Veer sat on the cold, unwelcoming floor of their bedroom. The room that once echoed with her soft laughter now felt suffocatingly silent, a haunting reminder of her absence. His restless eyes roamed the space, landing on small pieces of her—her jhumka carelessly placed on the dressing table, her colorful bangles lying scattered. These delicate things felt like fragments of a life slipping away from him. His chest tightened, and his gray eyes filled with tears that he refused to let fall. For Veer Shekhavat, tears were a weakness, and weakness was a luxury he could not afford.

Suddenly, a familiar padding sound reached his ears. Rudra entered the room, his majestic white tiger moving with an uncharacteristic heaviness. Over the past three days, Rudra had become a shadow of himself, wandering the jungle with restless desperation as though searching for her, howling into the wilderness, waiting for her return. Now, his fiery spirit seemed extinguished.