The halls of the royal palace were quiet, yet the air hung heavy with unspoken truths. Subhadra moved through them like a quiet breeze, her mind still echoing with Karna's words beneath the peepal tree.
She paused before the door of Kunti's chamber, her hand hovering just above the wooden frame.
Then, without knocking, she entered.
Kunti looked up from the small lamp she had lit. Her face wore the softness of a mother, but her eyes had the fatigue of a soul long burdened.
"You've come," Kunti said simply.
Subhadra nodded. "I needed to."
A long silence followed before the younger woman stepped forward and sat beside her.
"Kaki," she said gently, "how long will you carry the weight of silence?"
Kunti looked away. "Some truths burn more than they heal."
"But some truths," Subhadra replied, "are not meant to be buried. Especially not when they could bring peace to someone you love."
Kunti's hand trembled as she reached for the flame. "You mean Karna."
"I saw him tonight," Subhadra said. "And I called him brother."
Kunti closed her eyes, pain flashing across her face.
"I knew it was him from the moment I first saw him. The way he stood, the way my heart clenched. He is my son, Subhadra. My firstborn. And I gave him away before I even learned how to be a mother."
Subhadra gently took her hand. "But you still can be one. You can still choose him, now."
Kunti's lips quivered. "Would he forgive me?"
Subhadra looked toward the window, where moonlight danced across the stone floor.
"He's angry, yes. But not blind. And not unloving. If you tell him... he might not embrace you at once. But he will hear you."
Kunti let her tears fall silently. "The battle lines are already being drawn. And all I see are my sons, walking towards each other with swords drawn."
Subhadra pressed her forehead to Kunti's shoulder. "Then let love be your sword, Kaki. Not silence."
---
Scene Shift: Draupadi's Chamber
The cool night air stirred the sheer curtains of Draupadi's room as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her crown sat untouched on the table. She wore no jewels tonight.
Just as she reached to unpin her hair, a soft knock came at the door.
She turned. "Come in."
It was Arjun.
He stood awkwardly at the threshold, not quite the warrior, not quite the prince—just a man unsure of the right words.
"Draupadi," he said.
She met his eyes. "Arjun."
There was a long pause.
"I... needed to talk," he said, stepping in. "To say things I should've said long ago."
She tilted her head. "Then speak."
Arjun drew in a breath.
"I failed you," he began. "In another time, another life... I couldn't protect you. I let your pain fester while I drowned in duties. I never asked how you felt, only assumed you were fine."
Draupadi's expression didn't change, but her hands slowly stilled.
"I remember everything now," he whispered. "Everything I didn't say. Everything I couldn't."
He took a step closer.
"I loved you. I still do. But I never gave you the peace you deserved. I was always rushing—into battles, into dharma, into silence."
His fists clenched.
"I don't know what this life holds. But if you'll let me, I want to be better. Not as a warrior. As your Arjun. Not someone who loves from afar—but someone who shows it."
Draupadi looked at him for a long time. Then, quietly, she said, "You were always mine, Arjun. Even when I had to share you with the world."
He closed his eyes, a silent promise forming in his heart:
This time, you will never cry alone.
---
Scene Shift: Fields Beyond the Palace
Vrushali walked along the edge of the cow pastures, the night heavy with silence. She hugged her shawl closer around her shoulders.
Karna... my Karna… you've gone too far ahead. Perhaps I was foolish to dream.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she sat beside the stone path. The grass rustled nearby. A cowherd approached, barefoot, holding a flute, a peacock feather tucked into his headband.
"Strange place for tears, my child," the stranger said gently.
Vrushali looked up, startled. "Who are you?"
He smiled. "A friend to broken hearts. Tell me—why do you cry?"
She blinked, unsure why, but the words tumbled out. "Because he's not mine anymore. He's a king. And I'm just… Vrushali."
The man's eyes sparkled like stars. "Ah. So you think love is measured by crowns and positions?"
She looked down. "Isn't it?"
"No," he said, sitting beside her. "Love is not a throne to be earned. It is a home to be found. Even kings long for that home."
Vrushali turned to him, tears streaking her cheeks. "But what if he forgets me?"
He chuckled softly. "Then remind him. Not with grandeur, but with the truth of your heart. Karna is a man of fire—but you, Vrushali, you are the rain that softens his edges."
Her breath hitched. "Who are you?"
The man stood, brushing his dhoti with a playful smile. "Just someone who's seen too many stories end in silence."
He turned, flute in hand. "Tell him you waited. He will hear you."
And with that, the cowherd vanished into the mist, the soft tune of his flute echoing behind him.
---🌙 "Some bonds are not born of blood, but of choice—
of glances shared in silence,
of truths spoken beneath moonlight,
and promises made between broken hearts."
🕊 In a kingdom torn by fate,
love still dares to bloom
between the echoes of war.