As Arnav carefully stepped up the temple stairs, the weight of Pranati in his arms felt grounding, almost sacred. A gentle wind rustled, and from above, a blessed scarf floated down, landing softly over both their heads. The fabric was light, almost ethereal, framing them in a delicate cocoon of silence and reverence.
Their eyes met. And for a long, unspoken moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The soft strains of the background melody lingered in the air:
Kahani Hamari Fasana Hamara… Ghamon Ne Sunaya Doobara Doobara…
Time slowed. The chaos of earlier—the highway, the crash, the fear, the adrenaline—faded into nothingness. All that remained was the stillness of the moment, the warmth of proximity, and the fragile, unspoken tension between them.
Pranati broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with exasperation and amusement. "You know… this would've been so romantic if it were a TV serial. But dude… this is real life, so move! I'm getting late!"
Arnav blinked, startled by her casual tone, and a soft smile flickered across his face. He tightened his careful hold just a fraction and murmured, "Sorry… you're right."
Adjusting slightly, he stepped forward again, letting the scarf fall lightly around her shoulders, a gentle blessing guiding them. They continued their ascent, still sharing fleeting glances, the music playing softly in the background, weaving their tension, curiosity, and the subtle stirrings of connection into something unspoken yet undeniable.
Even in her teasing, Pranati didn't break the eye lock completely—an acknowledgment, perhaps, that the moment, fleeting as it was, mattered.
And as the temple entrance drew closer, the weight of the world, the chaos of their past encounters, and the looming supernatural forces seemed to melt away, leaving only two lives brushing against fate in a quiet, deliberate rhythm.
Deep within the shadowed cave, Mohana's petrified body stood frozen, stone-cold and unmoving. Yet her reflection in the nearby waterfall shimmered and breathed with life, twisting as if mocking her immobility.
A faint tremor ran through the cavern, a pulse that grew stronger with each heartbeat, resonating through the stone floor and echoing off the walls. Mohana's eyes—alive in the reflection alone—narrowed.
The daayans around her stiffened, sensing it before she did: the Daavansh was moving toward the light. Every step he took toward the temple, toward a path forbidden and luminous, sent a ripple of fear through their ranks.
"It… it's him," one daayan whispered, voice trembling. "The Daavansh… walking into the light."
Mohana's reflection in the waterfall twisted in fury, her petrified lips in the stone gnashing silently. "Impossible…" she hissed through the reflection alone. "He was meant to awaken the darkness… not walk into the light!"
The daayans' wail broke out then—a long, bone-chilling cry of despair and dread, rising over the roar of the waterfall. Their voices mingled with Mohana's reflection, a chorus of helplessness against what was unfolding.
The water shimmered like molten silver, capturing her wrath, as if mocking her impotence. For the first time, she understood: the Daavansh, their key to unrestrained darkness, was stepping toward a path that would weaken her hold over fate itself.
The cavern trembled, and Mohana's reflection tightened its fists, her fury unspent. "No… I will not let him walk this path. Not yet."
But deep down, even she knew—the balance of light and dark had shifted, and the Daavansh's steps toward the temple were the first strike against her ancient designs.
Meanwhile at the temple
Arnav carefully lowered Pranati to the temple floor, his hands steady despite the tight grip of his own thoughts. The temple air was thick with incense and the soft murmur of morning prayers.
A priest, misinterpreting the moment, stepped forward, eyes gleaming with solemnity. "May this union be blessed," he intoned. "For whoever climbs these stairs together as one shall remain as one forever."
Pranati blinked, her cheeks warming as she quickly held up her hands in protest, a small laugh escaping her. "Oh no! We're not a couple!" she said, shaking her head. "Although… well, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," she added with a teasing shrug.
Arnav's gaze softened but didn't waver, his amber eyes holding hers with a calm intensity.
She caught the seriousness in his expression and quickly added, "Sorry… I was joking."
The priest smiled faintly, oblivious to the correction, and muttered a quiet blessing over the steps. The faint scent of sandalwood and flowers swirled around them as the temple seemed to pause in quiet reverence, the moment hanging delicate and unspoken between them.
For a heartbeat, time felt suspended—the weight of past fears, the promise of protection, and the fragile spark of connection weaving silently between the Daavansh and the girl who kept his darkness at bay.