The Echoes of a Broken Heart
The journey back to Himgiri was a silent, somber procession. The vibrant banners that had fluttered with hope on their way to Chandrapuri now hung limp, their colors dulled by the dust of the road and the weight of humiliation. The majestic mountains, Himgiri's proud sentinels, loomed ahead, their snowy peaks seeming colder and more forbidding than ever.
Inside his palanquin, Maharaja Rohan sat with a stony face, his fists clenched on his knees. The cheerful father had been replaced by the stern, calculating king. The friendly facade had crumbled, leaving behind the raw stone of political ambition and wounded pride.
They passed through the grand gates of the mountain fortress, the capital city carved into and built upon the mighty Himalayas. The citizens bowed as the royal procession wound its way through the steep, cobbled streets, but the usual cheers were absent. The air itself felt heavy, as if the very kingdom was holding its breath.
Father and son did not exchange a single word until the heavy, iron-banded doors of the King's private chambers in the palace's highest tower closed behind them, shutting out the world. The room was sparsely decorated, a warrior's den, with trophies of hunt and war adorning the walls and a great window that looked out over the plunging valleys.
Maharaja Rohan turned, his voice a low, controlled rumble that barely concealed his frustration. "Beta," he began, his eyes sharp and probing. "What happened back there? You gave me the signal to remain silent, to not press the matter. Why? When that girl rejected you, rejected our proposal, rejected our kingdom, why did you not let me speak? Why did we retreat like wounded dogs with our tails between our legs?"
Prince Yuvraj, who had been standing by the window, staring out at the unforgiving landscape without seeing it, slowly turned. The journey had done nothing to mend the fracture in his soul. His eyes, usually bright with laughter and confidence, were hollow, shadowed pools of pain.
"Pitashree," Yuvraj's voice was ragged, torn from the depths of his being. "What was there to say? You heard her yourself. 'I only see him as a friend.' She does not love me. She never did." He let out a bitter, choked sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "All this time... I thought... I was so sure that she felt the same. Every laugh we shared, every secret we confided, every time she cared for my well-being... I thought it was love. I thought she knew me, the real me, and loved me for it. But she didn't. She didn't understand my heart, and I... I clearly never understood hers."
A single, traitorous tear escaped, tracing a clean path through the travel dust on his cheek. He wiped it away angrily, as if ashamed of the weakness.
The Maharaja's expression softened marginally, but his tone remained firm. "But beta, we could have reasoned with her. We could have made her and Rohit see sense! A union between our kingdoms would make us the most powerful force in the land! It was a perfect alliance. You should have let me persuade them."
"PERSUADE THEM?!" The words exploded from Yuvraj, his composure finally shattering. "With what, Pitashree? With threats? With political leverage? Do you think I want a wife who is 'persuaded' to be with me? A queen who looks at me and sees only a duty, a political treaty? I wanted her to look at me and see her husband! I wanted her love, not her reluctant obedience!"
He paced the room like a caged tiger, his energy frantic and desperate. "All those years... all those memories... they were just a lie I told myself. She was just being a good friend, and I... I built a entire future on a fantasy." He stopped, his shoulders slumping in utter defeat. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. "Pitashree... please... I beg of you. Just leave me alone. I need to be by myself. Just for a while."
The Maharaja took a step forward, his paternal concern warring with his kingly displeasure. "Beta, but—"
"PITASHREE!" Yuvraj's cry was raw, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. It was the scream of a dream dying. "I said I want to be ALONE! Can you not grant me even that? Can I not have a moment to mourn the future I have just buried? Please... just go."
The sheer, desperate pain in his son's voice finally pierced through Maharaja Rohan's anger. He looked at the prince, not as a heir, but as his heartbroken son. He saw the tremble in his hands, the utter devastation on his face. He gave a slow, heavy nod.
"Very well," he said, his voice now quiet. "I will leave you." He turned and walked to the door, pausing for a moment with his hand on the latch. "This pain will pass, Yuvraj. You are a prince of Himgiri. Remember who you are."
The moment the door clicked shut, the last vestige of Yuvraj's control evaporated. A guttural, wounded roar tore from his throat. He swept his arm across a nearby table, sending a beautiful, crystal inkpot and a stack of precious scrolls crashing to the floor. The ink splattered like black blood across the stone.
His eyes fell on a small, delicately carved sandalwood box on his bedside table. It was a gift from Mrinal from many years ago, a token of their friendship. Inside, he kept a dried flower she had once tucked behind his ear. With a cry of pure rage and grief, he snatched the box and hurled it against the wall. It splintered into a hundred pieces, the dried flower scattering into dust.
The anger spent, it left only the crushing, suffocating weight of sorrow. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees amidst the wreckage of his memories. Great, heaving sobs wracked his body. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
"Why, Mrinal?" he wept, his voice muffled and broken. "Why? Why couldn't you love me? I gave you my whole heart. I have loved you since we were children. I thought you were my destiny. Was it all a joke to you? Was our friendship just a game? Why... why did you have to shatter everything?"
He knelt there on the cold floor, a prince of the mighty mountains, brought to his knees not by a warrior's blade, but by the gentle, devastating words of a friend. The world outside his chamber continued, unaware that within the heart of the fortress, a young man's world had ended, leaving behind only the cold, dark ashes of a love that never was.
---
Hundreds of miles away, in the sun-drenched courtyards of Suryapuri, Prince Aaditya stood on his balcony, watching the moon rise. It was a slender, silver crescent, a shy scratch of light in the vast, darkening sky. It reminded him of a certain melody, of a pair of serene, blue eyes that held the depth of the ocean night.
A restlessness stirred within him, a familiar pull that had begun in a cursed ruin and had only grown stronger since their parting.
"Dev," he whispered into the quiet evening, his voice laced with a concern he couldn't explain. "What are you doing right now? Are you safe? Are you... thinking of this same moon?"
He didn't understand the connection, this invisible thread that stretched across kingdoms, tying his soul to the Prince of Chandrapuri. He only knew that in the silence of the Suryapuri night, his thoughts always, inevitably, traveled to Devansh. And a quiet, persistent worry began to bloom in his heart, a premonition that the peace they had fought so hard for was a fragile, fleeting thing.