The night in Vrindavan was unnaturally still. No rustle of leaves, no chant of crickets — only the eerie silence that wrapped itself around the soul like a whispering fog.
Aarohi stood at the edge of Nidhivan, her lantern flickering in the wind. Something — someone — had called her here. Not with words, but with memory. Memory that didn't belong to this life.
And then… she saw it.
Buried behind a wall of wild tulsi vines was a crumbling stone archway — one that wasn't there the night before. Symbols of the sun, time-wheels, and divine serpents were etched into its surface.
Above the arch:
महासूर्य मंदिर – The Temple of the Great Sun.
Her breath caught. She stepped in.
Inside, the air smelled of burnt camphor and age-old secrets. The marble floor was cracked, and the sky above had no stars — just a yawning void. And in the center of the sanctum… a mirror stood tall.
Framed in blackened silver, the glass shimmered like liquid. It wasn't reflecting the room. It was showing her. Or… someone who looked like her, but dressed in red silks, forehead marked with vermilion, tears in her eyes.
The girl in the mirror whispered:
"Don't let him go. Or it will all happen again."
And suddenly, flashes—
A dance in a temple courtyard.
A man playing the flute under moonlight.
A dagger soaked in blood.
A curse, whispered by Radha herself.
Aarohi fell back, clutching her head. Her heart pounded like a war drum.
Meanwhile… Ishaan.
Back at the old stepwell, Ishaan dug through the soil where the flute had been found. Beneath it, a strange metal coin surfaced — blackened and ancient, etched with the words:
"When the flute falls silent, the cursed shall awaken."
Confused, he turned the coin. On its back: a serpent wrapped around a heart.
Something inside him stirred. A memory? A possession?
His hands trembled.
He saw a vision — himself, in royal robes, standing before Aarohi… but not as Ishaan. As someone else entirely. Someone ancient. Dangerous.
Devastation Builds
Aarohi ran from the temple, but the world outside had… changed. She wasn't in Vrindavan anymore. The city had transformed. The sky bled crimson, and in the distance, a flute began to play.
But this time, it didn't sound divine.
It sounded… broken. Desperate.
She turned around — and the temple was gone.