𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎 : 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐬

..𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈..

unwind with- Legends of 70's
by Abhishek Raina, Anurag Ranga, Varsha Tripathi.

The world was still dwelled in sleep when I wake, the air cold against my skin as I tried to blink away the remnants of sleep. For a moment, I simply lie there, cocooned in my blanket, listening.
The soft rustling of fabric from the nearby tents, the distant crackling of the last embers from last night’s fire, the hushed whispers of the wind as it moves through the trees.
It was peaceful, untouched by the chaos of the day that will eventually come.
But my mind is anything but quiet.

I rose up, rubbing my arms against the chill before reaching for my shawl. Wrapping it around myself, I step out of the tent, of course after freshening up, my breath fogging in the crisp morning air.
The sky is still dark, with just the faintest hint of golden stretching across the horizon, promising the arrival of  new and hopeful dawn.

I make my way towards the little hill nearby, I felt the softness of damp grass against my footsteps.
Each step feels heavier than the last, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts.
Because no matter how much I try to push them away, they always return to the same place.
The same person.

Kabir.

Even his name felt so addictively dangerous.
A storm that sweeping through my life, leaving everything changed in its wake. And yet, I kept walking toward him. Again and again.
I pull my shawl tighter around me, as if it can protect me from the memories threatening to come out.
But they come anyway.
Relentless.

The vermilion.

That moment plays in my mind over and over again, a slow, dizzying loop I can’t escape.
The way his fingers trembled just the slightest bit as they touched my forehead. The warmth of his skin against mine.
The shock in my own breath when I realized what he was doing.
Vermilion. A symbol of protection.
A mark of something sacred. A bond that cannot be broken.