The dawn had barely kissed the horizon, and the Banganga River raged in its icy embrace, slicing through the quiet of the mountains. Mist curled over its restless surface, swirling like whispers of forgotten prayers. The air was crisp, sharp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the echoes of temple bells in the distance.

Beyond the river, Dharamshala stood in its solemn majesty, its peaks bathed in the first light, watching over the land like an ancient sentinel—silent, knowing, untouched by time.

Raunaksh Rajwar stood in the heart of the river, his bare chest heaving, the cold biting deep into his skin, but his stance remained unshaken.

His body, carved from war and discipline, bore the weight of both—wide chest rising with each steady breath, broad shoulders unyielding against the icy current.

Scars, remnants of battles fought in lands far and near, marred his skin—a silent testament to wounds that never truly healed.

Yet, here, before the river and the gods who had witnessed his every fall and rise, he was simply a man seeking absolution.

He took a deep breath, muscles flexing as he submerged himself.

For a moment, the world above ceased to exist, swallowed by the river’s cold embrace.

Beneath the surface, silence was not just the absence of sound—it was a presence, heavy and unrelenting, where only the weight of the past dared to speak

Then he emerged, rising like a force untouched by time, droplets cascading down the hard planes of his face, catching in the rugged lines of his beard, glistening like molten silver under the first light of dawn.

"Har Har Mahadev."

The words left him like a vow, deep and commanding, echoing through the valley like the roar of a storm.

He lifted his hands, sealing his devotion in the air itself, letting the weight of his prayer linger, before turning toward the riverbank.

Each step he took out of the water was deliberate, unyielding, the weight of the world pressing against his shoulders, yet failing to break him. His broad frame glistened with rivulets of water, his every movement powerful, sovereign, absolute—as if the very earth bowed beneath his command.

And yet, even a force like him was not untouched by the world’s demands.

" Chief ",a voice rang out behind him, steady yet edged with urgency, cutting through the hush of the morning.

Karan Chauhan—his most trusted man, the shadow at his back, the one who never wavered.

Raunaksh didn’t stop, didn’t pause—

He merely reached for the dark woolen shawl draped over a boulder, its fabric rough against his damp skin. With slow, unhurried movements, he wiped away the lingering chill, his voice as steady as the mountains around him. "Speak."

Karan hesitated, just for a breath. "Bade Sahib’s secretary has been trying to reach you for hours."

Raunaksh stilled.His brother was not a man of intermediaries—when he sought something, he reached for it himself, without hesitation, without a borrowed voice.

His fingers clenched around the cloth. "And?"

Karan exhaled, watching him carefully. "He said it was urgent."

A frown carved itself between Raunaksh’s brows, dark and unrelenting.

Urgent. A dangerous word in his world—one that rarely brought anything but trouble.

"Bade Sahib has been in his office for hours," Karan’s voice was quieter now, laced with something unsettling.

"He won’t answer. He won’t open the door. The secretary is at a loss."

A pause, weighted and tense. "And so am I."

The silence that followed was thick, stretched taut between them like an unspoken warning.

Raunaksh’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Yashwardhan was not a man to ignore calls, to shut himself away like this. Whatever had locked him behind that door was not mere exhaustion—it was something else.

Something worse.

Without another word, Raunaksh strode toward the riverbank, his movements sharp with purpose.

The chill of the morning barely registered as he reached for the shawl draped over a boulder, wrapping it around his damp shoulders. "Get the car ready," he ordered, his voice a blade cutting through the cold air. "We leave now."

As Raunaksh stepped onto the riverbank, water dripping from his broad frame, a gust of wind carried the distant chime of temple bells from Dharamshala.

A sound he’d heard countless times, yet today, it felt different—like an omen.

His hand tightened around the shawl as he walked toward the waiting car, but his mind, sharp and relentless, flickered—just for a moment—to something else. To someone else.

A quiet presence, a defiant softness untouched by the world’s cruelty. And yet, in her silence, there was something that unsettled him—something he had no name for, something that pressed against the edges of his carefully built walls.

And then he saw her.

Meher stood a few steps away, her back to him, the morning light catching in the cascade of her long hair—dark silk adorned with fallen petals, as if the wind itself had chosen to worship her.

Unknowingly, the words slipped from his lips, a quiet whisper carried by the wind—low, resolute, almost a prayer.

"Sachho Bhav, Har Har!"

(May every true wish be fulfilled.)

Not even realizing it, but somewhere deep within, he wanted her prayers—her silent pleas, the ones whispered with every chime of the temple bells—to find their way to the heavens… even if his never did.

She shifted, about to turn.

Raunaksh looked away first.

There was no place for softness in his world.

He cast the shawl over his shoulder in one fluid motion, a practiced certainty in every step—just as Meher drifted past him, silent as the morning breeze, her path leading to the river while his led away from it.

For a breath of a moment, they were close—too close.

Near enough for the air between them to shift, for the silence to stretch and tremble, for fate itself to hesitate. But fate was not kind, and neither was destiny. In the end, they did what they always did—walked away, untouched, unshaken, yet never unscathed.

Yet, like parallel lines, they moved in the same world—two souls bound by the same sky, the same earth, drawn close but doomed to never collide. Perhaps that was their curse.

Perhaps that was their fate.

___________________________So, what did you think of the first chapter?

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