At the island…
The island had become Kiara's quiet little universe.
Every morning, she stepped into the soft, sun-lit patches of the garden, letting her fingers brush the petals of the wildflowers she had planted herself. She tended to them slowly… almost reverently… the way one would touch something fragile and alive.
As she worked, she spoke in a low, dreamy voice—half to herself, half to the little life growing inside her.
"Do you know… your father talks to the stars? He thinks I don't know…"
Kiara smiled faintly, rubbing her belly.
"…but he does. He whispers to them. Maybe he thinks the stars listen when I can't."
She paused, taking a deep breath as a breeze moved her hair.
"Your father… will love you. Fiercely. Stupidly. More than he loves himself."
Her voice broke a little, but she kept talking, because talking kept her alive.
Day by day, week after week… the flowers blossomed.
And so did her belly.
By the time nine months had passed, Kiara's steps had become slower, rounder, gentler—each movement tender, protective. She spoke less now, but when she did, she always placed a hand over her stomach as if reassuring the baby… or reassuring herself.
---
Meanwhile… at the mansion
For Yuvaan, nine months felt less like months and more like centuries.
He visited the sacred lamp every single day—sometimes twice, sometimes five times—unable to help himself. The lamp stood in the quiet hall, its flame steady, unchanged… mocking his restlessness.
Some nights he stood there until dawn.
Today, he stood again—hands clasped behind him, jaw tight, trying to breathe through the ache he never let anyone see.
Bhoomi watched him from the doorway, her eyes softening.
"He won't say it," she murmured to Chandrika, "but he's breaking a little every day."
Chandrika pressed her palms together, exhaling shakily. "He looks at that lamp as if his whole world depends on it."
Bhoomi nodded. "Because it does."
They watched as Yuvaan stepped closer to the flame, lowering his head.
"This is torture," Chandrika whispered.
"Love is," Bhoomi replied, her voice almost breaking.
Just then, Susheela walked in quietly. She glanced at Yuvaan, then at the two women.
"We're doing what we must," she said softly, almost as if she were reminding herself. "For Kiara. For the baby. For their survival."
Her eyes lingered on Yuvaan—his stillness, his silence, the way his fingers trembled at his side.
"But he…" Susheela swallowed.
"…he is bearing more than any of us."
No one argued.
No one could.
---
Back on the island…
Kiara placed a diya in the mandir, her hands trembling slightly as she lit it.
The flame flickered once… twice… and she let out a slow breath, pressing both hands against her swollen belly.
"It's almost time," she whispered to the child, brushing the soot-blackened edge of the diya. "Just a little longer, hmm?"
But then—
A sharp pain shot through her abdomen.
Kiara gasped, gripping the nearest pillar.
Another pain. Stronger. Lower.
Her eyes widened.
"Yuvaan…"
Her voice cracked, hoarse with fear.
"Yuvaan!"
She tried to take a step.
Her knees buckled.
She clutched her stomach, panting, stumbling toward the small wooden bed. Each movement felt like fire tearing through her body.
"Yuvaan… please…"
Her voice echoed through the quiet island—fragile, trembling.
She lay down, curling to the side, breathing hard as the first wave of cramps twisted through her.
---
At the mansion…
The lamp's flame trembled.
Shifted.
Turned silver.
Yuvaan froze.
"No… no…" His chest tightened. "It's time."
He stepped closer, eyes wide, breath trembling.
"She needs us."
Then, louder—almost breaking:
"Kiara might need me—right now."
---
At the island…
Kiara clutched the edge of the bed, her nails digging into the wood as another violent wave of pain surged through her body.
Her breaths came in broken gasps—sharp, uneven, desperate.
"Yuvaan… Yuvaan…"
Her voice cracked, trembling with fear and longing.
Tears streamed down her face as she tried to steady herself, but the pain only intensified, twisting through her like a storm.
She screamed—raw, guttural.
"Aaaah! Yuv…aaaaan!"
Another contraction hit her like a lightning strike and she arched her back, crying out in agony.
The little hut echoed with her sobs.
Her hand slapped against the mandir's edge and she choked out, between breaths:
"Har… har… Mahadev!"
Her cry shook the room.
The diya flame flared bright—almost white.
The next contraction ripped through her, and with a scream that was half pain, half surrender—
Kiara brought her baby boy into the world.
A faint, tiny cry filled the silent island.
Kiara lay trembling, tears pouring freely. She reached out with shaking arms, lifting the small, warm, delicate body to her chest.
The baby blinked once…
And smiled.
Kiara broke down completely.
"My… my baby…" she whispered, pressing kiss after kiss to his tiny forehead. "You're here… you're really here…"
Her tears wet the baby's cheeks as she cradled him protectively, wrapping him in her shawl, pulling him close to her heart.
She hugged him so tightly—as if trying to shield him from the whole world.
"Wish… wish your papa was here," Kiara whispered, her voice fading. "He should've been the first to hold you…"
Her eyes fluttered.
Her breaths slowed.
The exhaustion—nine months of loneliness, fear, and waiting—collapsed on her all at once.
Kiara's grip loosened.
"Mumma's right here… I won't…"
Her voice broke.
"I won't… leave… you…"
But her body gave in.
Kiara slumped sideways on the bed, still holding her baby against her chest.
She fainted.
---
Meanwhile… at Pratap Singh Mansion
A car pulled up in a hurry.
The Shetty family—Vikram Shetty, Varun Shetty, and Kajal—rushed inside, anxiety written all over their faces.
Yuvaan's family gathered in the hall, already tense, already waiting.
Vikram Shetty stepped forward first. His eyes were tight, his voice strained with urgency.
"Kiara must need us right now," Vikram said, glancing at the lamp in the hall. "There's no time left. That flame didn't turn silver for nothing."
Yuvaan stood behind him—restless, shaking, unable to stand still.
His voice was hoarse. "I can't wait anymore. She's alone there. Kiara… and my baby—"
He swallowed, eyes burning.
"I have to reach them. Now."
"Then let's move," Vikram Shetty said firmly. "Everyone, to the car."
Within seconds, both families—the Pratap Singhs and the Shettys together—climbed into the large vehicle, tension thickening the air.
The car sped toward the jungle road—fast, reckless, desperate.
Branches slapped against the sides, the forest canopy closing overhead as night crept in.
Inside the car, Yuvaan stared straight ahead, fists clenched, lips trembling.
"Hold on, Kiara…" he whispered.
"I'm coming. I swear I'm coming."
---
Unknown to them…
Deep inside the jungle…
Among the dense shadows…
A pair of glowing, predatory eyes watched their car passing through the trees.
Cold.
Hungry.
Waiting.
Mohana.
A smile—sharp and wicked—spread across her lips.
"So… the child has arrived," she whispered.
"And now… it begins."
---