The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Kashyap mansion, painting the room in warm gold. Mihir stood before the mirror, meticulously combing his hair, his reflection the picture of composed arrogance.
Then—a whisper of movement behind him.
Maira crept forward, her hands smeared with vibrant *gulal*, her lips curved in a mischievous smirk. Just as she reached out to smear the colors across his cheek, Mihir's fingers snapped around her wrist, stopping her mid-motion.
**"Happy Holi, *mihir*,"** she teased, undeterred.
Mihir's dark eyes met hers in the mirror, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips. **"You should know better by now."**
In one swift motion, he twisted her arm, reversing their positions until *her* back was against the mirror. The colors meant for him now stained her own cheeks—crimson and gold smudged across her skin.
**"In case you don't know ,"** he murmured, his voice low, **"no one has ever managed to color Mihir Kashyap. Not even you."**
Maira's laughter filled the room, bright and unrepentant. **"There's a first time for everything."**
Somewhere in the house, the sounds of Holi chaos erupted—water splashing, Tia's gleeful shrieks, the thud of a well-aimed balloon. But in that moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them—a silent challenge hanging in the air.
*This year,* Maira's eyes promised, *you won't escape untouched.*
Mihir's back hit the wall with a soft thud, his usual composure fraying at the edges as Maira advanced. Her fingers, still dusted with vibrant *gulal*, rested lightly against his chest, and he could *feel* the heat of her palm through the fabric of his shirt.
**"H-How exactly do you plan to—"** His voice caught as she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin.
Maira didn't answer. Instead, she pressed her cheek to his—once, then twice—rubbing the colors from her skin onto his in slow, deliberate strokes. The scent of roses and sandalwood from the *gulal* clung to them both, intoxicatingly sweet.
Mihir's breath hitched. His hands, which had been braced against the wall, twitched—unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. In the end, he did neither, his fingers curling into fists as he squeezed his eyes shut.
**"There,"** Maira whispered, pulling back just enough to admire her handiwork—his usually pristine face now adorned with smudges of pink and gold. **"Now you're properly celebrated."**
For the first time in his life, Mihir Kashyap stood *colored*—and he hadn't even tried to stop her.
Sahir's room was an oasis of calm compared to the riot of colors and laughter downstairs. The door was slightly ajar, allowing the distant sounds of Holi celebrations to drift in—shrieks, splashes, and the occasional thud of a water balloon.
Teju stood by the window, her star-mark glowing faintly under the streaks of *gulal* that adorned her skin. Sahir, ever precise, dipped his fingers into a bowl of emerald-green powder, his gaze locked onto her with quiet intensity.
**"You missed a spot,"** he murmured, stepping closer.
Teju raised an eyebrow. **"Did I?"**
With deliberate slowness, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, leaving a vivid streak of green in its wake. His touch lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Teju's lips curved. **"Your turn."**
She reached for a handful of crimson powder, but Sahir caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle. **"You'll ruin my glasses."**
**"That's the point,"** she said, tugging free with a laugh.
And then—
A splash of red across his nose.
Sahir blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, with a rare, *real* smile, he pulled her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead—right where a smudge of gold already shone.
**"Happy Holi,"** he whispered.
The cavernous depths of Bandhap Cave echoed with the labored breaths of the wounded Daavansh as he knelt before Mohana, his crimson eyes dimmed with pain. The remnants of Maira's attack still clung to him—his form flickering like a dying ember, the edges of his shadowy body dissolving into the dank air.
**"Mother..."** he rasped, clutching his bleeding abdomen where the arrow had struck the Daayan Vriksh. **"I am fading. The only way I survive... is if I merge with Mihir again."**
Mohana's lips curled into a slow, venomous smile. Her chains rattled as she leaned forward, her matted hair falling like a curtain around her gaunt face.
**"Patience, my son,"** she crooned, her voice like nails scraping stone. **"Today, they celebrate Holi. Let them exhaust themselves with their petty colors and laughter."** Her clawed fingers twitched, as if already savoring the moment.
**"When night falls, and they lie vulnerable in their drunken stupor... *that* is when you will strike. Slip into Mihir's dreams. Become one with him once more."**
The Daavansh's grin mirrored hers, though pain still laced his every movement. **"And then?"**
Mohana's eyes burned with centuries of malice. **"Then, my love, we *burn* the Kashyaps from the inside out."**
The Daavansh's pained expression twisted into something darker—a smirk edged with malice. **"How can we let them enjoy their celebration in peace?"** he rasped, his voice like crumbling embers.
Mohana's laughter slithered through the cave, sharp and venomous. **"When did I say they would have peace?"** Her skeletal fingers curled into fists, the chains around her wrists rattling. **"Ruby is already among them. And soon..."**
A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
**"She will turn their joy into *ruin*."**