: A Garden of Whispers
The oppressive darkness of the Shadow King's illusion tried to claim Prince Devansh once more, but the memory had taken root. It was no longer a fleeting image, but a world he could step into. As the void pressed in, he let his consciousness sink deeper, clinging to the light of that first, fateful encounter in the celestial gardens.
The memory enveloped him, vivid and warm...
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Swarga Loka - The Celestial Gardens
Gandharva Pratham's question hung in the perfumed air, gentle, not accusatory. "Who... who is there?"
For a heart-stopping moment, there was only silence. Then, from behind the magnificent, jewel-encrusted trunk of the Kalpavriksha, a figure emerged. It was the Apsara. She took a hesitant step forward, her head bowed slightly, the blue lily in her hand trembling. Moonlight seemed to cling to her, making her glow.
"F-Forgive me, Gandharva Rajkumar," she stammered, her voice like the soft chime of wind bells. "I... I was just passing by. I saw you walking here and... I hid. I did not wish to be caught, to disturb you." She dared a glance up at him, her sky-blue eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear.
Pratham looked at her, truly looked at her. He had seen countless Apsaras in Indra's court, their beauty a constant of Swarga. But this one... there was an innocence in her eyes, a vulnerability that was utterly captivating. He felt not anger, but a curious warmth.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips, a sound as melodic as his music. "But Devi Shweta, why would you need to hide from me?"
Shweta's cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. How did he know her name? "You... you are Gandharva Pratham. The master of the Maha Rag. I... I thought you might be displeased. That my presence would be an intrusion." She was confessing her foolishness, and every word made her want to vanish.
Pratham's smile widened, crinkling the corners of his twilight eyes. "No, no, not at all. Why would I think anything of the sort? You were just walking in the gardens, is it not? There is no transgression in appreciating beauty." He gestured around them. "In fact, since you are here, would you allow me to show you the gardens of the Gandharva Mahal? They are said to hold some of the rarest blossoms in all of Swarga."
Shweta's head shot up, her embarrassment momentarily forgotten, replaced by disbelief and a spark of pure joy. "You... you would do that? For me?"
"Of course," he said, his tone warm and inviting. "Please, walk with me."
He fell into step beside her, and they began to stroll along the path of crushed pearls. Pratham was a wonderful guide. He wasn't boastful, but shared his knowledge with a quiet passion.
"See this one?" he said, pointing to a flower whose petals shifted through every color of the rainbow. "This is the Ragapushpam. Its colors change in harmony with the music of the spheres. And this," he gestured to a cluster of silver blossoms that emitted a soft, humming sound, "is the Swara-Bela. They hum the 'Sa' note perpetually, the foundation of all melody."
Shweta nodded, making appropriate sounds of appreciation, but her attention was not on the flowers. It was entirely on the man beside her. She watched the way his eyes lit up as he explained, the graceful sweep of his hand, the calm, resonant timbre of his voice. She was lost in him, admiring the sharp yet kind line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell against his forehead, the sheer presence of him that was both powerful and gentle. She had lost all sense of her surroundings, her very breath caught in her throat.
"Devi? Devi Shweta?"
Pratham's voice broke through her reverie. He had stopped walking and was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and concern. He had gently caught her hand to stop her from walking into a low-hanging branch of star-fruits.
"You seem... distracted. Is everything alright?"
Shweta jolted, her face flaming. "Oh! No, Rajkumar, it's... it's nothing. I was just... thinking."
Pratham laughed, a rich, warm sound that made her heart flutter. "Thinking? In this garden, one should only feel!" He released her hand, his touch lingering for a moment. "Come, let's walk further. There is a grove of singing trees ahead."
They continued their walk, and the initial formalities began to melt away. He asked her about her dance, and she spoke with a sudden, animated passion. He, in turn, shared funny anecdotes about trying to compose a raga that would make the grumpiest of Devas smile. They laughed together, the sound blending perfectly with the ambient music of the garden. For a while, they were not the master musician and the celestial dancer, but just Pratham and Shweta, two souls discovering a surprising, easy connection.
Too soon, the celestial sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of violet and rose. Shweta knew she had to return before her absence was noted.
She stopped and turned to him, her expression suddenly shy again. "Rajkumar... I should go now. Thank you... thank you for the walk. It was... the most beautiful melody I have ever experienced."
Pratham looked at her, his expression soft. "The pleasure was mine, Devi Shweta. Truly." He offered her a smile that held a promise of more. "And... do you come here often? To walk, I mean."
A genuine, radiant smile broke out on Shweta's face, the first one that reached her eyes all evening. "Yes," she whispered. "I often walk here."
His smile mirrored hers. "Good."
With one last, long look, Shweta turned and walked away, her steps light, her heart feeling as if it were floating. Pratham watched her go, the image of her smiling face etched into his mind. He stood there long after she had disappeared from view, the garden suddenly feeling quieter, emptier, without her presence.
The two celestial beings walked away on separate paths, but the garden, which had witnessed their meeting, seemed to hold its breath. A new, tender, and forbidden melody had just begun, its first notes sweet and full of hope.