The mirror shard sat on the table before me, its fractured edges glinting under the soft glow of the oil lamp.

A piece of the puzzle.

A piece of her way back home.

I exhaled sharply, leaning back in my chair.

She was gathering the shards. Slowly but surely, she was piecing the mirror back together.

And when it was whole—when she finally had the power to leave—

Would she?

The thought settled like a stone in my chest.

I had always known she didn’t belong in this world. She had a life beyond Vyantara, beyond this era.

But knowing something and accepting it were two different things.

I wasn’t ready to accept it.

Not yet.

Because in the short time she had been here, she had become a part of me.

Her presence was like fire—untamed, unpredictable, impossible to ignore. She defied me at every turn, challenged me, tested my patience like no one ever had.

And somehow, I didn’t want her to stop.

I ran a hand through my hair, my mind drifting to something else. The loop.

Prithish’s words echoed in my head.

"You lost memories."

"You were the reason for the loop."

I clenched my fists.

If I had truly been responsible, then I needed to know why.

I needed to know what I had done.

And only one person had the power to make me remember.

Aranya.

The next morning, I found her sitting in the palace courtyard, attempting to sew a torn piece of cloth.

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t look up. “Trying to fix this.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re doing it wrong.”

She scoffed. “And you know how to sew, Maharaja?”

I smirked. “Better than you, apparently.”

She narrowed her eyes, pointing the needle at me. “Fine. Show me.”

I walked over, sitting beside her, and took the cloth from her hands.

She watched, clearly amused, as I threaded the needle effortlessly and started sewing the tear.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re full of surprises.”

I glanced at her. “Did you think I was only good at wielding swords?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

I finished the last stitch and handed it back. “Now you know better.”

She grinned. “Should I call you Master of Sewing now?”

I smirked. “You can call me whatever you want, as long as it’s said sweetly.”

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the small blush on her cheeks.

That night, I was in my chamber, deep in thought, when I heard it.

A muffled cry.

I frowned, pushing back my chair.

The sound came again—a choked, fear-filled whimper.

I followed the sound, my steps quick and silent.

Her chamber door was slightly open, candlelight flickering from within.

When I stepped inside, my breath hitched.

She was trembling, her body curled into itself, her hands clutching the sheets. Sweat lined her forehead, her breaths uneven.

A nightmare.

I moved closer, kneeling beside the bed. “Aranya.”

She flinched violently, eyes flying open.

She gasped, blinking rapidly, as if unsure of where she was.

“Shh,” I murmured. “You’re safe.”

She stared at me, her breathing still shaky. Then, to my surprise, she reached for me.

I hesitated only for a second before taking her hand.

Her fingers were cold.

“…Stay,” she whispered, barely audible.

I stilled.

She was asking me to stay.

I had never seen her like this before—so vulnerable, so shaken.

I exhaled slowly, then gave a small nod.

Without another word, I shifted onto the bed beside her. She curled closer, pressing her forehead against my chest.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Her warmth, her scent, her presence—it was all-consuming.

I rested a hand on her back, gently tracing soothing circles. “Sleep.”

She sighed, her body relaxing against mine.

I stayed awake long after she drifted off, my own heart pounding far too loudly.

Because in that moment, I realized something.

I didn’t just fear her leaving.

I couldn’t let her leave.

The first thing I saw that morning was her.

Standing in the garden courtyard, talking to him.

Prithish.

Her head tilted slightly as she listened, her brows furrowing before she nodded, a small smile forming on her lips.

I barely noticed the warm morning breeze or the birds chirping in the distance. All I saw was that damned smile.

Before I could think twice, I was already moving.

By the time I reached them, Prithish had turned, smirking slightly as if he knew what I was about to do.

“I’ll see you later, Aranya,” he said, before walking away.

I clenched my fists, watching his retreating figure before shifting my gaze back to her.

She met my eyes, her expression unreadable.

“I need to go to Ranshara.”

I frowned. “What?”

She exhaled. “There’s another shard there.”

I stilled.

My jaw tightened. “You learned this from him.”

She hesitated before nodding.

A slow, burning frustration curled inside me.

Not just because of Prithish—but because I knew what this meant.

She was one step closer to leaving.

And I couldn’t stop her.

But I wanted to.

“No,” I said firmly.

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re not going.”

Her brows furrowed. “Rudraksha, I have to—”

“No, you don’t.”

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sharpness in my voice.

I took a step forward. “Why are you in such a rush to leave?”

She stiffened. “Because I have to go back.”

I inhaled sharply. “And what if you can’t?”

She hesitated.

I pressed on. “What if there is no way back? What if the mirror isn’t what you think it is?”

She shook her head. “That’s not true. The mirror is the key. You know it is.”

I clenched my jaw. “And if you succeed? If you go back, what then?”

She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Then I go back to my world, my life. The life I left behind.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Then go,” I said coldly.

She flinched.

The second it happened, I regretted it.

Her breath hitched, her eyes flickering with something raw before she quickly turned away.

Before I could apologize, before I could fix what I had just broken, she disappeared into her room.

And for the first time in my life—

I felt helpless.

I didn’t see her the entire day.

She didn’t join me for meals. Didn’t come to the war meetings.

It was as if she had vanished.

And the worst part?

I didn’t know how to bring her back.

The weight of my own anger, my own fear, settled heavily inside me.

Because the truth was—I had no right to stop her.

She wasn’t from this world. She didn’t belong to this time.

No matter what I wanted, I couldn’t chain her to me.

When night fell, I finally found her.

She was sitting in the garden, her back resting against the cool stone bench, gazing at the darkened sky.

She didn’t look at me as I approached.

I sat beside her, the space between us thick with unspoken words.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Then, finally—

“I have to go back,” she murmured.

I closed my eyes briefly before nodding. “I know.”

She exhaled, her voice soft. “I have my parents there. My life. I can’t just leave it behind.”

A painful ache spread through my chest.

I turned to her, watching as her fingers absently traced patterns on the stone bench.

She looked lost.

And I hated that I couldn’t ease that burden.

For a long moment, I simply watched her.

Then, without thinking, I reached out—tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She stilled at the touch, her breath hitching slightly.

I exhaled. “I’ll help you.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

I gave her a small, bitter smile. “I’ll help you collect the shards.”

She searched my face, as if trying to figure out if I was lying.

“…Why?” she whispered.

I swallowed. “Because I want you to stay.”

She inhaled sharply.

I let out a quiet chuckle. “But wanting something doesn’t mean I can have it, does it?”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t answer.

I reached for her hand, gently lacing my fingers through hers.

I wasn’t sure if I was saying goodbye or trying to hold on.

But at least for tonight, I would let myself be selfish.

I pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, lingering for just a second before pulling away.

Her gaze was filled with something unreadable.

But she didn’t let go.

And neither did I.