MIRAGE OF HEARTSTRINGS

WISTFULNESS

Arjuna did not go far.

He stopped beneath the banyan at the edge of the inner garden, where the palace walls softened into shade and the noise of the courtyard faded into a distant hum. He rested a hand against the bark, feeling its roughness ground him, and exhaled slowly.

Only then did he realize how tight his chest felt.

He replayed the moment without meaning to — the way Sahadeva had stood beside Duryodhana as though the space belonged to him by default. Not claimed. not guarded. simply... inhabited.

Arjuna frowned faintly.

He had always believed closeness was built through effort — through shared hours, laughter, presence offered again and again until it was accepted. That was how he approached people.

 How he approached Duryodhana.

Carefully. Willingly. With choice.

But Sahadeva had not chosen in the same way.

He had arrived.

And since when? Why? and How? Remains silent. It is even more surprising to see the youngest Pandava easily mending with Eldest Kauravas when there was no reason nor any point, at which it should had happened in the first place. 

The thought unsettled him more than he liked to admit. It is like as if a bird dropped the letter at wrong window but still not wrong with right timing.

Arjuna leaned back against the tree, crossing his arms loosely, eyes lifting to the leaves overhead. Sunlight filtered through in broken patterns, scattering gold across his vision.

He was not jealous.

That was the first lie his mind offered — and the first one he rejected.

What he felt was not envy of Sahadeva himself. It was disorientation. The quiet shock of realizing that someone else had already learned how to stand beside Duryodhana without asking for space.

And worse — without taking it.

Arjuna closed his eyes briefly.

Sahadeva had not looked at him as a rival. There had been no tension in his posture, no tightening of jaw, no territorial edge.

Only awareness.

As if he had already accounted for Arjuna's presence long before he himself had. Like he knows something, he himself doesn't know.

That was what lingered.

The archer prided himself on perception. On reading people, sensing shifts before they spoke aloud. Yet Sahadeva's closeness had escaped his notice entirely — not because it was hidden, but because it was quiet.

It did not announce itself.

He thought of Duryodhana's expression — the way he had glanced between them, brow furrowing slightly, unsettled without knowing why. Arjuna had seen that look before, in mirrors and polished shields: the expression of someone sensing a current beneath still water.

He had meant to be the one Duryodhana turned to in such moments.

The thought came unbidden, sharp enough to sting.

Arjuna pressed his thumb against the edge of his wrist, grounding himself again.

This does not change anything, he told himself.

He was not owed anything. Not time, not attention, not understanding. What he offered Duryodhana was freely given — and if it was not returned in the way he imagined, that was not betrayal.

That had always been his truth.

And yet.

He opened his eyes, gaze drifting back toward the palace.

The youngest Pandava's presence was not something Arjuna could outshine with charm or effort. It was not built on admiration or shared skill. It was built on knowing — a depth that did not seek validation.

It isn't even something for which Arjuna has any idea about.

That frightened him more than anyone ever could have.

Because others wanted.
And want could be anticipated.

But Sahadeva....

Sahadeva simply was.

Arjuna straightened, adjusting the strap of his bow across his shoulder. His expression settled back into its usual calm, but something inside him had shifted, quiet and permanent.
He would not retreat.

Nor would he compete — with his brother or anyone.

Duryodhana decided to walk here with Nakula, baring himself to protect his child with trust.

If Sahadeva stood beside Duryodhana as understanding, then Arjuna would stand as choice.

Let Duryodhana lean where he wished.

Arjuna would remain close enough to be seen — and patient enough to wait.

As he turned back toward the palace, one thought followed him, uncomfortably clear:
This is no longer a simple path.

And Sahadeva isn't just shade here.

And for the first time since the dinner night, Arjuna understood that staying might cost him more than leaving ever could.

Even wonder if it is going to ruin what he has built — from childhood or now.

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