Swarnapradesh — The Palace Rooftop, Midnight's Loneliness
The palace rooftop was a field of white marble, washed in cold, silent moonlight. The air carried twin scents—the intoxicating sweetness of night-blooming jasmine from the gardens below, and the distant, damp chill rising from the Sarayu river. Prince Akash stood alone at the carved balustrade, a still figure against the vast sky. His gaze was not on the brilliant, dominating moon, but on the faint, distant stars that dared to shimmer around it, almost invisible in the lunar glare.
His eyes held no light of their own. They were like still pools reflecting that cold light, holding a faded shadow, like an old portrait left too long in the sun.
The soft scuff of leather on stone broke the quiet. Pranav approached, his presence a gentle disturbance in the perfect stillness.
Pranav: (His voice a soft weight in the night) "What do you see, my friend? The moon rises every night."
Akash turned slowly. In the corners of his eyes, moonlight had crystallized—or perhaps it was something else, something warmer that refused to fall.
Akash: (A faint, ghost of a smile touching his lips) "I was wondering… do you think the stars ever loved the moon? They are so close, yet they can never touch it. They just… watch."
Pranav came to stand beside him. Their shadows stretched long across the marble—one looked broken, leaning; the other, straight and supportive.
Pranav: (Voice deepening) "When an eclipse comes, the moon hides… and when the sun rises, the stars vanish. The moon can love the stars… but not the sun."
Akash lifted his chin. The moon seemed to catch in his eyes, held prisoner there.
Akash: "So, should the sun stop loving the stars?"
Pranav: "Yes… because the dawn waits for the sun every morning."
Akash's breath hitched, just for a second. He opened his palm, as if to catch something from the air—moonbeams, or memories.
Akash: "Love happens only once, Pranav. Even if you never hold it… your heart still beats to that same rhythm. The stars may never possess the sun… but they wait for its rise every single day."
Pranav looked at him, seeing a pain so deep it had no shape, no words left.
Pranav: (Carefully, weighing each word) "Like… you do for Dhara."
Akash closed his eyes, a flinch so subtle it was almost invisible, as if pressing on an old, deep bruise.
Akash: "No, my friend… she belongs to another now."
Pranav's hand came to rest on Akash's shoulder—light, but solid. An anchor.
Pranav: "Then… can you forget her?"
Akash opened his eyes. There was no fire in them, just a deep, still, accepting peace.
Akash: "No… never. Forgetting Dhara would be like forgetting to breathe with my last breath."
Pranav's voice trembled.
Pranav: "To love someone with your entire soul… it often destroys the lover. Sometimes, no matter how much you love—you lose in the end. And the truth is… those who lose their love never find peace."
A soft, sad smile touched Akash's lips. It wasn't a smile of joy, but of acknowledgement.
Akash: "You speak the truth, friend… but we cannot forget Princess Dhara."
Pranav's tone turned wry, though the pain beneath was raw.
Pranav: "Even knowing she is now your friend's other half?"
Akash lifted his eyes back to the sky. The moon had begun to hide behind a wisp of cloud.
Akash: "Love can never be erased. A true lover loves his beloved for eternity… even if it costs him his life. Someone else may come into your life… but the one you loved from the depths of your heart—hatred can never be born for them. In some corner of the heart, that love always remains alive."
He paused… then spoke so softly the words almost melted into the breeze.
Akash: "And when she stands before you… that love reveals itself. No matter how much you restrain yourself… the heart does not stop, my friend."
Akash looked at Pranav. His eyes held a strange, serene calm.
Akash: "But I am happy, my friend."
Pranav pulled him into a tight embrace. No words passed between them, just the shared rhythm of breath. Then, Akash gently pulled away and walked slowly towards the stairs leading down from the roof. His shadow grew longer and longer on the stone, then was swallowed by the darkness of the archway.
Pranav stood alone, looking up at the sky.
Pranav: (To himself, voice thick with a deep, personal pain) "He says he's happy… I know he hasn't found happiness. He has just learned to be happy with what he got."
---
🕯️ Akash's Chamber — A Burning Temple of Memory
In Akash's chamber, only a single oil lamp burned. Its flame danced nervously in the draft from the window, fighting to stay alive. Akash stood by the window—outside, moonlight painted the world silver, but his eyes were turned inward.
He walked to an old sandalwood chest. With a key from around his neck, he unlocked it. The hinges sighed. Inside, on a bed of plain cotton, lay three objects: a single, perfectly preserved but dried crimson rose. A delicate silver bangle, snapped clean in two. A square of sky-blue silk handkerchief, in one corner of which, in fine, faded ink, was embroidered the name "Dhara."
He lifted the handkerchief. It was weightless. He brought it to his face, not to smell it, but to feel its texture against his skin. Then he sat on the edge of his bed, cradling it in his palms, and closed his eyes.
Akash: (Words slipping from his lips like a prayer) "I remember the first time I saw you…
I remember the first time I spoke to you…
I remember waiting just to catch a glimpse of you,
and being happy just seeing you from afar…
I remember staying awake nights waiting for you,
and waiting all day just for a chance to talk to you…
I remember laughing with you,
and I remember crying for you…
I remember telling you everything,
and I remember not being able to tell you so much…
I remember your eyes,your laugh, your voice…
I remember remembering you every day,
and I remember trying to forget you every day…
I remember every moment spent with you—
but now…you are not here."
His voice dissolved into the silent room. A sudden, stronger gust from the window swept through. The lamp flame wavered, fought, and then died with a soft puff.
The room was left in moonlight—and the profound, aching silence of a shattered heart.
---
🌸 Pawangadh — The Newlyweds' First Night
In the bridal chamber, the window was open. Moonlight lay across the floor like a silver sheet. Dharaya stood before a large, ornate mirror, her back to the room. With careful, deliberate movements, she reached up and began to remove her heavy wedding jewelry. Each piece—a diamond-studded earcuff, a layered gold necklace, gemmed armlets—made a soft, metallic clink as she placed it on the velvet-lined tray. Each sound was like the final echo of the wedding bells.
Vayansh stood by the door, leaning against the frame. His eyes were fixed on her reflection in the mirror, watching as the princess transformed into his wife, layer by layer. He looked as if he was witnessing a cherished dream finally solidify into reality.
Vayansh: (His voice warm honey in the quiet) "Dhara… the first time I saw you, you looked just like the moon… and you look exactly the same tonight. The only difference is, now the moon is mine."
In the mirror, Dharaya saw his reflection watching hers. A shy, true smile bloomed on her lips, erasing the composed calm of the day's ceremonies.
Dharaya: "You… how do you still say such sweet things even after the wedding? Everyone says husbands change."
Vayansh pushed himself off the doorframe and walked towards her, his steps silent on the thick rug. He stopped behind her, not touching, but his warmth reached her. Then, gently, he took her hand, the one not holding an earring. His fingers laced through hers—warm, alive, irrevocably linked.
Vayansh: "If I must change, I will only change to love you more with each passing day."
Dharaya lowered her eyes, but a glow lit her face, brighter than the moonlight on her skin.
Dharaya: (Softly) "And what if I ever get upset with you?"
Vayansh laughed—a soft, confident sound that filled the room with safety.
Vayansh: "Then I will use every trick to appease you—with words, with affection… and if nothing works, I will just pull you into my arms and hold you until you forget why you were angry."
Dharaya looked up, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. They shimmered, holding a light that was part joy, part overwhelming emotion.
Dharaya: (Voice thick) "Do you know, Vayansh… since childhood, I dreamed of marrying someone who could look into my eyes and understand my unspoken words. And today… that dream is complete."
Vayansh leaned forward. He didn't kiss her lips. Instead, he pressed a feather-light kiss to the sindoor parting in her hair, right on her forehead. It was not a kiss of possession, but a kiss of promise.
Vayansh: "And my dream… is in my arms tonight. No desire remains unfulfilled."
The moonlight seemed to draw a veil around them, pulling them closer in its silver embrace. In the room, words were no longer needed. There was only the music of shared breath, and the synchrony of two heartbeats finding, at last, the same rhythm.
Outside, high above, the moon slipped fully behind a cloud, as if granting them privacy. Perhaps it shed a single, celestial tear—one of joy for the love found, or of sorrow for the love left waiting in the shadows of another palace.
But the night moved on. And in Pawangadh, the first sunrise of a shared life was still yet to come.