MIRAGE OF HEARTSTRINGS

TREPIDATION

Sahadeva remained where he was, long after the third Pandava had stepped away.

Lakshman’s laughter still echoed faintly across the courtyard as the boy chased a wooden wheel, his guards following at a careful distance.

Duryodhana watched him with that familiar mixture of pride and worry, posture easy but eyes never fully resting.

Sahadeva watched both of them.

He did not need to turn his head to know his elder brother had noticed him earlier.

He had felt it — not as hostility, not even as tension, but as awareness brushing against his own. Like two lines finally realizing they ran parallel.

That was worrisome.

He folded his hands loosely behind his back, gaze steady on Lakshman. The child stumbled, recovered, laughed again. Sahadeva catalogued the moment without effort — the way Duryodhana’s shoulders eased only after the boy steadied himself, the way his breath followed Lakshman’s movements unconsciously.

Nothing new.

Everything confirmed.

Sahadeva did not ask himself what he felt. That question had been answered long ago, quietly, without ceremony. He had never needed a name for it.

What occupied him now was something else.

The third Pandava, his elder brother, the archer who never soften up for his opponent — had stayed.

Not hovered. Not intruded. Simply chosen to be present — and then chosen to leave when the air thickened.

That restraint mattered.

Sahadeva exhaled, slow and thoughtful.

It felt familiar but at the same time unfamiliar too.

Not fully — but enough to think about.

He did not resent it, no he doesn't not. Resentment required expectation, and Sahadeva had never expected exclusivity. He had built nothing that could be taken, nothing that needed defending.

What he felt instead was recalibration.

The third Pandava's presence changed the shape of the space around Duryodhana — not by force, but by intention.

Sahadeva recognized that kind of presence easily. It burned brighter than his own, perhaps, but also risked burning out.

Sahadeva’s was different.

He didn't burned to stay. He remain grounded like Earth. And remain still like peasant waiting for germination of his future. He just stand, always has been — never beight enough to attract attention but always known. Remain.

He stayed to be present.
To know where Duryodhana’s silences hid their sharpest edges.
To remember the things Duryodhana forgot about himself.
To stand where collapse would not be noticed — until it was prevented.

He shifted his weight slightly, just enough for Duryodhana to glance his way.

"you’re quiet," Duryodhana said, brows knitting faintly. Not suspicious. Concerned. Without even trying to be.

Sahadeva met his eyes and offered the smallest curve of a smile. "You are thinking loudly," he replied. "I didn’t want to interrupt"

Duryodhana huffed softly, some tension easing. "You always say that"

A silence, then

"And it’s always true"

The exchange passed without weight. That was the point.

But inside, Sahadeva noted something important: His elder brother had not returned. He had not even lingered within sight.

Sahadeva respected that.

It meant his third brother was not blind. And not reckless.

But it means the danger can come from him — the danger of getting bared in front of his brothers, his family who look him with trust and patience.

But he will not let it happen.
Not yet

Sahadeva’s gaze flicked, briefly, to the palace corridors — instinctive, unthinking.

That was where the true fractures lived.

Maybe he has noticed, how much Duryodhana's and Lakshman's presence has changed the palace's once ruined tranquility into serenity.

-----------------------

As Lakshman ran back toward his father, breathless and triumphant, Sahadeva stepped half a pace closer — not to Duryodhana, but to the space beside him. Available. Unclaimed.

He did not need to do anything.

For now, it was enough to understand that the lines had shifted — that awareness had begun moving through the family like a slow current.

And currents, Sahadeva knew, were most dangerous when mistaken for stillness.

He remained where he was.

Watching.

Remembering.

Staying.

But staying never meant to just stillness.

And maybe it will took him a big lesson to realise that. Too late to prevent. Too early to comprehend.

He can only wish about remaining hidden until the tranquility fix back into its spot and no one would suspect his storming heart.

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