As Advika and Kriti stepped through the grand entrance of the temple, an ancient energy wrapped around them like an unseen embrace. The air itself felt heavier—thicker with the weight of history, prayers, and secrets that had been whispered through centuries. The temple was massive, a towering structure built of weathered sandstone, its surface etched with intricate carvings depicting gods, celestial beings, and mythical stories long forgotten by the modern world.

The sky above was deep orange and purple, the last remnants of sunlight casting a golden glow on the temple's domes and shikhara. Birds circled the temple spires, their distant cries blending with the rhythmic toll of the temple bell. The sound echoed through the courtyard, vibrating through the stone walls as if time itself paused for a moment with each chime.

At the temple's grand entrance, massive wooden doors stood open, their surface adorned with iron studs and ancient Sanskrit inscriptions. The threshold was decorated with fresh marigold garlands and strings of jasmine, their fragrance thick in the evening air. The stone steps leading to the entrance were worn smooth—not just by time, but by the countless bare feet that had walked upon them for generations.

As Advika and Kriti ascended, the first thing they noticed was the scent. The air was dense with the aroma of burning incense—sandalwood, camphor, and ghee from the oil lamps flickering in brass stands. The scent clung to their skin, wrapping them in an intoxicating embrace that felt both welcoming and overwhelming.

Inside, the temple was dimly lit. The only sources of light were rows of oil lamps and flickering diyas, their golden glow dancing against the high, vaulted ceiling. The shadows wavered across the stone walls, bringing the ancient carvings to life. Every surface was covered in elaborate depictions of gods, warriors, and kings, their expressions frozen in time. Some figures looked serene, others fierce—almost as if they were still watching over the temple even after centuries had passed.

At the center of the temple stood the grand deity, enshrined in silver and gold. The idol was massive, its features carved with impossibly delicate precision. The deity's eyes, made of black onyx, gleamed under the light of the oil lamps, creating an illusion of watchful presence. A priest, dressed in traditional saffron robes, stood before the idol, chanting ancient verses in a rhythmic, melodic tone. His voice resonated through the temple halls, weaving through the air like a spell, pulling the devotees deeper into the sanctity of the moment.

The temple wasn't silent, yet there was a peculiar harmony in the sounds—the steady hum of prayers, the gentle rustle of fabric as devotees moved, the occasional ring of a temple bell, and the soft clinking of coins being placed as offerings. Somewhere in the distance, a peacock cried, its call sharp yet strangely fitting in this sacred space.

Advika felt a strange pull in her chest as if she had been there before. She wasn't sure why, but the temple didn't feel entirely new to her. There was something eerily familiar—the air, the sounds, the carvings... as if she had walked these halls in another lifetime.

Kriti, on the other hand, was too enchanted to speak. Her eyes darted from one carving to another, trying to decipher the untold stories hidden within them. She whispered, "This place... it's nothing like the temples we've seen before. It's... alive."

Advika nodded absentmindedly, barely hearing her. Her fingers brushed against one of the carved stone pillars, tracing the patterns instinctively. The stone was cool under her touch, but beneath the smoothness, there was an odd warmth—as if the temple itself remembered the hands that had once built it, worshipped in it, lived, and died within its walls.

Suddenly, the evening aarti began. The priest raised a large brass plate, holding several diyas arranged in a circular pattern, their flames dancing wildly with each movement. The ringing of bells grew louder as devotees folded their hands, their voices rising in unison with the priest's chants. The rhythmic claps of the people, the chorus of hymns, and the overpowering scent of camphor and ghee created an almost trance-like atmosphere.

As the priest moved the aarti plate in front of the deity, the golden light illuminated the idol's features in a mesmerizing glow. The fire reflected in the deity's black onyx eyes, making them seem almost alive. The flames flickered wildly, casting long, dancing shadows against the temple walls, giving the illusion that the carvings themselves were shifting, watching, remembering.

Advika's heart pounded. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something—a movement, a shimmer, something unnatural in the deity's gaze. But before she could process it, the aarti ended, and the spell was broken. The priest turned to the devotees, distributing prasad—sacred offerings of sweets and flowers. Advika took the small piece of sweet in her palm, but she barely noticed the taste.

She glanced around, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of being watched—not by people but by the temple itself—by its carvings, its walls, and its ancient presence that seemed to whisper secrets too old to be understood.

Kriti sighed in satisfaction, nudging Advika playfully. "You zoned out," she said, popping the prasad into her mouth. "Was it that mesmerizing?"

Advika forced a small smile. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the ancient pillars.

Somewhere deep inside, she felt it—this temple was more than just an old place of worship. It held something—something lost, something waiting.

Kriti stretched her arms and turned to Ansh with a smile. "I'm starving. Let's go find something to eat."

Ansh chuckled. "Of course, I know a place just outside the temple. Do you both want to come?" His gaze shifted to Advika.

Advika, however, was lost in thought. A strange feeling had settled in her chest as if something in this place was pulling her in. The carvings on the pillars, the ancient scent of the temple, the way the air felt heavier than before—it was all too surreal.

"I'm fine," she said finally, shaking her head. "You both go ahead. I'll stay here for a little while."

Kriti frowned. "Are you sure? Don't wander too far."

Advika forced a small smile. "I won't."

Advika's feet moved slowly across the stone floor, each step echoing in the temple's vast, cool corridors. The soft flickering of the oil lamps seemed to shimmer like distant stars, their golden glow dancing against the walls, which were adorned with intricate carvings and stories of times long past. It was as though the very air around her carried the weight of history—every stone, every figure carved into the walls, telling tales that had been whispered through generations.

But it wasn't just the temple that captivated her. Something in the atmosphere felt... different. The heavy scent of incense filled her lungs, and for a moment, Advika felt as if she had been transported to another time. A time where things were simpler, yet laden with untold mysteries. It was almost as though the air itself carried echoes of lives lived long before her.

Her fingers traced the edge of one particular pillar—a pillar, unlike the others. This one was different. Where the others bore depictions of gods and divine beings, this pillar held an image of a man and a woman. The man looked regal, his features strong, a crown-like adornment visible in the carving, though faint. He exuded a certain majesty, a strength that commanded respect. The woman by his side, dressed in an elaborate lengha, carried an air of grace, a presence that seemed to captivate the very light that bathed her form. They stood together, side by side, as though they had been immortalized in time.

Advika's breath caught in her throat as she studied the figures. There was something profoundly familiar about them. Not in a way that she could immediately understand, but something about their posture, the way they were carved, spoke to her deeply, pulling her in as if she had seen them before. Her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and confusion, and she couldn't look away.

Then, without warning, a strange sensation overwhelmed her. The warm, inviting glow of the temple seemed to fade into a golden haze, and the air grew warmer, as though she had stepped into another era. The stone beneath her feet no longer felt like the cool, worn surface it had been a moment ago. It felt newer, and polished, reflecting the warm light of lanterns that hung low in the air. The temple itself transformed before her eyes.

The sound of distant laughter echoed faintly, accompanied by the soft tinkling of delicate anklets. The flickering lamps seemed to stretch, casting long shadows that moved with a life of their own.

And then—she saw her.

A young woman, sitting on a grand swing, her long hair cascading down in dark waves, adorned with small jasmine flowers that shimmered in the golden light. She wore a deep crimson lehenga that seemed to glow under the lanterns, its intricate embroidery glinting like the finest thread woven into a tapestry of time. The woman's laughter mingled with the soft melodies of a distant flute, and for a moment, Advika could almost feel the breeze brushing her face as if she, too, were there, part of that forgotten time.

The swing creaked gently, moving with the rhythm of the soft wind, and the girl tilted her head back to look at the sky. Her eyes, though unseen, seemed to hold secrets that Advika couldn't decipher. There was an undeniable sense of familiarity in the woman's expression, as though Advika had known her from somewhere long ago.

Behind the swing stood a man. His broad frame was draped in a dark angrakha, richly embroidered with golden threads that caught the light, shimmering with each subtle movement. His presence was commanding, and yet there was a certain tenderness in the way he held the ropes of the swing. His face was obscured, but Advika could sense the connection between them, the unspoken understanding between the two.

His deep voice broke the silence.

"Aap yaha par kya kar rahi hai, Rani sa?"

(What are you doing here, my queen?)

The girl's voice responded softly, teasingly, the tone filled with both warmth and mischief.

"Pehle aap bataye, aap yaha par kya kar rahe hai raja ji?"

(First, you tell me, what are you doing here?)

The man's grip on the swing tightened, his words carrying a sense of longing as if each word was laden with meaning.

"Hum toh wahi pe honge jaha pe hamari Avni hogi."

(I will always be where my Avni is.)

Advika felt her heart race as the moment stretched, the vividness of the vision pulling her deeper into it. The lanterns around them seemed to glow brighter, casting an ethereal light on the couple. The man's presence was reassuring, his gaze gentle yet intense, as he stood beside the swing, pushing it ever so slightly.

But then, like a dream beginning to fade, the vision shattered.

The warm, golden light dimmed abruptly, the soft sounds of laughter and the tinkling of anklets fading into nothingness. The vibrant colors of the scene washed away, replaced by the cool darkness of the present. Advika stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath shallow as she tried to grasp what had just happened.

Her hands pressed against the cold stone pillar, grounding herself in the present as her thoughts raced. What was that? She had felt the warmth of the moment, the connection between the man and the woman—she had felt as if she was there with them. But now, it was gone, leaving behind a lingering sense of loss, like a dream that fades the moment you wake.

She looked back at the pillar, her fingers still tracing the figure of the man and woman. They were just carvings, stone, nothing more. And yet, Advika couldn't shake the feeling that they were more than that—they were a memory.

As she tried to calm her racing heart, she took a step back, only to collide with something—or rather, someone.

A strong, steady hand caught her wrist before she could stumble.

Advika's breath caught in her throat as she looked up, her gaze meeting a pair of dark, penetrating eyes. The man before her was tall, his features sharply defined in the dim temple light. His presence was imposing yet strangely familiar, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

He didn't speak at first, only held her gaze, as if weighing something unspoken between them. Advika's throat went dry, and she tried to speak, but no words came. The temple seemed to grow quieter, the air thick with an unexplainable tension.

Just as she was about to break the silence, a voice called out from the distance.

"Advika!"

It was Kriti, calling her name, pulling Advika back to the present. The moment shattered, the connection between them broken as quickly as it had formed.

The man's gaze flickered for a moment toward the pillar where she had been staring. Then, with a brief, almost imperceptible nod, he released her wrist, his hand lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Without saying a word, Advika turned and hurried away, her heart still pounding, the strange sensation of déjà vu lingering in her chest. The man's gaze followed her retreating figure, his eyes narrowing as if he, too, felt the weight of something unspoken between them.

As Advika left the temple, she couldn't shake the feeling that this meeting—this moment—was no accident. There was something deeper at play, something pulling her towards him, as if they had crossed paths before, in another life, another time.

And deep inside her, that unexplained feeling—a connection—lingered. It gnawed at her, unanswered, waiting to be discovered.

The journey back to the house was quiet, at least for Advika. The rhythmic sound of their footsteps against the uneven village path filled the silence, accompanied by the distant hum of crickets. The cool night air brushed against her skin, but her mind was far from the present. She was still lost in the moment she had experienced at the temple—the strange yet oddly familiar vision that had taken over her senses. The carved images on the pillar, the swing, the girl with flowing hair, and the man whose voice had sent shivers down her spine. Who were they? And more importantly, why did it feel as if she knew them?

Her fingers absentmindedly played with the end of her dupatta as she walked, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. The sensation was unsettling as if something buried deep within her was trying to surface. She could still hear the voice from her vision—the deep yet gentle tone, the way it addressed her with such warmth. "Rani sa." The name echoed in her mind, stirring an unknown feeling in her chest. It was absurd, wasn't it? She had never been called that before, yet why did it feel so... right?

Kriti, who had been watching her friend closely, couldn't help but smirk. She nudged Advika playfully with her elbow, breaking her trance. "Hmmm... kis ke khayalon mein kho gayi ho, madam?" she teased, drawing out her words with amusement. "Ya phir main seedha bolu? Woh aaj jo tumse mandir mein takra gaya tha, usi ke khayalon mein ho na?"

Advika blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh?" she responded, her cheeks tinged with a faint warmth. "Main... nahi, aisi koi baat nahi hai."

Kriti raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh really? Toh phir yeh gehri soch kis baare mein thi?" She folded her arms across her chest, walking beside Advika with a knowing smile.

Advika hesitated, her fingers gripping her dupatta a little tighter. "Bas... woh pillar pe jo carvings thi na, wahi soch rahi thi. It was strange... jaise woh mujhe kuch keh rahi ho. Jaise maine unhe kahin dekha ho, par yaad nahi aa raha." Her voice trailed off, her own words making her feel even more confused.

Kriti gave her a long look before sighing dramatically. "Haan haan, carvings ki hi soch rahi thi. Bilkul." She shook her head. "Mujhe toh lagta hai kisi aur ki tasveer dimaag mein chhap gayi hai, aur tu bas accept nahi kar rahi."

Advika rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Kriti, tu na kabhi nahi badlegi."

"Arre! Main toh sirf sach keh rahi hoon," Kriti grinned. "Aur waise bhi, maine notice kiya, jo aadmi tujhse takraya tha, uski nazar bhi tujh par tik gayi thi." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, enjoying the way Advika's expression shifted between amusement and exasperation.

Advika huffed, shaking her head as they neared the house. The lanterns outside cast a warm glow, their flickering light making the old yet grand architecture of the house look even more inviting. Ansh, who had walked ahead, pushed open the door, letting them inside.

As they stepped in, Advika took a deep breath, as if grounding herself back into reality. Maybe Kriti was right, maybe she was overthinking. But deep down, she knew this was more than just an overactive imagination. Something about Rathorgarh, this village, the temple, and now that vision—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved.

And for some reason, she felt as if she was at the center of it all.

⸻

The sky had surrendered its golden hues to a deeper shade of blue, a time when the last remnants of daylight melted into the embrace of the approaching night. The air carried a quiet stillness, interrupted only by the distant hum of cicadas and the occasional rustling of leaves as a soft breeze whispered through the towering trees that lined the grand entrance of the Shekhawat Mansion.

The mansion itself stood tall and regal, a timeless piece of architecture that spoke of both heritage and power. Its imposing gates, adorned with intricate ironwork and the proud insignia of the Shekhawat family, loomed ahead, standing as a silent guardian to the empire within. The pathway leading to the entrance was flanked by perfectly trimmed hedges and grand lamp posts, their warm golden glow casting elongated shadows across the cobbled driveway.

A faint rumble in the distance signaled an arrival. Moments later, the powerful growl of engines filled the air, breaking the evening's tranquility. Five sleek, black cars glided through the outer road, moving in perfect synchronization, their headlights slicing through the dimming light like sharp blades. The formation was unmistakable—two cars in the front, two trailing behind, and a singular, more commanding presence in the center.

The four identical cars, polished to perfection, bore the emblem of a renowned luxury automobile brand. Their tinted windows reflected the last of the evening light, making it impossible to glimpse the figures within. The aura they carried was one of dominance and precision, each vehicle moving with an air of calculated purpose as if they were more than just machines but rather sentinels escorting something—or someone—of great importance.

And then, there was the car in the middle. A different model, equally—if not more—exquisite. Its mere presence distinguished it from the others, the subtle yet undeniable mark of its owner's stature. The vehicle's deep, obsidian black paint gleamed under the ambient glow of the lanterns, its design exuding a quiet yet formidable authority.

As the convoy neared, the massive iron gates of the Shekhawat Mansion stirred to life. The guards stationed at the entrance, clad in crisp uniforms, straightened their posture the moment they spotted the approaching fleet. With practiced efficiency, one of them stepped forward, his movements sharp and precise, and unlatched the heavy gates. The iron behemoths groaned slightly before parting ways, allowing the procession to glide through seamlessly.

The cars came to a synchronized halt before the grand entrance, their engines purring for a brief moment before falling silent, leaving behind a weighty stillness. A tension lingered in the air—not one of unease, but of reverence.

Then, the back door of the central car opened.

A polished leather shoe met the ground first, its deliberate step radiating composure. A tailored black trousers followed, the fabric smooth and pristine, cut to perfection. And then, emerging from the dim confines of the car into the soft glow of the evening lights, was Rajveer Singh Shekhawat.

His presence was commanding, effortlessly drawing the air around him into a hushed stillness. The faint breeze ruffled the edges of his crisp black shirt, the top buttons left open just enough to hint at an untamed edge beneath his otherwise immaculate appearance. His posture was straight, shoulders squared, exuding an air of quiet yet undeniable authority.

As he stood there, the golden glow from the mansion's lanterns reflected in his sharp, piercing eyes—eyes that held storms within them, secrets locked beneath layers of control. His expression was unreadable, a mask perfected over years, betraying nothing yet commanding everything.

As Rajveer stepped into the grand foyer of the Shekhawat Mansion, the soft clicking of his polished shoes echoed against the gleaming marble floor. The chandeliers above bathed the space in a golden glow, their intricate crystal designs shimmering as if whispering tales of generations past. The high ceilings bore ornate carvings, and the towering pillars stood as silent witnesses to the legacy of the Shekhawat family.

Despite the quiet grandeur of his home, there was an underlying warmth that set it apart from just being a display of power and wealth. And that warmth came from the woman standing at the entrance of the living area—his mother, Meera.

Draped in a simple yet elegant saree, her presence exuded grace and authority in equal measure. The moment her eyes landed on her son, a soft frown settled on her face. Arms crossed, she stood tall, waiting for him to approach.

Rajveer sighed internally. He had anticipated this.

"Raj, tumne kaha tha ki tum aaj jaldi major," Meera spoke, her voice carrying that gentle but firm motherly concern. "Phir der kyun ho gayi?"

Rajveer stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Mandir gaya tha, Maa. Gaon wale mandir." His deep voice was steady, as if the words were spoken without much thought.

For a second, Meera looked surprised. "Mandir?" She studied his face, searching for an answer beyond his brief explanation. "Achaanak? Koi kaam tha wahan?"

Rajveer held her gaze, but there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. "Nahi... bas aise hi."

A mother always knew when her son was withholding something, but Meera chose not to press further. Instead, she sighed and shook her head. "Agar bas aise hi tha toh mujhe bata kar ja sakte the. Tum jaante ho mujhe chinta hoti hai jab tum bina bataaye kahin chale jaate ho."

Rajveer's lips pressed into a thin line. His mother had always been the only one who could make him feel like a child again—reminding him that no matter how powerful he was in the outside world, within these walls, he was still her son.

"Ab jao, fresh ho jao," she said, her tone softening. "Khana tayaar hai."

He gave a slight nod. "Haan, Maa."

With that, he turned and made his way toward the grand staircase that led to his private quarters. Each step he took was measured, his thoughts heavier than his usual composed demeanor suggested.

His room was a perfect blend of sophistication and simplicity. Dark wood furniture, a massive king-sized bed with crisp white sheets, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the vast estate. But he barely paid attention to his surroundings as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside before heading straight for the shower.

The moment the warm water cascaded down his body, tension momentarily eased from his muscles. He let out a slow breath, his hands bracing against the cool tiles as steam began to fill the space.

Then, without warning, the image appeared.

Hazel brown eyes.

Long, thick lashes that framed them like a whisper of mystery.

They stared back at him, piercing through the mist of his mind, unsettling him in a way nothing else ever had.

His eyes snapped open, his breathing uneven. He clenched his jaw, pushing his wet hair back, frustration flickering in his expression.

Not again.

For weeks now, every time he closed his eyes, those same eyes haunted him. In his sleep. In moments of stillness. It had started a month ago, out of nowhere—those eyes appearing in his dreams, pulling him into a world that felt both unfamiliar and yet oddly known.

At first, he dismissed it as exhaustion, a trick of his subconscious. But then, today... at the mandir...

That girl.

The moment he had looked at her, the world had shifted. The ground beneath him had felt unsteady for the first time in his life.

Because she had the same eyes.

A wave of irritation surged through him. This wasn't normal. It wasn't logical. Rajveer Singh Shekhawat was a man of reason, not someone who entertained absurd thoughts of fate and déjà vu.

Yet, here he was, gripping the edge of the shower wall, battling the ghosts of a pair of hazel brown eyes that refused to let him go.

Rajveer stepped out of the restroom, steam swirling behind him as the door opened. Droplets of water clung to his chiseled chest, trailing down his sculpted abs before disappearing beneath the towel wrapped securely around his waist. His damp hair was tousled, a few strands falling over his forehead as he ran a hand through them, his fingers pushing back the lingering moisture. The dim lighting of his room cast soft shadows over his defined muscles, highlighting the sharp contours of his body.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his face with a fresh towel before tossing it aside. Walking toward his wardrobe, he pulled out a pair of dark casual trousers and a plain black t-shirt. With effortless grace, he dropped the towel, swiftly changing into the comfortable attire. But even as he moved through the routine motions, his mind wasn't present. It was still trapped in the past hour—still stuck in those eyes.

Hazel brown. Deep, endless, haunting.

The moment he had seen them at the mandir, something inside him had shifted. Something he couldn't place, something that refused to be ignored.

Shaking off the thought, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His face was composed as always, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something he wasn't ready to confront.

With a final sigh, he stepped out of his room and descended the grand staircase, his movements silent, controlled.

As he entered the dining hall, his mother was already waiting for him. Meera Singh Shekhawat sat at the head of the long table, her eyes immediately locking onto her son's face the moment he took his seat. A soft frown creased her forehead.

She served him a bowl of warm daal and placed a fresh roti on his plate. Rajveer picked up his spoon, about to eat, when her voice broke the silence.

"Kya baat hai, Raj?"

His fingers tightened slightly around the spoon, but he didn't look up. "Kuch bhi toh nahi, Maa."

Meera scoffed, her gaze unwavering. "Mujhe mat batao. Main tumhari maa hoon, Rajveer. Main tumhara chehra dekh ke bata sakti hoon ki tumhare mann mein kuch chal raha hai."

Rajveer took a bite, chewing slowly, his expression unreadable. "Bas kaam ka pressure hai, Maa. Aur kuch nahi."

She didn't believe him. Not for a second.

Meera sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Tum mujhe bata bhi sakte ho. Jo bhi hai, tum jaante ho ki main hamesha tumhare saath hoon."

For a fleeting moment, Rajveer considered it. Telling her about the eyes that had been haunting him. About how, for the first time in his life, something beyond his control was disturbing his peace. But the words never came.

He simply shook his head, his voice firm. "Main theek hoon, Maa."

Meera studied his face for a long moment before letting out a resigned sigh. She knew her son well—he was stubborn, too much like his father in that regard. If he didn't want to talk, he wouldn't.

"Thik hai," she said finally, standing up. "Lekin yaad rakhna, jab bhi baat karni ho... main yahin hoon."

Rajveer gave a small nod, watching as his mother walked away, leaving him alone at the table.

He resumed eating, but his mind was elsewhere. Every bite he took felt mechanical, his thoughts circling back to the same image. Those hazel brown eyes. Those long lashes. That fleeting moment when time had slowed at the mandir.

His jaw clenched slightly. He needed to stop thinking about it.

Finishing his meal, he stood up, picked up his plate, and walked toward the sink. He washed his dishes with practiced ease, the sound of running water filling the space around him.

Then, without another word, he turned and made his way back to his room.

As he lay down on his bed, his eyes drifted shut, but peace didn't come.

Because the moment his lids closed, those same eyes returned, pulling him into a world he didn't understand.

____________

Here's Chapter 6 with 4.7k words! 🎉 I hope you all like it! 💖

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