Sahil walked into the courtyard, where his father, Manohar, sat with Chandan. They were deep in discussion, going over what gifts to send to the groom’s family .

“…gold bangles, silver utensils, and -” Manohar was saying.

Chandan nodded, but before he could respond, Sahil stepped forward.

“Bapu sa, ek baat poochni thi…”
(Father, I need to ask something...)

Manohar looked up, frowning slightly. 

“Kya hai ab?”
(What is it now?)

Sahil hesitated, then said, “Woh talab ke pass vali waali zameen… kya aap use bechne ka soch sakte hain?”
(The land near the pond… would you consider selling it?)

“Which one..?”

Manohar asked.

“The Ranjana named property, which is now under our name..”

Manohar froze.

Then, his eyes darkened. 

“Tumhari himmat kaise hui yeh sawaal poochhne ki?”
(How dare you even ask that?)

Chandan looked between them. He tried to interrupt .But Manohar’s anger only grew.

“Bhai sa-”

“Woh zameen? Jisey humne saalon pehle kabzaa kiya tha, khoon-pasine se? Tum bechne ki baat kar rahe ho?”
(That land? The one we claimed years ago, with blood and sweat? You're talking about selling it?)

“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?” he spat. “Aur phir se jua khela hoga… paisa haar gaye hoge. Isiliye zameen bechni hai?”
(And you’ve gambled again, I’m sure. Lost money. That’s why you want to sell the land, right?)

Sahil shook his head, trying to explain. “Nahi Baba sa, aisa kuch—”

But Manohar raised his hand to silence him.

“Woh zameen sirf Mugdha ke pati ko milegi. Maine will bana diya hai. Ab yeh faisla badalne ka sawal hi nahi uthta.”
(That land will only go to Mughda’s husband. I’ve made a will. There’s no question of changing the decision now.)

Sahil clenched his fists. He had expected resistance—but not this finality.

Later that afternoon, Mugdha approached her Bari Maa, who was busy sorting through wedding sarees in the verandah.

“Bari Maa… ek baat puchhni thi,” Mugdha said softly, hands folded behind her back.
(Bari Maa… I wanted to ask you something.)

Bari Maa didn’t look up. “Kya hai?”
(What is it?)

“Main soch rahi thi… mandir jaa loon. Bas thodi der ke liye.”
(I was thinking… I could go to the temple. Just for a little while.)

At this, Bari Maa raised her eyes sharply.

“Mandir? Tumhari shaadi fix ho chuki hai, Mugdha. Ab ghar ke bahar ghoomna phirna theek nahi lagta. Log kya kahenge?”
(The temple? Your marriage is already fixed, Mugdha. It’s not proper for you to wander outside now. What will people say?)

Mugdha hesitated, then said quietly, “Lekin mujhe mannat poori karni hai. Aakhri baar jaane do.”
(But I have to fulfill a vow. Let me go just this once.)

There was a long pause.

Finally, Kamini Devi—her Bari Maa—sighed. She knew Mugdha wouldn’t leave unless it’s a yes.

“Thik hai. Par akeli nahi jaaogi. Do guards ke saath jao. Aur jeep mein.”
(Alright. But you won’t go alone. Take two guards with you. And go in the jeep.)

Mugdha nodded, a faint smile appearing on her lips. “Sukriya, Bari Maa.”
(Thank you, Bari Maa.)

Later, as the sun began to dip in the sky, Mugdha dressed in a simple peach saree. She carefully prepared the puja thali, placing incense sticks, fresh marigolds, vermilion, and a small diya into it.

With quiet determination, she stepped out of the haveli and climbed into the waiting jeep, guards posted on either side.

The driver started the engine. The jeep rolled forward, the dust of the courtyard rising softly behind it.

Mugdha stepped quietly into the ancient Krishna Mandir, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The guards remained respectfully outside, giving her space.

Inside, the soft light from the oil lamps flickered across the marble idol of Lord Krishna. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine hung in the air.

Mugdha approached the sanctum slowly, her puja thali in hand. She placed it at the deity’s feet, folded her hands, and closed her eyes.

“Kanha ji… maine kya galti ki hai?”
(Lord Krishna… what mistake have I made?)

Her voice was a whisper, but filled with pain.

“Kya ek ladki ka apne jeevan saathi chune ka bhi koi haq nahi hota?”
(Does a girl not even have the right to choose her own life partner?)

“Main Chirag ko zara bhi pasand nahi karti. Uski woh bhookhi nazrein… mujhe darr lagta hai, Kanha ji.”
(I don’t like Chirag at all. His hungry eyes… they frighten me, Lord.)

Unbeknownst to her, someone was listening.

On the opposite side of the temple, Akhand Pratap Chaturvedi had just arrived for his own private prayers. Hearing the broken voice, he paused.

Something about it stirred a memory.

"Yeh awaaz… kahin suni hai maine..."
(This voice… I’ve heard it somewhere…)

Curious, he moved quietly toward the source of the voice, walking around the side of the temple to catch a glimpse of the speaker.

And then—he saw her.

The same girl.

The same girl who had fallen from the mango tree days ago, landing right on top of him in a whirlwind of flying leaves and startled laughter.

The same wavy hair.
The same soft, anxious eyes.

Akhand froze, his breath catching for a second.

"Toh yeh wohi hai..."
(So it is her...)

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though he quickly hid it. He stepped back into the shadows, not wanting to disturb her moment.

But one thing was now certain in Akhand’s mind:

This wasn’t a coincidence. This was something else.

Mugdha opened her eyes slowly after her prayer… and gasped.

Akhand was standing beside her, hands folded in quiet reverence.

She stumbled back slightly, startled. 

“Aap?! Yahan?!Kaise ?”
(You?! Here?!why!?)

Akhand turned his head toward her, a calm expression on his face.

“Jis wajah se tum aayi ho, usi wajah se main bhi.”
(The same reason that brought you here, brought me too.)

She looked at him, confused.

He continued, his voice softer now.
“Meri dadi kaha karti thi… jab kabhi man pareshaan ho, toh apne dil ki baat Khanna ji se keh do. Wo zaroor sunte hain.”
(My grandmother used to say… whenever your heart is troubled, share it with Lord Krishna. He always listens.)

Mugdha's eyes softened. She glanced at Khanna ji's idol once more, the flickering diya casting warm shadows.

“Woh toh hai…” she said quietly.
(That’s true...)

A brief silence settled between them. Peaceful. Honest.

Then Mugdha spoke, a small curiosity rising in her voice.

“Aap sheher se hain na?”
(You're from the city, right?)

Akhand chuckled, nodding with a spark in his eyes.
“Haan… lekin dil gaon mein hi reh gaya hai shayad.”
(Yes… but I think my heart got left behind in the village.)

Mugdha allowed herself a faint smile, the corners of her lips lifting.

For the first time in days, the weight in her chest felt just a little lighter.

Mugdha tilted her head slightly, a faint smile still lingering.

“Sheher ka dil gaon mein reh gaya? Yeh toh naya hai. Usually, gaon ke log sheher bhaag jaate hain.”
(A city man whose heart stayed in the village? That’s new. Usually, village folk run off to the city.)

Akhand raised an eyebrow, mock-offended.

“Aap toh mujhe sheher ka villain bana rahi ho, jaise koi filmon ka bad guy hoon.”
(You’re making me sound like a city villain, like one of those film bad guys.)

Mugdha suppressed a laugh. “Nahi… villain toh nahi. Lekin thode alag zaroor ho.”
(Not a villain... but definitely different.)

Akhand grinned. “Alag? Achha, matlab smart, charming, aur handsome?”
(Different? As in smart, charming, and handsome?)

Mugdha rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

“Zyada hi soch rahe ho apne baare mein.”
(You’re thinking too highly of yourself.)

He shrugged with mock pride. “Kya karein, maa kehti thi khud ki tarif khud kar lo, warna log toh jalte hi hain.”
(What to do? My mother used to say—if you don’t praise yourself, others will just get jealous.)

Mugdha laughed now—light and real.
Something about this stranger felt… easy.

“Aur waise bhi, jo mango tree se ladkiyaan pakadta ho, uska confidence toh high hi hoga.”
(And anyway, someone who catches girls falling from mango trees must have pretty high confidence.)

Akhand pretended to think. “Haan, woh scene toh filmy tha… par hero ka entry bhi toh dhamakedaar tha, hai na?”
(True, that was a filmy scene… but the hero's entry was quite dramatic, wasn’t it?)

Mugdha shook her head, still laughing. The temple bells rang softly in the background, as if echoing their growing connection.

Just then, one of the guards peeked into the temple.

Mugdha glanced toward the door, then back at Akhand.

“Mujhe jaana hoga…”
(I have to go…)

“Why stay na..i didn’t find any guide who can tour me the whole village.”

“Find someone else as a guide. I have many work to do..”

Mugdha said and started to walking out, But Akhand was standing there, he whispered.

“But i want you as my guide..!”

As Mugdha walked out with her guards, she paused and looked back once.

He was still standing there, smiling.

And for the first time, she wasn’t dreading her return home.

And with that, Mugdha stepped into the jeep, still smiling—unknowingly carrying a warmth that wasn’t there when she left the haveli.

Back at the Haveli, Mugdha returned just as twilight turned the sky dusky purple. The air was heavy with the scent of turmeric and cardamom—the kitchen busy preparing sweets for the first round of wedding rituals. Inside, Kamini Devi was now seated with two neighborhood women, going over sarees and heirloom jewelry laid out on white sheets.

Mugdha quietly entered the room.

“There you are,” Bari Maa said without looking up, her voice sharp but not unkind.

 “Do you even realise how much work is pending? Shaadi choudah din mein hai. Aur tum temple ki sair pe ho?”

(Do you realise how much work is pending? The wedding is in fourteen days. And you’re off on a temple excursion?)

Mugdha didn’t reply. Instead, she bent down to help fold a red Banarasi saree, carefully placing it back into the polished wooden trunk. Kamini walked out.

Kusum  noticed the softness in her expression.

 “Kya hua?”
(What happened?)

“Wahan...mandir mein...shanti thi,” Mugdha said, not meeting her eyes.
(There was peace… at the temple.)

Kusum nodded slowly, as if understanding more than Mugdha had said aloud. She didn’t press further.

Suddenly, a loud laugh rang out from the courtyard. It was Sahil, somewhat drunk again, leaning against the pillar, talking animatedly to a servant.

“He is again fighting with his father..!”

Kusum spoke, arranging some more sarees.

Mugdha looked up, tension flashing across her features. “Bhai sa phir se...?”

(Brother again..!!)

Kusum  sighed. “Haan. Tumhare Bare papa ne use zameen se na keh diya. Ab uska nasha aur gussa dono upar hai.”
(Yes. Your Bare papa refused to give him the land. Now he’s drowning in both alcohol and anger.)

Mugdha said nothing,this wan’t new. 

The following afternoon, clouds loomed heavy over the village, casting a strange gloom even though it hadn’t rained. The stillness in the air hinted that something was about to shift.

At the far end of the old mango orchard, just beyond the village boundary, Akhand Pratap Chaturvedi waited beneath a neem tree. He wore a plain white shirt and  a denim jeans , sunglasses are resting on his eyes. His phone buzzed once—Sahil was nearby.

Soon, Sahil arrived, reeking faintly of alcohol and chewing a paan, his shirt half tucked, as usual. He looked both nervous and intrigued.

“Bulaaya tha?” he asked, wiping his mouth.
(You called?)

Akhand didn’t waste time.

“Seedhi baat karta hoon,” he said, voice steady. “Woh zameen... mujhe chahiye.”
(I’ll be direct. That land… I want it.)

“”If the documents get transferred in my name … I’ll give you 50 lakhs.”

The number hung in the air like thunder before the storm.

Sahil’s eyes widened.

“Pachaas lakh?”
(Fifty lakhs?)

Akhand didn’t repeat himself. He simply stared.

Sahil licked his lips. “Lekin… wo toh Bapu sa ne will mein Mugdha ke hone wale pati ke naam likh diya hai…”
(But… Bapu sa already put it in the will, for Mugdha’s future husband…)

Akhand didn’t flinch. 

“Who is this Mugdha..??”

Sahil paused… then let out a dry laugh.

“She is my Chacha’s daughter.”

“Whatever!! I don’t care..who she is, i only care about my land…Sahil remember if you don’t get me the land, you have give me my money back. I hope you remember what deal we have..! ”

“Yes, i remember. Akahnd Bhai..why you are worrying. I said this land will be yours, means it will be..This Sahil knows how to keep his promise !!”

Sahil spoke.

“Good to know.”

As Akhand  walked away, counting his sudden fortune, a sharp glint of ambition entered his gaze.

Mugdha stood on the terrace, hair open, letting the wind tangle it freely. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sahil walk in through the gate, unusually cheerful, his swagger louder than usual.

Something about him unsettled her.

“Yeh chup nahi baithne wala,” she whispered to herself.
(He’s not going to sit quietly…)

What she didn’t know was that her brother had just sold the soil .

Two Days Later

The morning sunlight filtered through the dusty windows.

Akhand stood with arms folded, nodding as the architect explained.

“The design is ready, Akhand ji. The school will come up first, followed by the hospital block. Foundation work will take a full week, then we move to brickwork, electricals—”

“How many days?” Akhand interrupted.

The architect hesitated. “At least seventy-five. Maybe more, depending on labour and—”

“Make it happen in thirty,” Akhand said coldly, stepping closer. “I don’t care what it takes. Triple the workers, double the pay, bring in machines from Delhi if you have to. But the building—the school—must be ready in one month.”

The architect adjusted his glasses, visibly nervous now. “But sir, the cost—”

“Cost is not your concern,” Akhand cut in. “Time is. Deliver on time, or don’t deliver at all.”

The architect nodded quickly, gathering his files. “Understood, sir.”

As the man left, Akhand stood alone in the room, facing the framed photo of his late mother—Rajana Pratap Chaturvedi. A woman whose eyes, even in stillness, seemed to hold the quiet wisdom of a hundred sacrifices.

He exhaled.

“Main kar raha hoon maa,” he murmured. “Jo aap chahti thi. Ek school… jahan sapne paida hote hain.”

(I'm doing it, maa. What you wanted. A school… where dreams are born.)

He turned to the window, watching the land near the pond—the very soil that was once disputed, and now,going to his.

And yet, the moment didn’t feel triumphant.

His thoughts wandered back to the temple, to the girl with the storm in her eyes and a prayer on her lips.

To Mugdha.

Flashback

He was just Akhand Pratap, a first-year MBA student with a scholarship and a flute that rarely left his side. Every evening after lectures, he would walk to the pier near Santa Monica, play old Hindustani ragas, and lose himself in sound.

It was there he met a music professor who once told him,
“Your hands play flute, but your soul wants to sing.”

And he did sing—secretly, in underground clubs, at student fests, and once at a South Asian concert where he received a standing ovation. It was the happiest he had ever been.

Until the call came from India.

His father, Paratap Chaturvedi, had suffered a mild heart attack.

Akhand flew back immediately.

By the time Paratap recovered, Akhand’s fate had been rewritten. His father made it clear: No music. No foolish dreams. Just politics or business.

“You are a Chaturvedi. Our name builds power—not poetry,” his father had said.

And so, Akhand locked away his music, graduated with top honors in business, and became what he was told to be.

A calculated mind with a silenced soul.

But now…

Now, something had changed.

Present

A soft knock at the door.

It was Brijesh, the project supervisor.

“Sir, Everything's on track. The designs are ready.”

Akhand nodded. “Good. Keep it quiet..”

“Understood, sir.”

Sneak peek- Chapter 14

“Main shaadi kar rahi hoon… kisi aur se. ”
(“I’m getting married… to someone else. ”)

“Us din… aapki yeh doori bhi bachaa nahi paayegi aapko.”
(“On that day… even your distance won’t be enough to protect you from what you’ve lost.”)

She turned and walked away—head high, steps firm.

Akhand didn’t chase after her.