Love Across Time

Fifty Three

-𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓗𝓸𝓹𝓮-

The days stretched like shadows, each moment etching deeper lines of sorrow on Aanya’s heart. The room in Hastinapur, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison. The walls whispered secrets of longing, and the air tasted of unshed tears.

One morning, when the sun was a pale smudge against the sky, Aanya sought solace in the temple. The incense curled, a fragile prayer, as she knelt before the deity. She turned her head to look at Kanha entering.

“Take me back, Kanha,” she whispered, her voice a plea woven from desperation. “To Dwarka. I cannot bear this emptiness any longer.”

Kanha’s smile was inscrutable. “Are you trying to run away from one palace to another?”

Aanya’s eyes blurred with unshed tears. “Not the palaces,” she confessed. “But the echo of his footsteps, the warmth of his presence. In Dwarka, perhaps I can find solace.”

Kanha stepped closer, a whisper in the temple’s silence. “And what of the ache that follows you? The memories that cling like shadows?”

“I will carry them,” she replied, her resolve a fragile thread. “But in Dwarka, perhaps they will soften. Perhaps I can breathe without feeling the weight of his absence.”

He touched her forehead, a benediction, and she closed her eyes. “Get ready, Aanya,” he murmured. “We will leave for Dwarka.”

Aanya stood alone on the terrace, her gaze fixed upon the moonz, a silent witness to their shared memories. Its pale glow illuminated her tear-streaked face, etching lines of sorrow that mirrored the crevices of her heart. The moon, once a beacon of hope, now hung heavy with the weight of lost love.

Arjun had woven himself into the fabric of her existence. The universe conspired to remind her of his absence at every turn. The rustling leaves whispered his name, the distant stars echoed his laughter, and the wind carried fragments of their stolen moments. She clung to his shawl, its threads unraveling like her fractured soul.

Five years stretched before her, an endless expanse of time, barren and unforgiving. Each day was a pilgrimage through the desolate corridors of memory. Aanya’s laughter had become a distant echo, her eyes mere windows to a world she no longer inhabited. She retreated to her room, seeking refuge in solitude, her heart a fragile vessel brimming with unshed tears.

And then, Karna stood  in  front  of  her, a shadow in the moonlight. His gaze bore into her, dissecting the layers of her grief. He knew. He understood the ache that consumed her. Aanya’s eyes, once ablaze with life, now held a muted glimmer. Words eluded her, silence became her refuge.

Karna longed to bridge the chasm between them, to rekindle the fire that had once burned bright. But he was a mere bystander in this tragedy, a witness to love’s unraveling. She walked away, her steps deliberate, ignoring him as though he were a phantom. Yet, in that fleeting moment of eye contact, he glimpsed the remnants of her shattered heart.

He yearned for her laughter, her warmth, the sun that had once bathed the place. But he couldn’t fault her for turning away. Love had become a bittersweet ache, a melody played on broken strings. And so, Karna stood there, a silent sentinel, as Aanya disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the echo of a tear, a fragile constellation in the vast expanse of her sorrow.

"Aanya,” Nakul’s voice halted her, slicing through the heavy air. “You’re leaving tomorrow?"

Aanya nodded, her gaze fixed on the threshold as she didn’t turn to face him.

“Bhratashri Arjun would never like seeing you like this," his voice a soft whisper against the silence.

Nakul sighed, his eyes tracing the contours of her grief-stricken face. “He’s not here to see me like this,” she said softly. “And it’s my fault.”