Yami

Chapter 40: Pool of the winds

The pre-dawn air claws at my skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth that has pooled beneath me from the long grass. I hug my knees to my chest, the memory of Vikram's touch still tingling in my fingertips.

The days bled into weeks, each sunrise a stark reminder of my confinement. Serving meals, scrubbing floors, the monotony of the restaurant gnawed at me. Yet, amidst the drudgery, a spark of warmth had ignited.

Vikram Pratap Singh. The name echoed in my mind like a forgotten melody. Strong and silent, with eyes that held secrets and a smile that sent shivers down my body, he had become a beacon in this isolated world. Our interactions were brief, stolen glances exchanged over steaming plates of dal and roti. But the unspoken tension popped between us, a yearning for connection that transcended isolating the valley.

Suddenly, a rustle in the grass startled me. Harsh materialized beside me, his familiar presence grounding me. His lips remained sealed, but his presence offered a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions. We haven't been close always, Harsh and I. But we did love each other, even after everything that happened, his loyalty remains unwavering. Occasionally, we reminisce about the past, before chaos ensued. He recalls the time I sneaked out of the palace for the market festival by the river. I got so lost, and Harsh spent hours looking for me. Despite our disheveled state, Ruhaan laughed and warmly embraced both of us. Good times.

Sensing the storm brewing within me, Harsh silently reached out, his gentle squeeze on my shoulder a wordless balm to my troubled soul. "Whatever happens, Yami," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I'm here for you. You've been through enough. I won't let anything happen to you again."

His words, a balm to my troubled soul, brought tears to my eyes. In this desolate valley, Harsh was my rock, my anchor. He, unlike me, hadn't lost faith. His unwavering belief in me, even when I doubted myself, was a source of strength I couldn't ignore.

We sat in companionable silence for a while longer, the first rays of dawn painting the eastern sky in hues of orange and pink. A new day beckoned, filled with uncertainty, but also with a renewed resolve. With Harsh by my side, I wouldn't crumble. We'll find a way out, together.

I dwelled back on the memories as the chilly breezes were touching my face.

Vikram was strong. His calloused hands showed his work at the village stables and construction sites. His presence filled the small restaurant, a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions.

Then, one afternoon, a surge of resolute propelled me to break the silence. As I served Vikram his usual churma, I took a deep breath and spoke, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Vikram," I began, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Have you always lived here?"

With a raised eyebrow and a playful glint in his eyes, he rumbled a simple, "Aye." His deep voice washed over me like a warm caress, igniting a familiar spark within me. "These mountains cradled me, and these mountains will see me out." His words were simple, yet held a hidden weight, a secret melody waiting to be unraveled.

My curiosity, a playful pup tugging at the leash, battled with the fear at his response. "But what lies beyond?" I pressed, my voice laced with a hint of a challenge. "The crone's words painted a harsh picture–wind's fury and unforgiving terrain, but..." I trailed off, unsure how to voice the flit of optimism that danced in my chest.

A shadow glinted across his face, a fleeting emotion I couldn't quite grasp. It was a glimpse into the secrets he guarded so fiercely. He remained silent for a beat too long, his gaze fixed on the snow-capped peaks that loomed outside the window like silent sentinels.

Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with a quiet intensity. "There are stories, Yami," he said, his gaze returning to meet mine. "Stories passed down through generations. Legends of a place called the Pool of Winds, a hidden sanctuary nestled in the heart of the mountains."