Rain whispered against the ancient stone of the courtyard, each drop adding to the chill that clung to the air. Veeraj sat alone on the low step, sword across his knees, the blade gleaming faintly in the light that spilled from the distant hall. He hunched forward, lost in thoughts that pressed heavier than the sodden clouds above.
A soft glow approached. Meera emerged from the shadows, her footsteps muffled by the rain-soaked stones, carrying a brass lamp that cast a trembling gold halo around her. A folded shawl hung over her arm. She paused for a heartbeat, simply watching him, the corners of her mouth tilting in a secret smile reserved only for him.
"You'll catch a cold sitting here like a statue," she called out, her voice bright with playful concern, but beneath it, a thread of affection that only Veeraj could decipher.
Veeraj kept his gaze on the blade, his hands steady but his eyes rimmed with fatigue. "Statues don't win wars," he replied, his words measured, a shadow of exhaustion threading through them, but a hint of teasing lingered, as if he couldn't quite resist responding to her warmth.
"Well, they certainly don't sulk either," she shot back, edging closer until she was near enough for her lamp's trembling light to dance across his face. Her presence radiated warmth that seemed to push back the chill of the rain-soaked night.
She offered him the shawl, her fingers brushing his arm—a gentle tether to the present. The contact lingered just a second longer than necessary. Veeraj glanced at her, their eyes meeting in a brief, electric moment, before he accepted the shawl and draped it around his shoulders, his movements deliberately slow, savoring the closeness.
She settled beside him, close enough that the space between them shimmered with unspoken things. He could feel her warmth at his side, the faint perfume of jasmine clinging to her rain-dampened hair. Beyond the cloistered courtyard, faint laughter and music drifted on the rain, ghostly echoes of the celebration Veeraj had chosen to avoid.
Meera tilted her head, studying his profile. "You missed the celebration," she said softly, her eyes flickering between him and the distant glow of torchlight. Her words were light, but their proximity made each syllable feel like a secret.
Veeraj shrugged, the shawl slipping from one shoulder. "Too many people. Too much noise."
"Or maybe too full of girls with their eyes on you," Meera teased, her words light but tinged with a sharpness that betrayed the vulnerability beneath. She nudged him gently with her shoulder, feigning nonchalance, but her gaze lingered on his face, searching for reassurance.
Veeraj finally looked up, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. "Jealous?" he asked, his tone half-challenging, half-hopeful, searching her face for a trace of seriousness. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over her wrist as if to test her reaction.
"Of what, exactly? A boy who forgets his friends after a single swing of the sword?" she retorted, folding her arms, one brow arched in mock indignation, though her lips betrayed her with a playful smile. Her foot tapped against his under the folds of her skirt—a childish challenge, daring him to argue.
He let out a laugh—unexpected and soft, the sound loosening the weight between them. For a moment, Veeraj's hand found hers beneath the shawl, their fingers intertwining. "I didn't forget," he said, his voice gentler now. "I just… needed silence. Needed to hear myself think for the first time in days."
Meera leaned back, letting her head rest against the cool marble, her gaze drifting up to where the rain painted silver streaks across the darkening sky. Her fingers still laced with his, she spoke softly, as if the night itself might keep their secrets. "You're changing, Veeraj," she said quietly, admiration and a sliver of worry threading through her words.
"I'm growing," he countered, his jaw set, a flicker of defiance in his eyes as if daring her to challenge the man he was becoming. But his thumb stroked the back of her hand, betraying a gentler undercurrent.
"Into what, exactly?" she pressed, her curiosity earnest, but her fingers fidgeting with the fringe of her shawl. Her gaze softened, inviting vulnerability, her free hand tracing idle circles on his knee as if to encourage honesty.
He hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face, the future stretching before him like a path through fog. The feel of Meera's touch steadied him. "I suppose I'm still figuring that out," he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. "But it's easier with you here."
A hush fell between them, filled only by the steady patter of rain. Veeraj's hand toyed with the edge of his shawl, then found Meera's again, holding it as if anchoring himself.
"I haven't decided yet," he admitted, looking away. The flickering lamplight caught the shadows of doubt on his face. "Sometimes it all feels like too much—like I'm being pulled apart by what everyone expects."
He turned back, voice thick. "But when you're near, it feels like the world narrows to just us. Like maybe I can breathe again."
Meera sighed, the sound barely audible above the rain. She reached into her satchel and drew out a small, pressed leaf, its veins delicate as threads of memory. "For remembrance," she said, gently placing it in his palm—her fingers lingering atop his, reluctant to let go. "For the boy you were—before they started calling you 'Veeraj the Flame.'"
Veeraj cradled the leaf, his calloused fingers tracing its fragile edge as though it might dissolve. He drew her closer with his free arm, needing the anchor of her presence. "You really think I'll forget?" he asked, voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of fear.
"No," Meera replied, meeting his gaze with unwavering honesty. She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray raindrop—or perhaps a tear. "But I worry you might not remember until it's too late—until the world has shaped you into someone even you can't recognize."
He looked at her—really looked, letting his defenses fall. In her eyes, he saw a reflection of the boy he used to be. His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling in the hush. "You're the only one who sees me like I'm still that boy," he murmured, his words raw and unguarded.
"That's because you are," she said softly, her voice a gentle challenge. Her lips brushed his brow, a fleeting kiss—playful, hopeful, grounding him for a heartbeat. A smile tugged at her lips, her playfulness flickering even in the gravity of the moment.
A pause thickened the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths and lingering pain. Rain tapped a gentle rhythm around them. Meera's fingers tightened around his. "You never asked how I felt when you left," she said at last, her voice trembling just enough to betray a flicker of hurt.
"I was afraid to," he confessed, heat rising in his cheeks. "I thought—maybe you wouldn't miss me. Maybe you'd moved on."
He could not meet her eyes, but his hand clung to hers as if to keep her from slipping away.
She smiled—a soft, bittersweet smile, edged with truth. Leaning in, she brushed her nose against his, breath warm and close. "I didn't," she admitted, her eyes dancing with mischief even as her words landed like a stone in still water.
He let out a shaky breath, the tension between them loosening, replaced with something softer and more certain.
"Nope," she said, laughter bubbling beneath her words. "I missed you twice, Veeraj—once for the boy I fell in love with, and again for the man you're becoming. I just hope the man never forgets the boy he once was."
She pressed her head to his shoulder. The rain outside faded to a distant hush, and for a while, the only world that mattered was the circle of their entwined hands and the steady rhythm of their shared silence.
The evening air shimmered with the electricity of everything left unsaid, their bond tightening in the quiet, woven from memory and hope.
The rain softened, its rhythm falling into a gentle lull that seemed to bless the courtyard with peace. They sat together in the hush, two souls poised at the brink of change, each clutching the delicate leaf—a talisman of all they had been, and all they might become. Around them, the future fluttered with invisible wings, waiting for them to claim it.
✨ Soul Verse
Ek talwar hoti.
Ek shabd hota.
Ek mitra hota.
Ek bhool hoti.
(One sword. One word. One friend. One forgetting.)