The winds of Kuldhara carried more than sand now—they carried secrets. Whispers in the villages nearby grew like desert vines: of a veiled woman with eyes like royalty, and a man whose songs could stir memory from stone. Though Meera and Veer had lived lowly and quietly, their presence had begun to imprint itself like a fading mirage on the edges of people's thoughts.
On a morning brushed in gold and heat, Meera stirred in their modest chamber. The jasmine she had planted was blooming wildly near the temple steps, filling the fort with a fragrance that didn't belong to ruins. She knelt before the blossoms, fingering their delicate petals, thinking of her mother's garden, and the songs her nursemaid used to sing about flowers never meant to survive the heat. Yet here they were—fragile and triumphant.
Veer returned from the well with a pail of water and a silent frown. Meera could see it instantly. "Someone followed you," she said, rising.
"Two men," he confirmed. "Didn't say a word. Just stared, then disappeared behind the date palms."
Their plan to live peacefully was unraveling, thread by thread. Veer's movements had grown more deliberate; his gaze, constantly sweeping the horizon. Meera, though cloaked and veiled, felt more exposed than ever.
To distract themselves, they worked harder. Veer reinforced the southern gate, patching gaps with salvaged wood and stone. Meera bartered in the village market for oil and grains, her voice soft, her hands trembling every time she handed over coins.
Still, joy persisted in quiet corners. Each night, Meera recited ancient poetry from memory, and Veer traced verses in the dust. They carved their days into rhythm—a rebellion of routine. He taught her to fight not only with bow and arrow but with wit and silence. She taught him the lullabies of queens.
One afternoon, while they rested in the temple courtyard, a travelling merchant stopped by. He sold prayer beads and glass bangles, and though his goods were plain, his eyes were sharp.
"Lovely couple," he said, squinting at Meera. "You remind me of a Rajput painting I once saw... of a princess in exile."
Meera froze. Veer stepped forward and bought the cheapest bangle to deflect attention, but the man's smile lingered too long. After he left, they waited until nightfall and moved their supplies deeper into the fort, sealing off the more visible chambers.
That night, Meera found Veer on the ramparts, staring at the moon. "Do you regret it?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. "No. Every moment with you is worth the price. But I wish we'd had longer."
Meera leaned into him, brushing his cheek with her lips. "We're not finished yet."
A few days later, Hiran returned. The boy, breathless and dusty, carried more than just warning this time—he carried a broken amulet, one Meera recognized from her cousin's neck.
"They searched the palace," he said. "They've declared you a traitor. Your brother is to be crowned. He's offered gold for your capture."
Meera turned away, her face unreadable.
Veer's fists clenched. "We should vanish beyond the dunes. There are villages near the salt plains—places where kings don't look."
Meera's voice was calm. "If we run forever, we leave them our story. I want our ending to be ours."
Veer looked at her, proud and frightened. "Then we hold this fort like it's a palace."
They made final preparations. Veer unearthed their coins, splitting them into small pouches to carry. Meera packed her silk scarf with dried fruit and herbs. Together, they marked a path through the dunes that could lead them to a sacred grove rumored to be protected by mystics.
But their departure never came.
The night before they were to leave, the air shifted—dense with something unsaid. Meera awoke with a start. Veer was gone from their chamber.
She found him at the temple door, listening.
Hoofbeats.
Distant, but nearing.
He turned to her, voice tight. "Soldiers. At least ten."
Meera's breath hitched. "We don't have time."
Veer's eyes burned with resolve. "I'll lead them away. You run for the grove."
"No!" she grasped his arm. "We swore never to part again."
"If they find you, they'll parade your body as a lesson."
"And if they find you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he pressed a small, carved flute into her hand—the one he had made during their first week. "Play this if you reach the grove. I'll find you."
Tears welled in her eyes. "We were supposed to grow old in ruins."
"We still might," he said, kissing her forehead. "But not if we both die tonight."
Footsteps echoed outside the fort.
Meera hugged him tight, then turned and ran—through shadowed halls, past jasmine still clinging to life. As she slipped into the desert night, her heart fractured with every step.
Behind her, the gates of Kuldhara groaned.
And the whispers in the dust began to sing.
To be continued...