Love Across Time

Sixty Nine

-𝓢𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝓮-

Aanya perched on a smooth riverbank stone, the current gurgling a melancholic lullaby beside her. They were on their way back to Hastinapura, the news of the Pandavas' survival having reached them like a bolt from the blue. Vidur himself had arrived, his gentle but firm demeanor leaving them with little choice but to return. As dusk painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting long shadows across the land, they decided to rest for the night.

Aanya hugged her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. The journey had been shrouded in a heavy silence, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions and constant communication that had characterized her time with Arjun. Now, even with him by her side, a physical presence but an emotional world away, a suffocating quiet enveloped her. The events of the past few days had spun her life on a dizzying axis. The once vibrant tapestry of their future together had been ripped apart, leaving behind loose threads and a gaping hole in her heart. Yet, a sliver of a thought, whispered on the wind like the rustling leaves, kept her from succumbing entirely to despair.

The faint jingle of anklets pierced the veil of Aanya's thoughts. Turning, she saw Draupadi approaching, her steps hesitant, her eyes filled with a question as vast as the twilight sky. Aanya managed a faint smile, a fragile gesture that did little to mask the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

"Are you angry with me, Aanya?" Draupadi asked softly, her voice barely a whisper on the wind.

Aanya frowned, the question a fresh sting in the tapestry of her heartache. "No," she finally shook her head, the word a sigh escaping her lips.  This wasn't a situation ripe for blame. Blame wouldn't mend their fractured lives, wouldn't erase the bitter truth that fate had dealt them a cruel hand. "It's no one's fault," she added, her voice barely audible.

Draupadi, ever perceptive, picked up on the unspoken weight in Aanya's words. "So, we can still be friends, right?" she ventured, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes.

Aanya felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Of course," she replied, her voice gaining a hint of its former strength. "Who wouldn't want to be friends with the Princess of Panchala?"

Draupadi's lips curved into a wry smile. "I thought maybe the Princess of Dwarka," she countered, her voice laced with a hint of self-deprecation.

Aanya's smile faltered for a brief moment. Dwarka. The word hung heavy in the air, a painful reminder of what could have been. A shadow flickered across Draupadi's face, perhaps sensing the unspoken hurt in Aanya's eyes.

Aanya stared out at the river, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The memory of Kanha's gentle yet firm refusal to take her back to Dwarka echoed in her ears. If she was truly the princess, wouldn't he have defied everything for her? The weight of that unspoken truth settled heavily in her heart.

Draupadi, sensing Aanya's need for solitude, turned and made her way back towards the camps. Aanya remained by the river long after darkness had fallen, the vast expanse of the night sky mirroring the emptiness within her. Exhaustion eventually claimed her, and she drifted off to sleep, only to be startled awake by the sensation of being lifted.

Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and she found herself nestled against a familiar warmth. Without a word, she leaned her head against the reassuring solidity of Arjun's chest, a silent plea for comfort in the storm.

Arjun, his own heart heavy with unspoken emotions, carried her back to their makeshift camp. He settled her gently onto a bed, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping open again, a flicker of anxiety replacing the sleepiness.