looked away, his jaw tightening.

Amrit :- I don't expect you to understand, Ma. You've always loved him more than me.

Radha gasped, the words cutting her like a blade.

Radha :- Amrit! How could you say that? I raised both of you with the same love, the same care.

Amrit :- Did you? Then why does it always feel like he's the one who matters most? Why is it always Karn's name that comes first?

He challenged, his voice rising. Radha stepped closer to him, her eyes filling with tears.

Radha :- Because he is your elder brother, Amrit. That is all. It doesn't mean I love you any less.

Amrit shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze.

Amrit :- I've made up my mind, Ma. This is the only way. I will fight him, and I will win.

Radha :- Amrit, please, don't let this hatred consume you. Karn doesn't hold the same grudge. He loves you, even if you don't see it.

She pleaded, her voice breaking. Amrit's face hardened.

Amrit :- Then maybe he should prepare himself to fight someone who doesn't love him back.

Radha took a step back, her hands trembling.

Radha :- Amrit, you are my son, and I cannot bear to see this anger destroy you-or the bond you have with your brother....

Amrit :- There is no bond, not anymore.

He said coldly. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The afternoon sun continued its descent, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Radha felt a deep sorrow settle in her chest as she watched her son turn away from her, his posture stiff and unyielding.

Radha :- If you won't change your mind, then I will pray that the day you meet Karn on the battlefield never comes. For both your sakes.

She said quietly. Amrit didn't respond. He walked to the neem tree, picked up his bow, and slung it over his shoulder. Radha sighed, the weight of her conversation with Amrit pressing heavily on her heart. She knew her son too well to push further; his stubbornness would not bend today. Resolving to try again another time, she turned to leave.

But as she stepped away, a sudden thought rooted her in place. Her hand hovered over her chest, and she hesitated, glancing back at Amrit. He was still there, his back turned to her, adjusting the string of his bow with deliberate focus.

Radha :- Amrit.

She called softly, her tone more cautious than before. He didn't look up, his fingers still working on the bow.

Amrit :- What is it now, Ma?

Radha took a tentative step toward him, clasping her hands together as if bracing herself.

Radha :- I've been meaning to ask you something... something important.

Amrit finally glanced at her over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly.

Amrit :- What is it?

Radha exhaled, then squared her shoulders.

Radha :- Do you have any plans for marriage?

Amrit's hands froze mid-motion, and he turned fully to face her, his expression caught between confusion and disbelief.

Amrit :- Marriage?

He repeated, the word foreign on his tongue.

Radha :- Yes, marriage, you're not a boy anymore, Amrit. It's time you started thinking about settling down, building a family of your own.

She said, forcing a lightness into her voice. Amrit blinked, clearly unprepared for such a question.

Amrit :- Why bring this up now, Ma? Of all things?

Radha stepped closer, her gaze softening as she spoke.

Radha :- Your father and I... we didn't get the chance to attend Karn's wedding. We weren't there to see our eldest son take that step. It's a regret I carry to this day. Will you at least give us that joy, Amrit? The joy of seeing our son get married?

Her voice grew quieter, tinged with a hint of sadness. Amrit shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the ground.

Amrit :- I don't think this is the time to discuss such things.

He muttered. Radha smiled faintly, sensing the crack in his otherwise stoic exterior.

Radha :- If not now, then when? You're always busy training, always thinking of the next battle. Life is more than just proving your strength, Amrit. It's about finding someone who will walk beside you, who will share in your joys and burdens.

He opened his mouth to reply, but she interrupted gently, her tone growing more pointed.

Radha :- What about Malini?

At the mention of her name, Amrit's expression changed. His jaw tightened, and his usually indifferent gaze softened, though he quickly masked it.

Amrit :- Malini?

He asked, his voice quieter. Radha nodded, her eyes searching his face for any sign of emotion.

Radha :- She's a kind girl, wise and gentle. I've seen the way she looks at you, and I know she admires you. Don't tell me you've never thought of her.

Amrit was silent for a long moment, his hands gripping the bow tightly. Then, finally, he sighed and met his mother's gaze.

Amrit :- If you think it's the right thing, then... do as you see fit.

Radha's face lit up with a smile, her heart swelling with hope.

Radha :- Truly, Amrit?

He nodded, though his voice remained measured.

Amrit :- If it will make you and pitashree happy, then I will consider it.

Radha reached out and placed a hand on his arm, her eyes shining with gratitude.

Radha :- You've made me very happy today, Amrit. I'll speak to your father about it.

Amrit gave a small nod, his gaze drifting back to the neem tree. Radha took a step back, her smile lingering as she watched him. For the first time in a long while, she felt a spark of hope-a chance for peace, for unity, even if it was a small step forward.



The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of silk robes and the soft murmur of voices. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, casting golden patterns on the stone floor. The suspended dust particles danced in the beams of light, adding a certain stillness to the air.

Dhritrashtra sat on an ornate chair at the head of the room, his hands resting on the carved armrests. Despite the loss of his sight, his presence radiated authority, though softened by the familial setting. Gandhari sat beside him, her face veiled as always, her demeanor calm yet attentive.

On one side of the room stood Bhism, his tall frame as unyielding as his principles. His silver hair and beard gave him the appearance of timeless wisdom. Vidur, the head of the royal ministers, was seated nearby, his expression thoughtful as he often played the voice of reason in the family's affairs.

Dhritrashtra's deep voice broke the quiet.

Dhritrashtra :- A letter has arrived from Indraprasth... from the Pandavs.

He announced, holding up a rolled parchment. The mood in the room brightened almost instantly. Gandhari leaned slightly forward, her tone eager.

Gandhari :- What news do they bring, my lord?

Dhritrashtra unrolled the letter with practiced hands, a small smile forming on his lips.

Dhritrashtra :- It is an invitation, to Nakul's wedding.

He said, pausing for emphasis, his fingers feeling the letters printed on the sheet. A wave of warmth spread through the room at the announcement. Gandhari clasped her hands together, her voice carrying a note of joy.

Gandhari :- How wonderful! Another union to strengthen our family ties.

Bhism nodded, his stern features softening.

Bhism :- It is indeed joyous news, the Pandavs have always upheld dharma, and this marriage will surely bring prosperity to their kingdom.

He said, his voice deep and resonant. Vidur's smile was faint but genuine.

Vidur :- It is heartening to see moments of celebration amidst these turbulent times. Nakul is a fine young man, and this alliance will undoubtedly be a prosperous one.

Dhritrashtra inclined his head toward Vidur.

Dhritrashtra :- You are right, Vidur. The bond between Hastinapur and Indraprasth must remain strong. Attending this wedding will not only bring us closer as a family but also as allies.

Gandhari turned slightly toward Dhritrashtra.

Gandhari :- When is the wedding to take place?"

Dhritrashtra :- The letter says preparations are already underway, we are to leave in a fortnight to join the celebrations.

He replied. Bhism placed his hands on his sword, his tone resolute.

Bhism :- We must ensure our presence honors their invitation. I will oversee the arrangements for our travel.

Gandhari added softly,

Gandhari :- And I shall prepare gifts worthy of the occasion.

Vidur leaned forward, his gaze focused.

Vidur :- I shall ensure the ministers handle the kingdom's affairs in our absence.

Dhritrashtra's smile widened.

Dhritrashtra :- It is settled then. We will join our family in their moment of joy.

As the conversation continued, a sense of warmth and unity filled the room, the weight of their usual burdens momentarily lifted by the promise of celebration.



The orange hues of the setting sun bathed the palace of Tilprasth in a warm glow, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. In one of the chambers, Mitravinda moved gracefully across the polished floor. Her anklets chimed softly with each step as she practiced her dance. The silk of her attire shimmered in the fading light, and her movements were fluid, each gesture telling a story of devotion and longing.

A gentle breeze stirred through the open windows, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming jasmine. The cool air caressed her face, causing her to pause mid-step. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and as the breeze passed, it brought with it a faint but distinct melody-soft, ethereal, and hauntingly familiar.

Her gaze shifted toward her bed. Something tugged at her heart, a whisper from deep within. Walking slowly, almost as if drawn by an unseen force, she knelt beside the bed and reached underneath. Her fingers brushed against a familiar object, and she pulled out a carefully wrapped portrait.

Unfolding the fabric with care, she revealed a painting of Krishna. His serene face, adorned with a playful yet divine smile, seemed to look directly at her, as if aware of her gaze. A tender smile spread across her lips, and her fingers traced the outline of his face on the canvas.

Mitravinda :- Krishna...

She murmured softly, her voice a mixture of reverence and affection. The melody grew louder, more distinct, and her heart quickened. She knew that sound-it was the voice of the golden flute, a tune that could only belong to him. Rising to her feet, she clutched the portrait close for a moment before setting it gently on the bed.

Following the sound, her steps quickened, leading her down the grand corridors of the palace and out into the gardens. The cool evening air greeted her, and the lush greenery sparkled under the golden rays of the setting sun. Birds chirped softly, their songs blending harmoniously with the divine melody that guided her.

There, beneath a large banyan tree, stood Krishna.

His form was radiant, illuminated by the last rays of the sun that filtered through the leaves. His golden attire shimmered, and a small, delicate peacock feather swayed gently in the crown that adorned his head. His fingers danced effortlessly across the holes of his flute, producing a melody that seemed to carry the weight of peace and eternity.

Mitravinda stopped a few steps away, her breath catching in her throat. In that moment, he looked otherworldly, as if time itself had paused to honor his presence. He lowered the flute and turned toward her, his gaze meeting hers. His smile was soft, yet it held the warmth of a thousand suns.

Mitravinda :- You came.

She said, her voice trembling slightly as she stepped closer.

Krishna :- I had to.

He replied, his tone gentle yet filled with certainty. Mitravinda stood beside him, her heart swelling with emotions too vast to name. The breeze played with her hair as the garden seemed to embrace the two of them in its tranquil silence.

For a moment, neither spoke. The golden light bathed them in its glow, and the world around seemed to fade away. Krishna's flute dangled loosely in his hand as he turned his gaze to the horizon, the colors of dusk reflecting in his eyes.

Krishna :- You still practice your dance.

He said after a while, breaking the silence. She nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Mitravinda :- It is my way of remembering you. Each step, each movement... it speaks of you.

His smile deepened, a mix of pride and affection.

Krishna :- And I hear it, even from afar. Every thought of yours reaches me, Mitravinda. How could I not come?

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, though her smile never faltered.

Mitravinda :- The world calls you in so many ways, Krishna. Yet you still find time for those who wait for you.

He turned fully toward her, his gaze steady and reassuring.

Krishna :- How could I not? To the world, I am a king, a guide, a friend. But to you, I am Krishna. I am yours.

The words hung in the air, resonating deeply within her. She lowered her gaze for a moment, overwhelmed, before looking back at him.

Mitravinda :- Then stay, if only for a while.

She whispered.

Krishna :- I am here.

He replied simply, his tone carrying a promise. The silence returned, but this time it was a comforting one, filled with unspoken understanding. Krishna raised his flute once more, and the melody resumed, soft and soothing. The notes floated through the garden, blending with the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.



Mitravinda closed her eyes, letting the music envelop her. Standing beside him, she felt a sense of completeness, as if all her yearning had found its answer.

The evening deepened, the sky shifting from gold to deep indigo, and yet they remained, bound in a moment that transcended time.

For Mitravinda, this was enough.

For Krishna, it was everything.



Did you like the chapter ?

Another chapter in almost a week. I don't remember I was this productive in like... forever.

It takes so much effort to write these chapters, and your feedbacks to it are my source of motivation. So if you like what you're reading, please leave a vote or a comment, it'd appreciate it.

Do comment if you have any suggestions.

Will see you in the next part, untill then, take care and bye.