Once Upon A Time In New York

Royalty?!

As the rain continued its gentle serenade, Simran's phone buzzed. Daamini had summoned two more guests to their impromptu soirée. Simran glanced at the entrance, her curiosity piqued. Who could these newcomers be?

The door swung open, revealing two figures. First stepped Cadence, his silver-streaked hair catching the light. His eyes held secrets, and his smile was both mysterious and inviting. Beside him stood Krishna, disheveled and still arguing with the airline attendant about his missing suitcases. Krishna's eyes widened when he saw Daamini. "You?" he exclaimed. "What cosmic joke is this?"

Daamini laughed, her voice like a melody. "Krishna, meet Cadence—the other half of our peculiar trio. And Cadence, this is Krishna, the lost prince."

Cadence raised an eyebrow. "Royalty, you say?"

Krishna sighed. "Yes, though I've misplaced my royal belongings somewhere between dimensions."

Cadence leaned against the bar, studying Krishna. "Twins, you two?"

Daamini nodded. "Separated at birth, but fate has a way of weaving threads back together."

Krishna's expression shifted from disbelief to wonder. "And you, Daamini? What's your role in this cosmic dance?"

Daamini's eyes sparkled. "I'm the weaver of stories—the one who whispers secrets to the rain and dances with forgotten constellations."

Chetan, ever the observant caretaker, cleared his throat. "Wait a minute. Twins? Royalty? Are we in a fairy tale?"

Samriddhi clapped her hands. "This is brilliant! Our own enchanted gathering."

Simran watched as Cadence and Krishna exchanged bemused glances. "Well," she said, "tonight just got more interesting."

And so, with Cadence at the wheel, they left the bar behind. The rain tapped on the car's roof, a rhythm that matched their heartbeat. As they drove through winding streets, Simran marveled at the twists of fate. Twins, royalty, and an enigma—all dancing through the night. The clock, once lost, now ticked in rhythm with their shared destiny—a tapestry woven by laughter, friendship, and the magic that happens when ordinary lives intersect with extraordinary tales.   

Daamini's POV:

'Cadence, born under a crescent moon, embodied the spirit of his ancestors. His violin sang melodies that echoed across centuries—the ballads of battles won and love lost. His silver hair, reminiscent of moonbeams, concealed scars from duels fought in defense of Seraphora. His eyes held the wisdom of ancient minstrels.' I watched my friends drunk and/or sleepy eyes wide as I explained their lineage. 'Krishna, the lost prince, plays the sitar—a stringed instrument that resonates with the soul. Its notes weave stories of ancient lands, love, and longing, echoing through time like whispers in the wind, he possesses a multifaceted array of talents. Beyond his mastery of the sitar, he is an adept linguist, fluent in ancient scripts and forgotten languages. His eyes hold the wisdom of seers, and his laughter resonates like a blues melody. When the moon wanes, he dreams of distant connections with his twin, sketching them into existence with ink and stardust.' She went on. 

As the rain-drenched streets blurred past, the quartet settled into the car. Cadence, with his enigmatic smile, leaned back, violin case secured between his feet. Krishna, still grappling with the idea of cosmic reunions, stared out the window. Simran, always the observer, asked, 'So, Krishna, what's your lost-prince story?' Krishna chuckled, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the windowpane. 'My lineage," he began, "stretches across forgotten empires. I carry the weight of ancestors who danced in monsoon rains, composed verses under banyan trees, and whispered secrets to the Ganges.'

Daamini leaned forward, her eyes alight. 'And your name—Krishna—holds echoes of divine love and cosmic balance.' . 'Indeed,' Krishna said. 'But my true talent lies in bridging worlds. I straddle dimensions, seeking lost melodies and fractured constellations. The sitar,' he gestured to the instrument by his side, 'is my compass.' Cadence's silver eyes gleamed. 'And what do you seek, lost prince?' Krishna's gaze shifted to the rain-slicked road. 'A symphony that mends rifts,' he said. 'A blues tune that heals fractured souls.'

Simran glanced at Daamini. 'And what role do we play in this cosmic composition?'

Daamini's laughter danced. 'We're the notes,' she said. 'The harmonies that weave destiny. Together, we'll create a melody that echoes through time.'

And so, as the car carried them into the night, they became more than strangers. They became a chorus—an ensemble of fate, raindrops, and shared dreams. 🌧️🎶✨