The moon hung heavy above the village, casting silver threads across the cracked earth and weary rooftops. For the first time since the fire, the air no longer smelled of ash—but of cumin, ghee, and something warmer.
Hope.
At the temple courtyard, a feast was quietly unfolding. No banners, no declarations, no priests chanting aloud. Just people — tired, scarred, still aching — gathering around earthen plates and flickering lamps.
At the center of it stood Anaya and Yuvan, side by side.
Anaya ladled dal with practiced hands, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a smear of flour on her cheek. She did not smile, but her eyes softened at the sight of each bowl leaving her hands. Every child fed. Every elder served.
Yuvan, next to her, looked vastly different from the aloof heir he had once been. His kurta was patched. His fingers were burned red from stoking fires. But he had earned every stain. Every blister.
He served rice with the focus of a man who had never cooked but desperately wanted to get it right.
"You're scooping too much," Anaya murmured.
Yuvan paused. "So?"
"Leave enough for seconds."
He glanced at her. "Planning ahead. You're always doing that."
She gave a small shrug. "I've had to."
He didn't reply, but the respect in his silence said enough.
One old woman reached them — skin like bark, eyes sharp. She pointed at Yuvan. "You. Zamindar's boy. You give me my share."
Yuvan tensed. Then gently scooped rice onto her plate.
The old woman studied him. "Not so soft now, eh?"
"No," Yuvan said. "I think I needed some burning."
The old woman huffed and walked away. But her plate was full.
🌿 In the heavenly realm…
A gust of scented wind stirred the petals beneath Mount Meru.
Narad Muni sat humming on a lotus leaf, plucking his veena. "Mmm… humility seasoned with lentils. What a rare dish indeed!"
Lord Vishnu, reclining on Sheshnaag, opened one eye with a serene smile. "He has begun to taste selflessness. But the tongue of the soul still craves more."
Lakshmi, her golden form radiant, whispered, "And she has begun to trust... if only in glimpses."
Parvati, arms folded, added, "They carry the weight of past wounds. But today, they carried each other's burden."
Shiva, calm and ever still, said, "Then let the vow be sealed. Not with words. But with action."
A divine parchment unrolled across the skies, etched with light.The words: "Let this life's first promise be marked — that neither shall let the other go hungry, not in body, nor soul."
Brahma dipped his quill.Saraswati wrote the date.Ganesha smiled, tusk glowing faintly.
That night, when the villagers returned to their huts, Anaya and Yuvan remained.
The courtyard was quiet. The fire low.
"You didn't have to do all this," Anaya said softly.
"I did," Yuvan replied. "Not for them. For me."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I wanted to see if I could be useful when no one was watching," he added.
Anaya looked at the leftover food. At the empty plates. At the peace that hung in the space between them.
"You were," she admitted. "Today."
He smiled. "One day is a start."
Their eyes met.
Not in love.Not yet.
But in recognition.
Of effort. Of pain. Of something starting to mend.
"Will you leave tomorrow?" she asked.
"No," he said. "I want to stay through the rains. Help with the next harvest."
Anaya's face didn't change, but her breath caught. That was more than a promise. That was presence.
🌾 Above, Narada whispered to Vishnu,"They're not in love. But something roots itself. A bond."
Vishnu nodded. "Let it grow. Slow roots do not snap in storms."
Lakshmi added, "And perhaps… the famine was never in their bellies, but in their hearts."
As dawn approached, a soft rumble echoed from the skies — not thunder, but a sign.
Deep within the hills, far from the village, the first green shoots pushed up through cracked earth.
A place untouched for seasons.
A sacred grove once thought dead.
And in the center of it, carved faintly into stone:
"To give without pride. To receive without shame."
The words shimmered.
The first vow had been fulfilled.
But destiny was already stirring.
And somewhere, a rider was making his way to Vaishali — bringing not food or aid… but trouble.
In healing the hunger between them, they had unknowingly drawn attention.For peace does not sit well with those who profit from division.