Saga Of The Timeless (A Mahabharata Story)

10.Cinders of Confession

Karna's POV

I have met countless people in my life—warriors, sages—but Tvarita was unlike anyone I had ever encountered. From the very first moment our paths crossed, I could sense an air of mystery surrounding her. It wasn't just her sudden appearance in my world, nor the strange circumstances that followed; it was something deeper, something almost intangible.

When I looked into her eyes, I saw something unknown something unique, that I couldn't comprehend.
There was a certain way she carried herself—confident, yet guarded, as if she knew more than she let on. It intrigued me, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

Even her mannerisms were puzzling. Sometimes she would use words I didn't recognize, or speak of things that felt foreign, as though she belonged to another era.

It was the mix of strength and sorrow in Tvarita that made me want to understand her. I felt drawn to her, as if there were secrets and burdens hidden beneath her surface that I needed to uncover. I couldn't shake the feeling that fate had brought us together for a reason.

The more I got to know her, the more she baffled me.

The women I had known as a child were quiet and compliant, never daring to challenge the norm. Tvarita was the complete opposite—bold, rebellious, and bursting with life in a way that seemed to defy all reason.

I had always prided myself on my composure, my ability to remain unshaken by the words of others.

But yesterday, when Tvarita spoke, her words cut deeper than those of a thousand critics before her. She had a way of reaching past my defenses, straight to the core of me. And the worst part? She was right. I knew she was right. It wasn't the truth that stung—it was how she had said it, so straightforwardly, so fearlessly, as if my pride meant nothing.

Admitting she was right hurt more than I wanted to acknowledge. The silence that followed her words weighed heavily on me, a constant reminder of my stubbornness. I tried to ignore it, but the truth gnawed at me, persistent and undeniable.

As we trudged through the barren landscape, the journey felt interminable. Not a single village in sight all day.

I marched ahead, letting my anger and frustration cloud my thoughts, while Tvarita trailed silently behind. My regret and my stubborn pride kept me from looking back, my eyes fixed on the path ahead. She was both a mystery and a challenge, one I wasn't ready to face.

When we finally stopped at a desolate spot to rest, I turned around, and my heart clenched with sudden panic. Tvarita was barely moving. Her shoulders slumped, her steps slow and dragging as if each step required more strength than she could muster. The sight of her struggling was like a cold slap to the face.

"Tvarita!" I called, my voice laced with a concern I could no longer hide. "Are you alright?"

She didn't respond immediately. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow and labored. I quickened my pace, closing the distance between us. "Tvarita, what's wrong?" I urged, reaching out to steady her before she could collapse.

She looked up at me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there too—an unspoken anger, a lingering frustration that I had ignored. "I'm... I'm fine," she managed to say, though her voice was thin, barely more than a whisper. "Just... tired."

A sharp pang of guilt twisted in my chest. "You don't look fine," I said, my frustration giving way to concern. "We should have stopped earlier. I—" The words caught in my throat as I wrestled with my own pride, the apology I knew I owed her. "I'm sorry for not paying attention."

Her gaze softened, a flicker of something vulnerable showing through her weary façade.

she said quietly. "It's alright—" She faltered, her eyes searching mine with a mix of frustration and hope. "Are we done walking, or do we have to cover more distance?"