5. The First Meet.
Aditi's POV:
I was immersed in signing books and connecting with my readers, feeling a wave of joy as they expressed their appreciation for both my work and me. It was a moment I wished could last forever, a fleeting slice of happiness that felt like a warm embrace. The room buzzed with excitement, laughter, and the rustle of pages being turned, each interaction a reminder of why I poured my heart into my writing.
"Ma'am, I've read all your books! You're my favorite author. And that character, Yashomitra, Prince Dhrupad—I've even imagined him as my husband!" a young fan exclaimed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with admiration.
"Oh, I bet you were really upset by the ending," I replied, trying to convey a hint of sadness, knowing all too well the emotional rollercoaster I had put my readers through. The ending had been a bold choice, one that had sparked countless debates and discussions among my fans.
As we chatted, I glanced up at the line of fans waiting for their turn, each face a blend of anticipation and eagerness.
My gaze landed on a man at the far end of the room, dressed in a hoodie that obscured most of his features. I looked down briefly, but my eyes were inexplicably drawn back to him. He was staring at me with an intensity that was hard to ignore, as if he could see right through the facade I wore.
He was undeniably the most attractive man I had ever seen. Even with his hair concealed, his features were strikingly perfect. His strong jawline and deep-set eyes seemed to hold countless untold stories, a depth that intrigued me. There was something magnetic about him, a pull that made my heart race.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe. The line moved, and someone spoke to me, but the world around me faded as I focused solely on him.
I watched him take a few steps closer, completely captivated, my heart pounding in my chest. The noise of the event dimmed, and all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, echoing in my ears.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my right arm. Blood began to flow, and I heard screams erupt around me:
"How could you kill him?? He was the heart of the story! You ruined the entire book at the end!"
In an instant, I realized who she was referring to—YASH (Prince Yashomitra). The character I had crafted with such care.
I noticed the hoodie-clad figure sprinting towards me, his silhouette cutting through the chaos of the crowd. In an instant, he seized the girl's wrist, his grip firm and unyielding, and yanked the knife from her trembling fingers. The blade clattered to the ground, a sharp sound that sliced through the noise of the bustling event, and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, he quickly restrained her, pinning her down with a surprising ease.
For the first time, I heard him speak, his voice low and gravelly, yet oddly calm amidst the turmoil.
"Calm down, girl. Let's not spoil the fun."
His rough voice resonated deeper than the Arabian Sea, carrying an authority that seemed to quell the girl's panic. I watched as he turned to me, his eyes piercing through the shadows of his hood. He gently took my injured arm in his hands, his touch surprisingly tender, and asked, "Are you hurt?"
I stammered, caught off guard by the sudden shift in focus. "Yes... No—" My words tangled in my throat, a mix of confusion and gratitude, but I was abruptly interrupted by the concerned figures of Yash and Shikha Di rushing over, their faces etched with worry as they realized the gravity of the situation.
"Are you okay, Aditi? Show me your hand! How could this happen with so many people around?" Yash's voice was laced with urgency, his eyes darting between me and the girl still struggling against the hoodie man.
"I... I'm fine... Yash..." I tried to reassure him, but the tremor in my voice betrayed my unease.
"I can't believe some people are so immature that they would hurt someone over a fictional character!" Shikha Di exclaimed, her indignation palpable. She had always been the voice of reason, and her protective instincts kicked in full force.
"Don't worry, Shikha Di. I'm okay. It's just a small cut. I was saved just in time by hi—" My words trailed off as I turned back to thank the hoodie man, but to my dismay, he had vanished into the throng of people, as if he had never been there at all.
Yash was now holding my injured hand, examining the small cut that marred my skin. I felt a pang of disappointment for not being able to express my gratitude to the mysterious figure who had intervened so decisively.
Yash and Shikha Di took me to the rest room to apply first-aid. However, I was still lost in his thoughts.
Arjun Singh Rathod. (Rudranath):
A fury of fire was burning inside me. Today was the day, I was going to finally meet her. I could've found her earlier if not for her intricate privacy. Everything about her life was kept private. But, the day has finally arrived. Her end is near.
I wanted to learn each and everything about her. Her family, friends, who she loved, everything she touched till date. In order to destroy her, I will have to get closer to her as much as possible.
I reached the venue in time. I saw a large crowd in the top front corner of the room. I knew, she was there.
While I was entering the event gate, a young girl crashed into me and a sharp knife fell from her jacket. When she saw me, she quickly picked up the knife and put it back in her jacket.
"Sorry!Don't mind ••••but I always carry it •••for self ••••defence...", She stuttered heavily.
Lies. Panic was clearly visible in her eyes. I nodded my head and stood besides the door away from the large crowd. I saw the girl get in queue with a book in her hand. I instantly knew what she was upto. This Mrs.Writer named Aditi, must have a lot of haters, I thought.
After some time, when the number of people lessened, I saw her for the first time. She was smiling and talking to one of her fans. She looked ethereal like a pretty flower in the backyard. She wore a simple saree with only long earrings. She seemed too kind to destroy a small leaf. I fell for her beautiful smile for a split of a second.
Then, I remembered who she was. She was the one behind my suffering. The killing of my family. Crowning of Prince Dhrupad, everything was her doing. And suddenly, her beauty pierced me like a rose-thorn. Rage engulfed within me. I wanted to kill her right at the moment. But I knew,
"Death is not the main course, it is a dessert. "
Hence, I had to wait. Wait for the right moment.
I took slow steps towards the front when I saw the girl with knife get closer to Mrs.Writer.
"I won't let you die such a easy death, sweetheart." , I thought.
The girl extended her hand to Mrs. Writer for a handshake, her expression a mask of innocence. Just as Mrs. Writer lifted her right hand to meet hers, the girl's demeanor shifted in an instant. With a swift motion, she revealed a knife, its blade glinting ominously under the harsh fluorescent lights. The cut was quick but precise, a flash of violence that sent a jolt through the air. I found myself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, my heart racing as I anticipated her attack on Mrs. Writer. A dark part of me wished for the girl to inflict pain on her, a twisted sense of justice rising within me. I recognized my own feelings mirrored in her actions, a reflection of the turmoil I had experienced upon discovering the truth about my own past.
When the girl didn't stop after that initial strike, a surge of adrenaline propelled me forward. I rushed to her side, grabbing her wrist with a grip that felt both desperate and determined. I forced the knife down to the ground, the blade clattering against the floor, a sound that echoed in the tense silence. The girl cried out for help, her voice a mixture of fear and rage, but soon her cries morphed into sobs. She blamed Mrs. Writer for the death of her favorite character, her anguish spilling over like a dam that had finally broken. I could see the pain etched on her face, a raw emotion that resonated deeply within me.
- YASH. Understandable.
In that moment, I was reminded of my own struggles, of the prince charming that every girl dreamed of. He was the embodiment of perfection, yet he and I once shared a unique connection that felt like a fragile thread woven through the fabric of our lives. Before I turned against the second prince, I had believed in the bond we shared, a bond that had been shattered when I uncovered the truth about my family's murder.
He had always been obedient, loving, and kind, a beacon of light in a world that often felt dark and unforgiving. I knew he valued me for who I was, but deep down, I realized I would always be second to his brother, the golden child who could do no wrong. That realization gnawed at me, a constant reminder of my place in a world that favored the firstborn. Because of that, I couldn't bring myself to trust him with the truth, the heavy burden I carried alone.
He has passed away. I should have experienced some remorse, yet my animosity towards him rivaled that which I felt for the Second Prince. He bore a share of the blame for the failure of my quest for revenge and for my entrapment in Mrs. Writer's realm.
Once the turmoil subsided, I seized the opportunity to converse with Mrs. Writer for the first time. It was imperative that I introduce myself, and this moment presented the perfect occasion. Just as we exchanged a few words, I noticed a familiar figure hastening towards Mrs. Writer.
Y-a-s-h??
What is Prince Yashomitra doing in this world? Is he not deceased? Or could he be an inhabitant of this realm, distinct from Prince Yashomitra?
I was utterly perplexed. If he were indeed the Third Prince Yashomitra, he would undoubtedly recognize me. I needed to conceal myself from him; otherwise, my quest for vengeance against those who harmed my family would be jeopardized. I swiftly pulled my hoodie over my head and maneuvered past the event gate.
Why is prince Yashomitra in this World?
Isn't he already dead?
Or is he a person belonging to this world and not Prince Yashomitra?