His voice flowed calm and deep, like a hymn whispered by the river at dusk. His embrace—warm, shielding, eternal—felt like the silence that rests between two heartbeats. He was everything I had ever yearned for, everything I had once knelt and prayed for beneath the stars. I looked at him as his words descended, slow and solemn, like the echo of a vow long kept.
“I knew,” he began, “that to interrupt you then would be to disturb the storm itself. So I stood still, letting your fire burn through the air until your heart found its voice. Your words—I carry them still, engraved upon my soul. Never did I imagine that my own deeds, my own silence, could wound you so.
I could not speak then, but within me I made a vow—to never leave your side. To walk beside you through every shadowed path, until I deliver you safely to your home. And even beyond that—if ever your heart called for me again—I swore to answer, no matter the distance between worlds.
That night, your fury was fierce enough to shake the heavens. Yet I did not turn away. I dared not shield myself. I bore your wrath in silence, for even your anger was dear to me.”
When your anger finally calmed, I walked toward you with slow, careful steps. I stood before you and placed my hands on your shoulders. I apologized, hoping to understand what I had done to hurt you. But you stayed silent, unshaken, refusing to say a word.
I had never been this lost before. My heart and mind were pulling me in two directions. My heart wanted to keep you safe, even if it meant standing against the whole world. But my mind still doubted—unsure if you were something divine or something dark. I wanted to understand you, but my thoughts wouldn’t let me. I stood caught between the two. One moment I was kind, the next I turned cold. Everything between us began to fall apart.
When the sun rose and filled the room with light, I quickly closed the curtains. I had seen how sunlight hurt you—how it stole your strength until you lost consciousness. It puzzled me deeply. Why did the light of day cause you pain? Were you bound by some curse? I wanted to ask, but before I could, you questioned me instead. I didn’t know what to say and answered harshly. I regret that now.
I turned to leave but stopped again, because there was still something I needed to do. When the girls entered, I spoke what I had to, only to protect your secret. Then I finally walked out.
Outside, I remembered I had come only to bathe and prepare for my morning prayer and the royal court. But once I saw you, everything else lost meaning. I decided to wait until you had your bath, though I worried you might not feel safe with the new attendants. So I sent Dhara Didi—she once cared for my mother, gentle and wise.
I told her only that you were not like any ordinary human. She understood without another question. She cared for you with kindness, and for the first time that day, I felt I had made the right choice—for you.
I waited… and waited… until Dhara Didi finally returned. She told me you had taken your bath and were ready for the morning prayer. So I went back to the chamber, thinking only of getting ready for the day ahead.
But the moment I stepped inside, I stopped.
I froze.
You looked so ethereal that for a heartbeat my mind forgot every doubt it ever held. No demon… no dark spirit… could look the way you did. From your pale glow to the soft crimson on your cheeks, you looked like a fallen angel resting in a human form.
And do you know what crossed my heart?
A foolish little wish—how breathtaking you would look in a bridal dress.
I wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked, but the moment you saw me, your anger rose again. Not wanting to face another storm, I quickly escaped to the bath to get ready.
When I returned, you were already asleep on the couch.
The entire room had fallen into a soft, sacred silence.
I stood there watching you—your calm face, your gentle breath, the quiet glow around you. You looked so peaceful… so delicate… and yet I remembered how dangerous your voice could be.
I walked closer.
Kneeled beside you.
And with careful arms, I lifted you and placed you on the bed, wanting you to sleep without disturbance. Everything must have exhausted you, too.
As I sat beside you, I wondered again—how someone who carried so much power could feel so light, almost weightless, like a feather in my arms.
Soon the girls came to call you, but I stopped them. I didn’t want your rest to be disturbed. I told them to let you sleep, to let your strength return.
Only then did I step outside.
The day slowly passed. It was long… and far too exhausting.
After the morning prayer and breakfast, I went straight to the courtroom. I met all my ministers—so much had happened in my absence, and it was time to restore balance. I listened to the complaints and appeals of my people, one after another.
Later, I went to the royal library to discuss the financial state of the kingdom. It had been more than six months since I left to battle the evil Lobh, and in that time, everything had shifted, grown complicated, restless. After receiving the reports, I left for the countryside.
A large part of my day was spent there—planning new areas for development, understanding what the people needed, and checking on the soldiers stationed there for the kingdom’s protection.
By the time everything was done, dusk had arrived. The sun had set, and the night sky spread itself across the world.
When I looked up at the moon and stars, I remembered you. You must have woken up by now, I thought. So we began our return to the palace.
As soon as I reached, I came to your chamber. But you were still asleep. The jewelry I had removed earlier—so they wouldn’t hurt you—still lay untouched beside you. You slept so peacefully that I didn’t have the heart to disturb your rest.
I left quietly, went to take a warm bath, washed away the tiredness of the day, got dressed, and stepped out again.
I met Maa, my siblings, and the rest of my kin. The palace hummed with familiar warmth, yet my mind wandered back to you. With time still left before the evening meal, I walked toward the courtyard that opened close to your chamber.
And there… I beheld you.
You stepped onto the balcony with the quiet grace of a dusk-born deity. The moonlight embraced you, and you glowed as though carved from its very silver. Even newly awakened, you looked nothing less than ethereal—too beautiful, too serene to belong to anything dark.
You stood lost in your thoughts, your gaze drifting to the moon and stars as if calling to forgotten realms. Then you sat beside the small diya flickering near you, untouched by its heat. I feared its flame might scorch you, but you remained unaware, held captive by your own wandering mind.
Then, without warning— you rose, and your wings unfurled. Great, black wings— vast as night, fierce as shadow.
My breath halted.
The world beneath my feet shifted.
What creature, what fallen celestial, stood before me? Awe and fear both struck me at once, like twin arrows from the heavens. My mind whispered warnings—dark spirit, omen, danger—yet my heart quivered with something far deeper.
You lifted yourself into the night sky— but only for a moment.
A cry tore from you as your feathers ignited. You fell with a scream that split the quiet of the palace. Your pain thundered through the courtyard; it felt as though the heavens themselves trembled.
I did not think.
I ran.
Flames rose around you, devouring the chamber. Yet I leapt through them, uncaring of their bite. Whether you were divine or cursed mattered little—saving you was the only truth that remained.
I wrapped my shawl around your burning wings. Slowly, your trembling quieted, but your body weakened in my arms. I carried you from the flames, through the silent corridors, to the sealed sanctuary of the palace—a place forbidden to all but my father and me.
There, I tried to offer you rest.
But your fury awakened again. You struck at me—fierce, wild, lost in pain. And I endured it all. Every blow, every roar, every trembling moment— for your suffering wounded me more than your hands ever could.
At last, you faltered.
Your breath steadied.
The storm in you began to fade.
Helplessness washed over me then. I would have offered you every treasure I possessed—even the black weapons forged by ancient forces—if it meant easing your torment.
And so the words escaped me:
“Marry me.”
For in union, you would gain the right to summon those weapons as I do.
But your eyes met mine with pure, childlike honesty, and you asked,
“What is marriage?”
Once more, I was silenced—caught between centuries of duty and a truth too sacred to speak. So I told you to discover it yourself… knowing well that nothing in this world could hide its meaning from you.
And then, to win your trust, you left me with only one choice— to take you into the realm of the Black Weapons.
I knew I could guide you there. So I held your hand, and together we moved through the hidden passage, the one that opened into the shadowed forest behind the palace.
I had not expected you to know of such a passage.
Yet you walked without hesitation, and in that moment, I realized how vast your knowledge truly was— vast, yet untouched by the ways of humankind.
Every time you spoke of humans, it was with doubt or disdain.
As we rode toward the Kaal Vivar, I gathered my courage to speak.
I wanted you to know that humans were not all cruel, not all blind to truth.
I did not expect you to listen… but you did.
And your questions were earnest—sharp, searching, sincere.
For that, I was grateful.
When we reached the Kaal Vivar, I took your hand again. This place, carved with the power of angels and cursed by the presence of imprisoned demons, was beautiful in the most dangerous way.
Every step was a risk. Every breath threatened to wake the shadows. We could not utter a sound. So I spoke to you through the mind.
Together we walked the narrow path until we reached the heart of the angels—the core of the vivar.
Never once had it occurred to me that you might not see anything here.
Only when you whispered that the realm was empty to your eyes did shock strike me.
Such was the brilliance of this creation—its dangers were invisible to those not bound to it.
I wished I could show you everything—the woven seals, the trembling power, the angels carved in silence.
But I had no way.
Then you demanded to see the weapons.
I tried to explain—it was impossible. They obeyed no one’s command. They revealed themselves only by their own will.
But your fury rose again, and you refused to hear me.
So I closed my eyes and clasped my hands, calling silently to the angels who forged this place.
And then— as if answering my plea— my right hand lifted on its own, wrapped in a swirling black spell.
The wall before us dissolved. And the weapons revealed themselves— dark, sacred, and alive.
I was as shocked as you. I had never known such a power existed within me. It was only with you… that this hidden strength awakened.
We left the Kaal Vivar after that.
But when we crossed the threshold into the forest— you left me. Left me with a silence sharp enough to break a heart.
His eyes lowered, as if the weight of centuries had suddenly rested on his shoulders.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steady… yet it trembled with something old and wounded.
“Shivali,” he said, “do you know what the gods took from me long before you ever walked into my life?
They took my peace. They took my sleep. They took the soft corners of my heart and left me with dust.”
He exhaled, slow, tired, almost broken.
“When you disappeared into that night sky… I felt something inside me collapse—like a temple struck by lightning. I searched for you in the emptiness of my life. I thought I had buried my heart long ago, but your leaving dug up all the wounds I had chained beneath stone.”
His throat tightened, but he continued.
“You were the first light after a lifetime of darkness. And when you vanished, that light tore me apart." I couldn't found my way back to the palace. I stood there in the forest looking at the sky where you vanished. And at that moment my mind understood that my heart loved you. But you were gone. And now again I was left tangled between my emotions and responsibilities.
He looked at her as though she were both salvation and ruin.
“I am not angry you left,” he whispered. “I am only angry at the gods… for giving me a heart that chooses you even when it knows it will break again.”
The day passed. A long, empty yet painful day passed. Those moon and stars reminded me of you. And the midnight brought a wave relief, I found you there sitting on the couch of our room and for some reason I felt happy. Yet I worried you must have faced difficulties in your way back to home.
Before I could ask anything. You sudden confession left me amazed. You said you want to marry me. You proposed and then again vanished. And again I found myself isolated.
"I searched for you in every corner of the earth, in every shadow, in every whisper of wind. I walked like a cursed king—alive, but emptied, breathing, but with no breath left in me.”
I waited for days, then weeks, months, season and years went by but you never returned. I felt as the wait had turned into eternity.
He drew in a breath as though gathering the scattered pieces of himself.
“Shivali… I must tell you everything,” he said, voice low, ancient with sorrow.
“When you left that night, something in the universe shifted. I felt it—like a star falling out of its own sky. The moment you disappeared, I knew what true silence was. Not the silence of air or night… but the silence inside a man who has lost the only sound that ever mattered to him.”
His gaze wandered away for a moment, as if he were looking at memories he wished he could unlive.
“I am a warrior, a prince, a protector of kingdoms… but that night I understood I was nothing before the ache you left behind. I walked through my palace halls like a ghost wearing a crown. Every room felt hollow. Every flame burned colder. Even the moon seemed to avoid me.”
He swallowed, his voice almost breaking.
“You don’t understand what you became for me. I had spent my life fighting battles, making peace with grief, burying wounds the world never saw. But you… you were the one thing I never prepared myself to welcome you and then to lose. You were the first softness in my hard, storm-bitten life. You met on a no moon night and left on a full moon night.”
His hands trembled slightly, a rare crack in the armor he always wore.
“I searched for you,” he whispered. “Not with armies or horses… but with a heart that was bleeding yet still hopeful. I looked for you in prayers I had forgotten how to say. I looked for you in the rising sun. I looked for you even in my anger.”
He looked at her then, fully, painfully.
“I was furious at you. Furious at myself. Furious at destiny. The gods wrote our fates like careless scribes, giving us love without giving us time. They tested me with the one thing I could not fight—your absence.”
His breath shivered.
“And yet… after all of it, after the heartbreak, after nights that swallowed me whole… my heart still chooses you. Even now. Even when I know you can break me again. Even when I know you may leave once more.”
He stepped closer, as if confessing not to her ears, but to her soul.
“That is my truth, Shivali. Love made me stronger in wars… but losing you made me corpse.”
Author POV
For a long moment, Shivali said nothing.
She stood there as if his words had loosened something inside her—something she had held locked away behind centuries of silence. The air around her trembled, like the faint hum before a storm begins to breathe.
Her eyes lifted to him slowly.
“Shivraj…” she whispered, and even his name sounded different on her tongue—fragile, almost breaking.
“I did not know,” she began, voice a thread of wind. “I did not know my leaving could wound you so deeply. I thought… I thought you would forget me. That your world was full of people, responsibilities, duties. I believed I was just a moment in your long life.”
Her fingers tightened around the fabric near her heart, as if steadying herself.
“I ran because I feared what you made me feel,” she confessed. “You do not understand… I was not meant for such emotions. Love was not written into my existence. I was shaped by light, by law, by celestial silence. And you—” Her voice trembled. “You brought thunder into me.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, glowing faintly like a drop of starlight.
“When you spoke of your world… when you held my hand in the Kaal Vivar… when you looked at me as if I belonged here… I felt something I was not prepared to feel.”
She took a breath that quivered like a fragile wing.
“And when I realized that feeling could destroy me… I chose to leave you before it did.”
Her gaze rose again, steady now, holding his with a strange, ancient tenderness.
“But hearing you now… hearing your pain… I realize something.”
She stepped closer, the air warming between them.
“You were the first wound I ever carried… but you were also the first healing.”
She placed her hand against his chest, right over his heartbeat.
“I did not come back to hurt you, Shivraj. I came back because no matter how far I ran— your soul kept calling mine.”
She breathed out softly, a confession wrapped in trembling truth:
“And for the first time… I wanted to answer.”
Shivraj’s breath caught when Shivali’s hand rested over his heart.
For a heartbeat, he simply stood there—unable to move, unable to speak—feeling her touch as if the entire universe had narrowed to that single point.
He lifted his hand slowly, almost afraid she would vanish if he moved too quickly, and placed it gently over hers.
“Shivali…” he whispered, and there was no anger, no accusation—only relief, only longing, only the echo of a love he had carried alone for too long. “You came back.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering like dusk caught in water. “I came back,” she repeated softly. A small, trembling smile touched her lips.
The night wind swept through the courtyard, stirring the leaves, brushing past their faces. Her hair danced lightly, brushing his jaw, and he leaned into its warmth without realizing it.
Shivraj raised his other hand and touched her cheek with a tenderness he had never dared before. She did not pull away.
Instead, she leaned into his palm, closing her eyes for a moment—as if his touch was something she had longed for without understanding it.
“Your heart…” she murmured. “It feels so warm.”
“And it beats for you,” he answered quietly.
Her eyes opened, wide and unguarded, and the truth of his words shimmered through her like light through still water.
The distance between them dissolved.
He stepped closer.
She didn’t move away.
Their foreheads touched lightly—just that—yet it felt like the sky had folded into their breaths.
Shivraj whispered, “Tell me you will not disappear into the night again.”
Shivali’s fingers curled around his, holding on with fragile certainty.
“I don’t want to run anymore,” she said. “Not from you.”
He exhaled shakily, a breath filled with relief, devotion, and aching love. As if answering some ancient vow, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She hesitated only for a heartbeat… then her arms rose and circled his neck. The world fell away. Only their warmth remained.
He pulled her closer, feeling the softness of her breath against his throat, the trembling of her chest against his own. Her wings—once wild, once burning—unfurled just slightly, brushing against him like a quiet acceptance.
“Stay,” he whispered into her hair. “Stay with me tonight… just as you are.”
Shivali nodded, her voice barely a breath. “I will.”
And in that moment—under the moon, under the silence, under the sacred pull between their hearts— the universe itself seemed to pause, as if honoring a love it had waited centuries to witness.
Shivraj held her as if he were afraid she would turn into starlight and slip through his fingers.
But when she finally pulled back slightly, when her eyes lifted to meet his, something shifted—quietly, profoundly.
“Shivraj…” she whispered, almost as if she feared the truth forming on her tongue.
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m here,” he said softly. “Tell me.”
Shivali’s breath trembled.
“For so long,” she began, eyes fixed on his chest as though looking anywhere else would break her, “I believed I had no heart. Or that if I did… it was made for destruction. Cursed. Tainted. Something that only brought pain to anyone who came near me.”
Her wings folded closer to her body, as though hiding an old wound.
“I thought,” she continued, voice raw, “that if I let anyone close… they would burn with me. Like the fire that took me that night.”
Shivraj’s hand moved to her jaw, lifting her gaze to his.
“You never brought destruction to me,” he murmured. “You brought breath… hope… and a reason to return home alive.”
Her eyes widened—uncertain, shaken, vulnerable.
“But I hurt you,” she whispered.
“I hurt you many times. I attacked you, I doubted you, I caused you pain. Why did you still stand beside me? Why didn’t you let me go?”
Shivraj exhaled a shiver of laughter—soft, aching, filled with truth.
“Because,” he said gently, “your anger never frightened me. It was your loneliness that broke me.”
She blinked, stunned.
“You think I didn’t see it?” he continued, brushing her hair behind her ear.
“The way you looked at the moon as if searching for a home you lost…
The way you flinched when someone reached out…
The way you slept as if sleep was the only time the world didn’t demand strength from you.”
Her lips parted, breath catching.
“You were never a danger to me, Shivali. You were a storm that only wanted to be understood.”
Her voice cracked.
“And now?”
“And now…” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers, “…you are the safest place my heart has ever known.”
Her breath hitched—soft, fragile, almost breaking.
She pressed her hands to his chest, as if trying to steady the emotions rising inside her.
“Shivraj,” she whispered, “no one has ever spoken to me like this. Not in this lifetime… not in any realm.”
He cupped her face, thumbs gently brushing the corners of her eyes.
“Then let me be the first,” he said quietly.
“And let this be the truth you carry forward:
You are not a curse.
You are not a shadow.
You are not alone.”
Her eyes glistened—tears she didn’t know she was capable of shedding.
“I don’t know what this feeling is,” she confessed, voice trembling, “but when I look at you… something in me trembles. Something wants to stay.”
Shivraj smiled—slow, tender, overflowing with devotion.
“That,” he whispered, “is the beginning of love.”
Shivali closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, and for the first time since she descended from the celestial skies……she let herself feel.
She let herself be held.
She let herself be vulnerable.
She let her heart, once bound by darkness, open—just a little, just enough—for him.
And in the quiet of that night, with her wings wrapped around them like a shelter, Shivraj felt it:
Not just her trust.
Not just her gratitude.
But the first fragile bloom of a love she didn’t yet understand…and yet could no longer deny.
The night deepened around them, quiet yet trembling with something sacred.
Shivraj still held Shivali’s face in his palms, as though the universe itself had been distilled into that single touch.
Her wings folded softly behind her, no longer bristling with pain or fear, but resting—calm, like dark velvet.
A faint wind moved through the sealed chamber, carrying the scent of distant jasmine. It felt as though the heavens were listening.
Shivali drew in a slow breath, her heart beating with a rhythm she had never known.
“Shivraj…” she murmured, “if this feeling is truly the beginning of love… then I don’t want it to break you.” Her voice quivered slightly, but her chin lifted with celestial grace. “I want to protect it. Even if I don’t know how.”
Shivraj shook his head gently.
“You already did,” he whispered. “The moment you allowed yourself to stay.”
Her eyes glowed—silver, soft, almost trembling. Something shifted inside her then, something ancient and powerful, something that had never been meant for mortals or angels or exiled beings.
A truth deeper than memory.
She placed her hand over his heart—her fingers cold, his heartbeat warm beneath them.
“Then hear my vow,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the gravity of stars.
“I cannot promise you a peaceful life. My wings carry storms, my past carries shadows… and my future is still unknown.”
Her hand pressed a little firmer over his heartbeat.
“But if you choose to walk beside me, then I vow this—
I will never leave your side in silence. I will never let fear be the wall between us. And even if darkness comes for me again… I will find my way back to you.”
Her words were soft, but they struck him with the force of a divine oath.
Shivraj’s breath caught. He slowly took her hand, holding it against his chest.
“And my vow,” he answered, voice deep and steady, “is this—
Where your wings falter, I will stand.
Where your past haunts, I will guard.
Where your light dims, I will carry fire.”
He leaned closer, their foreheads touching, his vow a whisper carved from devotion.
“I will protect you not because you are fragile… but because you are precious. And I will walk beside you, even if the path leads through the unknown.”
Shivali’s lips parted in a silent inhale. She felt the Weight of his truth—sincere, unwavering, eternal. In that moment, something luminous unfurled between them.
Her wings, once trembling with the pain of burning, now glowed faintly at the edges—soft, silver light tracing along the dark feathers like the first light of dawn.
It was not fire.
It was recognition—of her vow, of his, of a bond forming beyond the mortal or celestial realm.
Shivraj lifted her hand and pressed it gently to his forehead—a gesture of honor, devotion, and surrender.
“From this night,” he whispered,
“your storms are mine… and my home is wherever you are.”
Shivali closed her eyes.
A single tear slipped down her cheek—quiet, luminous, like the falling of a star.
“I accept,” she breathed.
“And I am yours… in the way a shadow belongs to the flame that shapes it.”
Their hands intertwined.
Their hearts aligned.
A vow sealed not by ritual— but by truth, by wounds, by love in its first fragile bloom.
The night around them was still. Too still—like even the stars were listening to the faint trembling in Shivali’s breath.
She held Shivraj’s hand tightly, her fingers cold, her heart burning with something too deep, too heavy to speak easily. Her wings were half-unfurled, trembling not with anger this time but with sorrow she could no longer hide.
“Shivraj…” Her voice cracked, soft as a prayer. “I… I want to ask you something.”
He looked at her immediately—eyes steady, warm, ready to give before she even asked.
She swallowed hard.
“Pause this night,” she whispered. “Please… stop everything. Still the hour, still the moon, still this breath between us.”
He stepped closer, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What is hurting you?”
Shivali shook her head. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.
“Not hurt,” she murmured. “Not fear.” Then her voice broke— “Just love.”
Her wings folded around herself as if trying to shield her heart.
Shivraj’s breath hitched. Shivali’s hands cupped his face—fragile, desperate, reverent.
“Take me back,” she whispered. “To the time when we were wedded… to the moment when destiny tied us together.” Her voice quivered. “Let me live it again… just once…before the world tears us apart.”
Shivraj froze.
Not in refusal— but in the weight of her sorrow. In the ache that filled his chest because she asked for the one thing most precious to them both.
He didn’t ask why.
He didn’t question.
He didn’t hesitate.
He simply bowed his head, pressing his forehead to hers.
“If that is your wish, Shivali,” he breathed, “then even time will bow to it.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. He wiped them gently. Then he took her hands in his, his voice low, solemn, a vow as old as the shadows that crowned him:
“As King of Kaal Vivar, I command the threads of time—but tonight, I weave them only for you.”
Her eyes widened as the air around them stirred— soft at first, then rising, swirling with the ancient power he carried in blood, bone, and soul.
Shivraj closed his eyes.
Shivali felt his power awaken—the same dark cosmic force that sealed the realm of evils, now bending to the tenderness of her request.
He whispered the forbidden command, one only the ruler of Kaal Vivar could speak:
“Kal-bindan, vrithya ho… Take us to the moment her heart remembers.”
The ground beneath them glowed with black starlight—threads of time unraveling like silk, circling their feet.
The moon dimmed. The world softened. Even the wind fell silent, frozen mid-whisper. Shivali clutched his tunic, afraid he might disappear as the world shifted.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “I won’t let go.”
The darkness wrapped around them— not cold, not frightening— but warm, like the embrace of something ancient and benevolent.
The palace faded.
The night dissolved into silver dust. Their breaths mingled as time rewrote itself. Then… Slowly…
They stood in another night.
A familiar night.
A sacred night.
Diyas glowed around them. Sandalwood smoke curled in the air.
A garland of flowers lay on the ground, and the vast sky shimmered with celestial witnesses.
Shivali gasped, a soft, broken sound. “This… this is our wedding night.”
Shivraj looked at her—not at the scene, not at the past— but at her. “Yes,” he whispered.“As many times as you want… I will bring you back here.”
Her tears fell freely. She pressed herself against him, burying her face in his chest, and he encircled her in a fierce, trembling embrace.
“Shivraj…” Her voice was muffled, weeping, grateful. “Thank you… thank you for giving me this moment again.”
He kissed the top of her head.
Soft. Lingering. Devoted.
“Shivali,” he whispered, “if this is the last happiness you wish to carry with you… then I will make the universe hold it still.”
And time obeyed.
For her.
Because she asked.
Because she loved.
Because he loved her beyond the breath of worlds.
Author note:
From here, as they time travelled, will live their life exactly the same way they lived before this night. Not remembering that they travelled back but as they were living it for the very first time. Thank you dear readers. ❤️💐
Write a comment ...