Love Across Time

Eighty Nine

Eid Mubarak!!!

-𝓦𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮-

The sun beat down on the desolate landscape, mirroring the bleak emptiness that had taken root in Aanya's heart. Life in exile felt like a cruel twist of fate, a nightmarish echo of the horrors she'd already endured. Gone was the warmth of her life, replaced by a suffocating isolation that clung to her like a shroud. Even the familiar faces of her people, etched with a silent concern that bordered on pity, offered no solace. Each look was a constant, searing reminder of the fall from grace that had stripped them bare.

The weight of the child growing within her felt like a burden, a constant reminder of a future that seemed unbearably bleak.  Even the most innocent touch, a brush of a hand or a glance filled with misplaced sympathy, sent a jolt of fear through her.  She flinched away, a wounded animal recoiling from a perceived threat.  The overwhelming need to be completely alone, to lick her wounds in the privacy of her own despair, was a constant ache.  But even that small respite was denied her. The constant, watchful eyes around her, cloaked in a concern that felt suffocating rather than comforting, only served to fuel her anger.

This wasn't the protection she desired.  Where were these watchful stares when she truly needed them? The memory of the Dyutsabha, etched in her mind with painful clarity, fueled a simmering resentment.  They couldn't shield her then, couldn't save her from the humiliation.  Now, their presence felt like a mockery, a reminder of their helplessness and her own vulnerability. Aanya longed for the warmth of her past life, for the unyielding love she once shared with Arjun.  But that too, felt like a distant memory, lost amidst the dust and despair of their exile.

The air crackled with a tension as thick as the dust swirling around their makeshift camp. Arjun, his eyes mirroring the stormy turmoil within Aanya, watched as she flinched at his outstretched hand reaching for the water pot. A strangled cry escaped her lips, shattering the fragile peace that had held precariously for a moment. "Don't, Arjun," her voice cracked, sharp with a tremor that threatened to erupt into sobs. "Don't pretend everything is the same.  Don't treat me like a porcelain doll in need of rescuing."  Her words, laced with a bitter edge, whipped through the air like a desert wind, stinging his soul.

Aanya's gaze, once filled with love and warmth, now held a depth of pain that mirrored the desolate landscape around them.  It was a pain that echoed his own, a reflection of the love they once shared and the wounds that festered raw and exposed. The sight of it ripped a fresh gash through his already broken heart.  "Aanya," his voice a hoarse whisper, barely audible above the whistling wind, "you are not broken. Never that. And I would never treat you like such."  He explained gently, "Panchali asked me to fetch the water. It's heavy, not safe for you with the life growing within you."

A harsh, humorless laugh escaped her lips, a stark contrast to the glistening tears clinging to her lashes. "So many things weren't safe for me, were they?" she spat, the words laced with a venomous irony that sent a shiver down his spine.  It was a reminder, a painful accusation echoing the helplessness that had consumed them both during the Dyutsabha.  Her gaze lingered on the water pot for a heartbeat before she turned away, her retreating form a testament to the chasm that had opened between them.  Arjun stood frozen, the weight of the water pot a mere feather compared to the crushing despair that settled upon him. He watched her go, his heart a desolate wasteland mirroring the world around him, a wasteland where their love, once a vibrant oasis, now lay parched and dying. 

Aanya retreated to a secluded corner of the hut, seeking refuge from the suffocating gaze of her people and the storm raging within her. Shame, acrid and bitter, burned a path down her throat, a stark counterpoint to the tears blurring her vision. She knew, with a dull ache in her chest, that her outburst had been unjust.  Arjun, his concern etched on his face, had simply been trying to help. Yet, his very presence served as a constant reminder, a raw nerve exposed.