Pranati followed the priest to a small side altar, where he handed her a meticulously prepared Thali—flowers, incense, and offerings arranged with devotion. She nodded politely, accepting it, her fingers brushing the edges as she adjusted the items for her puja.
Arnav, a few steps away, stood in front of the grand Lord Shiva and Parvati idols, his chest tightening. His amber eyes glistened, uncharacteristically wet. He whispered to himself, voice barely audible, "I… I can't believe I'm in a temple."
For years, he had avoided these sacred spaces. Every attempt by Vedshree to bring him here as a child had ended in frustration—an unseen force repelling him back, keeping him from stepping over the threshold. Vedshree's tears, her repeated pleas, the soft sobs after every failed attempt… all of it replayed in his mind, stabbing at him with a mixture of guilt and wonder.
He ran a hand over his face, taking a shaky breath, the reality of the moment settling slowly. "For years… never… not once… never stepped inside," he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, the weight of lost innocence and the years of silent longing pressing down on him.
Pranati, unaware of his inner storm, began her prayers, her voice soft, steady, grounding. And in that quiet temple, two worlds collided—one trying to heal, the other learning what it meant to step into the light.
Pranati held the Thali tightly, her injured ankle throbbing with each careful step. She moved slowly around the idol of Lord Shiva and Parvati, the flickering diya and curling incense smoke reflecting in her eyes. Each rotation of the Thali felt heavy with unspoken words, with memories she didn't have, and with the aching need to connect to the parents she never knew.
She whispered softly, almost to herself, "I don't know why you left me… if it was choice or fate. But I hope, wherever you are… alive or gone… you are at peace."
Her voice cracked, the tremor betraying the depth of her heartache. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill as she continued her circles, moving slowly, pausing often to steady herself. The ankle pain reminded her of her fragility, yet also grounded her in the reality that she was still here, still alive, and still capable of love.
"I may not know you," she continued, her voice softer now, almost a prayer, "but I will honor you. I will remember you, and I will pray that you are free from suffering. Please… forgive me for being here alone, for not being able to see you, to hold you, to know you…"
Her chest tightened with every word, her lips quivering as the quiet temple absorbed her grief. The light from the diya danced across the idols, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a delicate warmth, as if the universe had bent slightly closer to hear her. She wiped her tears and took a deep, shaky breath, whispering, "May you finally find peace."
Her circles slowed, her steps tentative, but a fragile sense of calm settled over her. Despite the pain, despite the unanswered questions, Pranati felt that her devotion had reached somewhere—an acknowledgment of love for parents she would always carry in her heart.
Meanwhile, at the Raizada Villa, Vedshree finished her prayers in the home temple. She stepped out of the mandir, the soft fragrance of incense still lingering in the air, when her eyes froze.
Arnav's photo, once carefully mounted on the wall, had slipped and now fell toward the floor. But it wasn't just the fall that made her gasp—it was the streaks of blood that seemed to ooze from the edges of the frame, staining the floor beneath.
A sharp, panicked cry tore from her lips. "Sister-in-law! Suman! Vanraj ji! Brother-in-law Sanjeev! Come down!"
Her voice echoed through the halls, trembling with disbelief and fear.
Within moments, everyone rushed to the living room, the murmur of urgent questions filling the air. "What happened? What is it?"
Vedshree, her hands shaking, pointed toward the photo, her face pale and wide-eyed. "Look… look at this!"
The family froze. Silence descended first, heavy and suffocating, before shock and horror registered on their faces. Blood seeping from a photograph of their son… their Arnav…
No one spoke. Only the distant hum of the temple bells and Vedshree's shallow breaths filled the room.
The weight of dread hung thick, unbroken, as each of them realized that something dark had stirred again, something that no one could yet understand.