They say they know her, every crack and fold.But they never met the soul beneath the skin.And when the spell unwinds—She will not let them win.
~~~~~
KaanKuwar sits by the riverbank, in his human form, eyes fixed on the slow-moving waters. The light of the morning filters through the trees, casting golden ripples across his skin.
Then someone comes.
A small turtle pokes its head out of the water and begins paddling towards him, recognising the dragon.
KaanKuwar blinks and smiles softly. He cups the little creature in his hands, water dripping from its shell.
"Hey, little friend, Did you miss me?"
The turtle blinks up at him, and in its own quiet language replies, not really.
KaanKuwar chuckles. "Don't lie. I know you did."
He looks back at the river, about to leap into it again—to return to where he belongs. But something in him hesitates. His grip tightens gently around the turtle.
A sigh escapes him. "Tell me, little one…. as a demigod, am I not supposed to protect the human who trusts me? Shouldn't I stay until her burden is lightened? …Jeez," he mutters, setting the turtle back into the water, "I really am a demigod, aren't I?"
Somewhere far from the river, Shaamvi sits slumped in the backseat of a car, half-asleep. Her body aches; her spirit even more so. Her fingers curl weakly into her lap, where her breath rises and falls with a quiet heaviness.
As they move forward, houses begin to multiply on either side of the road—then temples, auto stands, fruit stalls.
The driver suddenly brakes hard.
She stirs. "What happened?" she murmurs, eyes half-open.
And then she sees him.
Standing in front of the car, calm as ever—KaanKuwar.
Their eyes meet.
Without a word, he walks to the back door, opens it, and slides in beside her. His presence fills the small space.
Clearing his throat, still avoiding her gaze, he says quietly, "The second strike could come at any time. I told you… I'll protect you. It's my duty—to guard the one who trusts me."
"I..…" she starts to say something, but
"I know you do," he cuts her off, looking straight ahead. "Stop pretending."
"I wasn't saying I don't… I just meant…" she trails off, then adds softly, "Thank you."
They ride in silence, passing narrow alleys and bus stops, flyovers stitched across the skyline like scars. Honks rise and fall. The car glides past old banyan trees, stray dogs, and posters peeling on cracked walls.. Shaamvi sits half asleep, while KaanKuwar sits beside her—silent, unmoving, eyes fixed on the world that begins to gather around them.
It has been centuries since he left the river. The world has changed beyond recognition. His pulse beats oddly fast. As they approach her town, a part of him trembles.
Shaamvi finally breaks the silence. "So, are you going with me without any bag or… I mean, your stuff?"
He looks down at himself, mildly perplexed. "Do I need one?"
"You'll be staying with me for a few days, won't you?"
"I suppose so… until we break this spell," he replies slowly.
"So… where are your clothes, your things?"
He hadn't thought about that.KaanKuwar looks down, blinking slowly. In thinking all about her, in preparing himself to return to this realm of noise and stone, he had forgotten about such human things.
He shrugs. "I don't need much. I can live like this. And if I want new clothes, I can always get them."
She studies him. He's wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and dark blue jeans folded slightly at the ankles. The clothes looks almost dull—like they have clung to him through decades. They don't quite fit. They're faded—yes—but clean, and oddly suited to him.
They enter her city.
The buildings grow taller. The crowd thickens. The honking grows louder.
KaanKuwar stares out the window. He doesn't like it here. Too loud. Too modern. Too fast.
Shaamvi glances at him. "Haven't you been here before?"
"Been where?" he says without looking at her.
"Here. Delhi."
He nods, slowly. "Yes. A long time ago… but it wasn't like this. "
Then he wonders—how does she live here?
A girl whose soul dances with unseen forces, whose veins remember spells, whose breath carries hymns no longer sung.
In this city where everything races, silence is rare and depth is lost in speed —how does she endure?
How does a being so rooted in the ancient world survive among steel and noise, neon and haste?
She walks among them—still sacred, still luminous.
And he is quietly in awe.
They reach her house—an old two-story bungalow at the end of a quieter lane.
A peepal tree leans over its roof and a narrow gate opens into a yard. The paint has peeled in places.
Basil, lemongrass, and hibiscus overflow from clay pots near the door.
It is the kind of house that remembers things.
A house that keeps its secrets—and never asks yours.
Shaamvi unlocks the door. KaanKuwar steps in behind her.
Then he stops. Eyes sharp. Muscles tense."There is something wrong."
Shaamvi turns. "What?"
"Don't you feel it?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. "There's another energy frequency here. Not ours."
She closes her eyes briefly—and yes, there it is. Something else. Something unfamiliar. The texture of the air is off.
"Someone's set something here." KaanKuwar says.
Shaamvi breathes in, then out, trying to tune into the vibration. "You're right… I do sense something. But I'm too weak right now. I can't tell exactly what it is."
KaanKuwar steps forward, his expression darkening. "Whoever did this—whoever cursed you—also laid this here. The scent of the spell and this frequency… they're the same. It's the same hand behind both."
Shaamvi looks around slowly, her sight sharp. Someone had dared to weave something unholy into her home. Someone had underestimated her strength.
She clenches her fists.
I'll find them, she thinks. And I'll make them realise they chose the wrong person—no matter what it takes.
Beside her, KaanKuwar turns slightly, scanning the yard—the wind stirring faintly through the lemongrass and peepal leaves.
"And whoever they are," he murmurs, his voice slow, "they know you well."