The ancient fort of Kuldhara, crumbling and forgotten, stood like a phantom on the edge of the desert. Its towering walls, once proud and defiant, now wore the veils of time — vines curling through cracks, sand nesting in the heart of its temples. Yet to Meera and Veer, it was sanctuary.
They had arrived on weary camels, cloaked in dust and silence. The last of the sunset bled across the sky as they stepped through the rusted gate, hearts pounding not from fear anymore, but from the uncertain relief of freedom.
Within the walls, they found a small chamber in the temple's western wing — its domed roof miraculously intact. The floor bore the patterns of old mosaic tiles, faded but dignified. Meera pressed her palm to them, the chill grounding her in a world that now felt entirely new.
Their days began in simplicity. Veer rose with the sun, drawing water from the nearby well. Meera swept the chamber clean with branches she had gathered, her hands blistering but steady. At midday, they cooked lentils over a small flame Veer coaxed from broken bricks and straw.
"Do you miss the silk pillows and rose oils, Rajkumari?" he teased one afternoon, handing her a crude clay bowl.
She laughed, the sound dry and light. "I miss the quiet gardens, yes. But I have you now. The rest is decoration."
They learned to live as commoners — scavenging dates from the edge of the oasis, trading songs with shepherds for flour and dried meat. Meera dyed her silks with mud to avoid recognition; Veer carved walking sticks and sold them in nearby villages. He taught her to disguise her speech, softening the crisp edge of her court tongue into the loose rhythm of travelers.
In the evenings, they sat atop the ramparts watching the stars. She leaned into him, their fingers entwined.
"Do you think we were meant to meet like this?" she asked once.
Veer kissed her knuckles. "I think we were meant to find each other in every lifetime — whether in marble halls or ruins."
Still, unease lingered beneath their joy. Meera often caught Veer watching the horizon, his hand unconsciously resting on the dagger hidden beneath his robe. They spoke little of the palace now, but the ghosts of their former lives lingered in silence.
One morning, Veer returned from the village with a folded piece of parchment in his fist.
"A guard recognized my voice," he said quietly. "Said nothing. But he knew."
Meera's heart seized. "We'll leave again?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. The desert will protect us longer than any road. We stay. We prepare."
And so they did.
They dug a second escape path behind the temple. Veer buried their coins beneath the neem tree outside the eastern wall. Meera practiced archery with a broken bow and old arrows left behind by a forgotten soldier. She hit the target by the sixth week.
Despite the looming threat, the days between were golden.
Veer composed songs again — ballads of star-crossed lovers and desert queens. Meera embroidered them onto strips of fabric, weaving poems into thread. He read to her by firelight, his voice the only music they needed. She sang lullabies when his nightmares returned — echoes of battle, of flame, of blood-soaked fields.
"I dreamt of your death again," he admitted one night, his arms tight around her waist.
"I'm right here," she whispered, stroking his hair. "And I will be, until the stars forget our names."
Yet fate stirred.
One sweltering afternoon, a young boy with a crippled foot arrived at the fort's gate. His name was Hiran, no more than nine, and he bore a message on a scrap of cloth.
"The king's soldiers... came to the village," he stammered. "They asked about a poet with sharp eyes and a woman with royal wrists."
Meera drew the boy close, her fingers trembling.
"Did anyone speak of us?" Veer asked.
The boy nodded. "An old man told them you'd died. A fever, he said. But they didn't believe."
They gave him food, water, and silver before sending him back. But the message had been delivered.
Their time was shrinking.
"Do we run again?" Meera asked that night as the wind howled around them.
Veer's jaw clenched. "We fight if we must. But we live first. Every breath with you is a rebellion against what they wanted for us."
She touched her forehead to his. "Then we live fiercely. In love, not in hiding."
They spent the next few days gathering supplies — more arrows, salt, dried beans. Veer reinforced the chamber door with iron rods. Meera wrapped herself in anonymity, walking to the village under a borrowed veil, her eyes lowered, her posture bowed. Yet even in disguise, she felt the weight of watching eyes.
Despite everything, their love blossomed. In the heart of ruin, their world bloomed with laughter, with silent kisses beneath moonlight, with whispered promises and stolen mornings. Meera planted jasmine near the temple steps. Veer carved her name into the wall beside his own.
They had no titles now, no jewels. But they had each other — and in that, they had everything.
For a while, it was enough.
But storms do not linger in silence for long.
To be continued...