"She is destruction incarnate-everything she touches turns to ash."
Ishani, a sharp-witted and fiercely independent businesswoman from the modern world, trusts no one, least of all men. But fate has other plans. Thrust into a treacherous era of warr...
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Karna sat cross-legged by the river Anga, its current washing his darkened feet. He wasn't practicing archery now. Instead, his hands, usually so adept with a bow, were occupied with a more delicate task: meticulously mending a torn bowstring. The firelight danced in his eyes, reflecting off the sharp planes of his face. Ishani, who had been watching him, found her gaze drawn to the quiet intensity of his movements.
The silence between them was comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. It was Karna who broke it, his voice barely a murmur above the crackle of the dawn.
"Why did you defend me? Was it only because Vasudeva asked you to? " he asked suddenly, his gaze still fixed on the bowstring. The question hung in the air, stripped bare of any pretense.
Ishani turned her head, her gaze drawn to the horizon where the first hints of dawn were painting the sky. The sun, a molten disc, simmered over the clouds, promising a new day, but carrying no warmth. Her expression was thoughtful, her voice low and steady.
"Because no one else would," she replied simply. There was no bravado in her tone, only a quiet conviction.
He let out a short laugh, the sound tinged with a quiet understanding. "You didn't even know me back then."
"I know enough." Her gaze snapped back to his, direct and unwavering. "I know what it's like to be discarded for things beyond your control. I know what you went through, Karna."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken understanding, but Karna's hands trembled. Just when Ishani thought the moment had passed, Karna's voice, when it came, was almost a whisper.
A dark, sibilant whisper slithered in the back of his mind, "Such touching sentiment. Of what use is understanding when she doesn't love us? She sees the scars, but not the soul beneath. The universe broke her, yes, and we pay the wrath every single second. Do you know how long we have yearned for a mere word of affection, a sign of trust, a single embrace? She doesn't have to make any grand gestures, she just has to say a yes, offer a sliver of herself, and I would worship her for eternity. Why can she not have it in her heart to trust us, to truly see us?"
Karna's fingers tightened on the bowstring, his expression flickering for a moment before he regained control. He ignored the voice. "You're wrong, though," he murmured, his fingers tracing the smooth curve of the bowstring. "About no one defending me."
His hand delved into the folds of his dhoti, holding something small and timeworn. It was a small, clumsily carved wooden horse, its edges smoothed by years of touch, polished by countless turns in a hand long stilled.
"My father made this for me when I was five," Karna explained, his voice softer now, the usual rigidness replaced by a tenderness that surprised Ishani. "Told me even if the world saw me as lesser, I was his prince."
