The moment they stepped into Aavya’s home, the heavy scent of blood, broken water, and anxious murmurs filled the air. Adhitya inhaled sharply. This too is a battlefield. The cries of pain, the hurried footsteps, the tense silence between contractions—it all mirrored the anticipation before a clash of swords. Only here, life was fighting to enter, not to survive.

  He and Soori remained outside, forced to bear the weight of helpless waiting. The boy who had earlier spoken with defiance against the government now sat frozen, his hands clenched, fear carved into his face. Adhitya sighed and found a place to sit. The atmosphere was thick with tension, broken only by the ceaseless movement of attendants rushing in and out—some carrying bowls filled with water, others with cloth soaked in blood, herbs, or carefully measured potions.

  Through the open doorway, Sanjana’s voice rang out—clear, composed, commanding. The hesitant, flustered woman from before had vanished, replaced by a doctor who wielded skill and certainty like a warrior wielded a blade. It was not just her words but the unwavering steadiness behind them that caught his attention. If she were a woman whose mind was clouded with pink-tinted fantasies, she wouldn’t stand here, in the heart of chaos, holding another’s life in her hands.

  His thoughts were interrupted by hushed whispers among the attendants.

  “The baby is too small, and it’s coming bottom-first… This will be difficult.”

  “But it’s a complete breech. If anyone can do it, our lady can.”

  “I know she can deliver it, but delivering it without complications… that’s the real battle.”

  Beside him, Soori had gone pale. A dark shade of worry deepened on his face, sweat glistening on his brow. Without a word, Adhitya handed him a cup of water, patting his back in silent reassurance before returning to his spot. He didn’t speak—what could words do in the face of uncertainty? But he had faith in her.

  Even if the worst happened, even if she failed, his belief in her wouldn’t waver. Because he understood.

  Just as he carried the weight of soldiers' lives in battle, she now carried the weight of two. Life—whether one or many—was still life. And the pressure of responsibility never changed. Suddenly, a sharp cry pierced the tense air, echoing through the small house. Adhitya stiffened. Was this… the first cry of a newborn?

  It was the first time he had ever heard it—a sound so raw, so full of life, that it sent shivers down his spine. Goosebumps prickled his skin as the weight of the moment settled in.

  Beside him, Soori let out a trembling breath, his hand pressing over his chest. "Thank the Lord Sun," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. His lips curved into a smile, yet tears spilled freely down his weathered face. Relief, joy, and gratitude blended in his expression, overwhelming in its sincerity.

  And then, the door creaked open.

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  Sanjana stepped out.

  She was smiling.

  And then she spoke. “Congratulations, Soori. You have a son-in-law now.”

  Her exhaustion was laced with amusement. “A tiny one, yes, but active like his mama.”

  There was no expectation of gratitude in her voice, no pride of victory—just the calm acceptance of someone who had done their duty. Like she had finished a routine, nothing more. He liked this side of her even more.

  Soori choked out a heartfelt thank you before rushing inside to see his niece.

  But, Suddenly she knitted her brows she clutch her forehead before she sank to the ground.

  Adhitya's heart dropped.

  “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?” He crouched beside her, supporting her, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were unfocused, staring into nothingness. The way she sat there, frozen, scared him more than if she had screamed.

  Without a second thought, he scooped her into his arms.

  She stirred slightly as he carried her outside. Sensing her movement, he immediately started again with his bombardment of questions. Fortunately she answered this time "It hurt before, but not now. Put me down, I can walk.”

  Of course, he wasn’t willing. He gently set her down only when they reached the tree, watching her closely.

  She still looked pale.

  He let out a breath and pulled out the mango he had saved earlier. She hadn’t eaten all day—he was sure of it. As he cleaned it, he wanted to ask her so many things. What had happened just now? Why did she look so lost? But he didn’t know how to begin.

  Luckily, she broke the silence first.

  “What do I call you?”

  Thus their intellectual conversation begins,

  Sitting by the torchlight, Adhitya watched as Sanjana accepted the mango slice he offered. She was open, warm, and entirely unguarded in a way that unsettled him. He had always been cautious with his words, but she? She offered everything freely.

  Her understanding of the world intrigued him, especially when they began discussing Soori’s speech. At first he actually started the conversation only to find how much of a impact is that brat caused in her heart. But she was nothing like ordinary girl immediately fallen for a hotblooded hero but far more matured and has clear thoughts regarding current politics as expected of a girl that he likes.

  > "The sun can’t be biased… Right?"

  He asked the question, not really expecting an answer. But she gave him one anyway, with a certainty that made him pause.

  > "The sun can’t be biased. Never."

  Her ideas were radical, yet logical. She spoke of restructuring society, ensuring education and healthcare, and most of all, giving the disadvantaged a fair starting point. The concept of reservation—an intentional balancing of the scales—was something he had never considered deeply before. But she explained it with a clarity that made him see its necessity.

  > "Fairness isn’t just about individual merit. It’s about correcting imbalances that have existed for generations."

  Her words forced him to re-evaluate his stance. If the sun truly shone equally on all, why was there still so much darkness? And could a ruler truly be fair if he only catered to one side?

  She answered that, too.

  > "A true decision-maker—a king—can never be completely kind. Any decision made for one group will inevitably hurt another."

  Her philosophy struck something deep within him.

  > "That’s why we represent Lord Surya as ‘Arai Subhar’—half good. Because only someone who is half-good to both sides can be a true leader."

  Something shifted inside him. He had spent years wondering about the nature of power, justice, and governance. And here she was, explaining it in a way he had never heard before. It was frustrating, fascinating, and, above all, undeniably true.

  When she turned to leave, he knew—this was not an ordinary conversation. This was a moment that would change him.

  So he stopped her.

  > "Sanjana."

  She turned. "What?"

  > "I didn’t tell you much about myself yet. But… Try not to forget me."

  She laughed. "Forget you? A man as mysterious as you? Not a chance."

  And then, before he could stop himself, he asked the question that had been nagging at him.

  > "I’m sorry, but… have you... Perhaps... already found your sun?"

  Her playful response did nothing to ease the strange tightness in his chest.

  > "Aren’t you in a hurry? Go on. If we meet again… I’ll tell you."

  He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk. "I’ll wait, then. See you."

  But as she walked away, he felt something unfamiliar settle inside him—an unsettling, inesc

  apable certainty.

  He would see her again.

  And when he did, everything would change.

  No they must change.