𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟔 ：𝑬𝒌 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒎 𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒂 ✓

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘟𝘝𝘐𝘐. 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘺 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦

{Play the song from beginning of the chapter}

Stefan's POV

I couldn't.

I just couldn't.

It's all coming back-all of it.

The moment Manjari hugged me, I felt the warmth of her embrace, the silent comfort she offered, but I... I couldn't stay. I gently pulled away, mumbling something about needing space, and walked away before my emotions could betray me.

Now, locked inside my room, I pull out the small suitcase hidden behind my door. My hands tremble as I flip open the old latches. The suitcase is filled with photographs, their edges worn with time, carrying echoes of a past I can never escape.

I reach for one picture.

Manjari.

Dressed in her classical attire, her eyes shining with passion, her lips curved in a gentle smile. The moment frozen in time-when she was mine.

*Flashback - 1944*

The wheels of the cart rattled along the dirt path as my mother and I arrived in India. A new land, yet something about it felt strangely familiar. The air was thick with the scent of marigolds and sandalwood, the sky painted in hues of gold as the evening sun dipped below the horizon.

As I stepped onto Indian soil for the first time, I felt an unfamiliar warmth settle over me. The people, the vibrant colors, the rhythmic sounds of temple bells and distant laughter-it was all so alive. My mother, a woman of great kindness, had dedicated herself to charity work, helping orphanages in India. This time, she had decided to visit in person, to see the lives she had touched.

While she spoke to the villagers, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

A voice.

Soft. Sweet. Melodic.

Singing.

I turned my head, following the sound, stepping away from the crowd as if pulled by an unseen force.

And then, I saw her.

She wasn't facing me. She was seated beneath a large banyan tree, her eyes closed, her hands resting delicately on her lap as she sang. The wind played with her long, dark hair, lifting a few strands as if it, too, was enchanted by her presence.

The sun cast golden rays through the branches, filtering through the leaves and falling upon her like a divine blessing. It was as if the universe itself had paused to listen to her song.

Then, suddenly, she stopped.

Her delicate hands pressed against her forehead in frustration. She muttered something under her breath, clearly worried, before abruptly getting up and running off.

I blinked, startled.

She had left behind a single ghungroo anklet.

Without thinking, I picked it up. The small bells jingled softly in my palm, as if whispering secrets meant only for me. I looked up and saw her disappearing into the temple ahead.

I followed.

She placed the other ghungroo on the temple steps and hurried inside. I wanted to call out, to return what she had forgotten, but she was too fast.

And then, she emerged again.

Changed.

Clad in traditional dance attire, her dupatta draped over her shoulder, her eyes lined with kajal that made them look even more mesmerizing. Her lips were a soft shade of pink, and her cheeks glowed under the dim temple lights. Strands of jasmine flowers adorned her neatly tied hair, their fragrance weaving into the cool evening air.