36 Out of 36

"Anaya... if the universe itself is telling us no, why does it feel like yes?"

His voice barely rose above the rain, but it hit me harder than thunder. The fairy lights above us flickered like they were trying to decide whether to stay lit.

I pulled the soaked kundali sheet from my pocket (his mother's parting gift, delivered with a smile sharp enough to cut skin) and let the wind tear at its edges.

"Eight gunas out of thirty-six," I said, the numbers tasting like poison. "Manglik clashes. Nadi dosha. Every planet aligned against us. She made sure I heard every word."

He stepped closer, rain streaming down his face, eyes burning straight through me.

"And you believe her?"

I laughed once (short, broken, furious).

"I believe the stars have been wrong about me my entire life."

He took the paper from my trembling fingers, crushed it in his fist, and let the pieces scatter into the storm.
"Then let them be wrong one more time."

His hand slid to the back of my neck, thumb pressing just beneath my hairline like he was anchoring me to the earth.

"Tell me you feel it too," he said, voice low and lethal. "Tell me eight gunas feel like thirty-six when I'm this close to you."

Lightning split the sky.

And somewhere in the dark beyond the reach of the fairy lights, something ancient and hungry leaned forward to listen.