Hello butterflies  🦋 .

It's your author.  I am divided  the final chapter into 2 parts 25 - 26

The main arrival 

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Return to Mahabaleshgarh

The journey back was long.

When the gates of Mahabaleshgarh opened, everything looked grand and disciplined as always.

Mahabaleshgarh

The castle welcomed its prince.

The forest reclaimed its exile.

Shubman returned to silk robes, court meetings, royal guards bowing at every step.

Ishan returned to the quiet cave in the forest—birds, wind, and the sound of leaves brushing against stone.

Everything was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

For Shubman, it felt normal.

For Ishan…

It felt like silence before a storm.

---

One Day Later

Ishan sat outside his cave, legs crossed, holding the flute Amarjevan had once given him.

It was carved with strange patterns—almost alive under his fingers.

He didn’t think much.

He just played.

A slow, haunting melody drifted into the forest.

The notes were unfamiliar… but ancient.

The tune echoed through the trees.

It was Pasangmarag—a forbidden devotional melody once sung in secret temples of Madhuri Sundari Devi.

Madhuri Sundari Devi

Ishan didn’t know that.

He played it unknowingly.

But the forest reacted.

The wind stilled.

Birds flew away suddenly.

The air grew heavy.

And then—

A voice.

Amar jevan: "Maat bajao yeh dhun.”

Ishan’s fingers froze.

Amarjevan stood a few steps away.

He hadn’t approached.

He hadn’t walked.

He was simply… there.

But this time, his face wasn’t calm.

It was tense.

afraid.

Amar jevan: “ Sitapuram kaisa tha ?”

Amarjevan asked, voice steady but eyes scanning the forest like he sensed something unseen.

Ishan smiled softly and told him everything.

About the house.

About the fair.

About Shubman.

About the promise.

Amarjevan listened carefully.

Too carefully.

When Ishan finished, Amarjevan’s gaze shifted to the flute.

Amarjevan: “Or kabhi maat bajana yeh dhunn .”

Ishan: “Kyun?”

Ishan asked.

Before Amarjevan could answer—

Footsteps.

Strong. Familiar.

Shubman.

Amarjevan’s eyes flickered.

And in the blink of an eye—

He vanished.

Not ran.

Not hid.

Vanished.

Shubman arrived moments later.

Shubman:  “Tum yahan akela baith ke kya kar rahe ho?”

Ishan: “Bas… bansuri baja raha tha,”

Ishan replied quietly.

Shubman didn’t notice anything strange.

But after he left—

Amarjevan didn’t return.

Not that evening.

Not that night.

Darkness in the forest had never frightened Ishan before.

It had always felt like protection.

But that night—

It felt suffocating.

The shadows seemed thicker.

The wind colder.

For the first time in many days, Ishan couldn’t sleep.

He kept hearing the echo of that melody in his head.

Pasangmarag.

Like something had listened.

And something had answered.

The day finally arrived.

Three kingdoms would gather.

Devi Puram, Sitapuram

Mahabaleshgarh was decorated with flowers and paintings.

Music filled the  grounds and villages .

Ishan stood inside a quiet cave , preparing.

He carefully picked up the binder, wrapping it tightly around himself.

His fingers trembled slightly.

He wasn’t sure why.

As he struggled to tie the final knot—

Two hands gently touched his back.

He stiffened.

Shubman: “Aram se,”

Shubman murmured.

Shubman adjusted the fabric carefully, making sure it wasn’t too tight.

His movements were gentle.

Intentional.

When he finished, he didn’t step away.

He wrapped his arms around Ishan from behind.

Shubman: “hum aj khushhai,”

he said softly.

Ishan leaned back slightly into him.

Ishan: “Sach?”

Shubman:  “Haan. Aaj sab kuch theek hoga.”

He paused, then added casually—

Shubman: “rajkumari Shanvi bhi aa rahi hai mela mein.”

Ishan’s face brightened.

Ishan: “Sach? Itne Dino baad milege hum !”

Shubman: “Haan.”

Shubman smiled.

But even in that embrace—

Ishan’s chest felt tight.

The castle was lively.

The sky was clear.

The festival had begun.

And yet—

Something didn’t feel right.

Like invisible eyes were watching.

Like the melody he played had opened something that couldn’t be closed.

Shubman held him closer.

____

By sunset, the royal grounds of Mahabaleshgarh were glowing with thousands of oil lamps.

Mahabaleshgarh

Sitapuram

Devi Puram

Colorful tents lined the open fields. Musicians from Devi Puram played dhol and veena. Merchants from Sitapuram displayed silks and ornaments. Royal guards stood in disciplined rows while villagers laughed freely between them.

It was unity.

It was celebration.

It was politics wrapped in festivity.

As decided—

Shubman entered with his royal family.

Crown light resting on his head.

Sword at his side.

Perfect prince.

Ishan entered from the villagers’ side.

Simple attire.

Face calm.

Heart restless.

They had agreed to meet somewhere inside.

No one would question two people crossing paths in a fair.

Or so they believed.

__

As Ishan stepped into the crowd, a sudden strong gust of wind swept across the ground.

The lamps flickered violently.

The banners twisted sharply.

For a brief second, the music faltered.

The wind brushed past Ishan like a warning.

Like someone whispering—

Turn back.

But he didn’t understand.

He only wrapped his shawl tighter and continued walking.

Everything seemed normal again.

Too normal.

---

Near a traditional puppet show, Ishan saw him.

Aarav stood with royal guards beside him, dressed as the Prince of Sitapuram.

For a moment, their eyes met.

But this wasn’t House of Sitapuram.

This wasn’t warmth.

This was court.

Ishan bowed slightly like a common villager.

Aarav’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

Aarav: “Tum ko dek kar acha laga ”

he asked formally.

Ishan: “ji, Rajkumar,”

Ishan replied just as formally.

The distance .

But it was necessary.

Aarav gave the faintest nod.

Then the prince turned away.

And Ishan became just another face in the crowd.

---

Drawn by shimmering colors, Ishan stopped near a bangle shop.

Glass bangles in red, green, blue—stacked in circles like tiny rainbows.

He picked one up absentmindedly.

The shopkeeper smiled.

Dukandar:  “Kisi ke liye?”

Ishan hesitated.

Ishan:  “Shayad.”

And then—

A hand slipped around his waist.

Firm.

Familiar.

He froze.

Shubman stood behind him, smiling slightly.

No crown now.

No royal stiffness.

Just Shubman.

Shubman:“Chupke se ghoom rahe ho?” he murmured softly.

Ishan’s heart skipped.

Ishan: “Aapko kisne bola aise darane ko?”

Shubman’s hand tightened slightly at his waist.

For a second—

They forgot the world.

---

From across the stall.

Behind a half-shadowed pillar.

A pair of sharp eyes caught the moment.

The hand on the waist.

The softness in Shubman’s expression.

The closeness that was not political.

It's not appropriate.

Not royal.

The smile faded from Shubman’s face slowly.

Because he felt it.

That stare.

He turned his head slightly.

And saw.

His expression darkened instantly.

Not fear.

It's not shame.

Something colder.

Recognition.

He withdrew his hand calmly.

Shubman:“Main baad mein milta hoon,”

he said quietly to Ishan.

Before Ishan could ask—

Shubman stepped back into the crowd.

His posture straightened.

Prince again.

And he walked away toward whoever had witnessed them.

Ishan stood there frozen.

The bangles trembled slightly in his hand.

The wind returned again.

Stronger this time.

And somewhere deep inside—

That silent-before-the-storm feeling grew louder.

To be continue....

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Stay tuned 😉