Ashnoor Rajput never believed in miracles-or curses. After losing her parents, she lived a quiet life until one terrifying night, while running for her life, she stumbled through a mysterious door... only to wake up in the 16th century.
A world rule...
Darkness slowly covered the sky. The stars appeared one by one. The procession quietly left the temple.
The palanquin moved gently along the forest path while torches flickered beside the soldiers. Inside... Ashnoor rested her head against the wooden frame of the palanquin and remained silent . But every time she closed her eyes... She saw him. His rough hands protecting her from falling. His astonished gaze. Those impossibly beautiful brown eyes. Unknowingly, her fingertips brushed the place on her waist where he had held her.
"Tu yye sab kya soch rhi hai , pap lage ga tujhe" "What are you thinking, it's a sin ?" she scolded herself. "tujhe uska nam tak nhi pta to or tu uske bare me ese soch rhi hai!" "You don't even know his name and here you are thinking him like this !."
"me to us se kbhi mimili bhi nhi phir kyu mere sapne me ata hai itne time se ... hey bhagwan...ye konsi mahima hai apki?"
I've never even met him before today... then why has he been appearing in my dreams for so long?
Oh God... what kind of divine mystery is this?
Yet... Her heart refused to listen.
Shyama smiled teasingly.
"You've been unusually quiet since we left."
"No..." Ashnoor replied absentmindedly. "I was just... thinking." Thinking?
She wasn't thinking. She was reliving every single second. His rough hands. His scent.
His voice. Those eyes... Again and again. Without realizing it... A tiny smile appeared on her lips.
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Outside, Harshvardhan glanced once toward her palanquin.
"She must be tired." He had no idea. Sleep would be the last thing visiting
few hours ago... The traitor knelt inside an abandoned storage house near the temple, his hands tightly bound behind his back. Suraj stood on one side. Umang on the other. Several soldiers guarded every entrance.
The captured traitor knelt on the cold ground, his wrists tightly bound. His face was bruised, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Around him stood nearly thirty royal soldiers, their swords drawn. No one spoke. Because he was there. Abhimaan slowly descended the stone steps. Each measured footstep echoed through the silence. The soldiers instinctively lowered their heads. Even the wind seemed to still. Abhimaan slowly walked toward the prisoner. His footsteps echoed through the silent room. He crouched until they were eye level. His expression remained unreadable. and voice was calm. Almost gentle. "Where is the scroll?" The traitor spat blood onto the ground. "I know nothing." A long silence followed. Abhimaan neither frowned nor raised his voice. He simply looked at the man. The silence itself became unbearable. Finally... He turned away. "Suraj." "Yes, Maharaj." "The left hand." The traitor's eyes widened. "W-Wait-" Before he could finish, two soldiers forced him to the ground. A sharp scream echoed through the deserted courtyard. The remaining soldiers looked away. Only Abhimaan remained unmoved. He spoke calmly, without turning around. "I do not ask the same question twice." The traitor trembled violently. "I... I hid it!" Abhimaan stopped walking.
