If love had prevailed (Ponniyin Selvan AU)

Thaamarai Pookalin Azhagu

Translation: The beauty of lotuses

The lotus spun round and round in her delicate fingers.

Just like her heart when he had given it to her.

"The goddess of beauty should have her pink lotus"

Just like last night, she hadn't been able to sleep, for Aditha was the only thing her brain acknowledged as attention worthy.

However, whatever heart-soaring emotions she felt when with him, they were overshadowed with melancholy - for who would accept them?

The crown prince of the biggest empire known to man and...

an orphan

It didn't stop the butterflies from swirling, or her heart from pumping a bit to fast, the redness rushing to her cheeks and the flustered thoughts.

Neither did it prevent the trust, the happiness, the respect and the admiration.

That was love.

 Her world seemed to slip from beneath her feet, the powerful tide of her emotions pulling it away.

The Vaishnavaite could see her pensive smile on her reflected face in the pond of the Vishnu temple.  

The sun's first rays were awakening from their slumber, bringing out the green of the trees, the blue of the water and the pink of the lotuses in it. 

To her, none of them were as beautiful as the lotus in her hand.

Looking at the majestic brightness also jogged her memory.

"Tomorrow, before the sun rises, come to the mango tree on the pathway towards to the palace gates"

Before the sun rises

 A gasp escaped the 16 year old girl, as she frantically got up from her spot and proceeded to rush towards the palace, the lotus still between her fingers. 

Despite the looming consequences, she was eager to be with him. 

Alone.

----------------

The sun's rays seemed to be taunting Aditha.

'She hasn't come even though we have'

'She was only playing with you'

It made him want to bang his head against the tree trunk.

Maybe she didn't wake up. 

He, on the other hand, hadn't been able to fall asleep. Instead, he had spent the entire night drawing. 

Lotuses, forests, the ring he had given her. Everything that reminded him of her, for he could not capture her.

It had left him frustrated, like he was trying to catch something flying a few millimeters above his reach.

But no one can capture the beauty of singing and the grace of dance in artwork. The latter could capture a second of the beauty not the constant ebb and flow of happiness the former two gave. 

The same way, he could not capture the joy he felt with her. Only moments of it. 

The happiness he felt right now, as her could hear jingling anklets come closer and closer and the elation he felt as her saw her form make its way to him. 

She was taking in desperate breaths, her lips slightly parted, her pristine white saree and little rumpled and her night black hair gradually escaping the bun she had put it in and her brown eyes were downcast, unfocused as she tried to regain her energy.