The room was a cluttered chaos of colors, a space that bore the unmistakable imprint of a teenager's world. Faded fairy lights dangled from the edges of a corkboard cluttered with notes, old birthday cards, and hastily scribbled reminders. The desk near the window was drowning under a sea of textbooks, highlighters, and a half-empty cup of chai long gone cold. Clothes-some folded, most not-lay scattered over the bed, the chair, and even the floor, casualties of indecision.

Abhijishya stood in front of the mirror, struggling with the zipper of her skinny jeans, muttering under her breath. The afternoon light filtered through the floral curtains, casting soft golden patterns on the walls plastered with posters-some of old Bollywood classics, others of K-pop idols whose names her mother could never remember. A pedestal fan whirred noisily in the corner, stirring the scent of citrus-scented body spray and freshly washed hair.

Her phone buzzed beside the half-open makeup pouch on the dresser, the screen lighting up with Keya's name.

She groaned, stretching across the bed to grab it, nearly knocking over a bottle of nail polish in the process.

"Jessy, when are you even coming? You said you'd be here by 4 p.m., and now it's nearly 5," Keya's voice rang through the speaker, edged with impatience.

"I know, I know! I'm so sorry. Maa wasn't even letting me go to your place-it took forever to convince her," Abhijishya called back, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder as she tried to flatten the fabric over her waist with frustration.

"Ugh, I swear I've put on weight staying home these last few months. God knows when this wretched Corona will finally go away," she whined, turning slightly to check her reflection again.

Keya chuckled on the other end. "Yeah, tell me about it. My mum's been losing sleep over the seating arrangements for the entrance exams. By the way, what exactly were you doing when Sujit Sir was dictating the Botany notes?"

Abhijishya groaned. "Ohhh, come on, don't be like that! You already know I sleep through his class-it's sooo boring," she lamented, grabbing her bag.

"Chal, bye. I'm heading out now. I'll be there in five minutes."

"K. Bye." The call disconnected.

The evening air was thick with the scent of damp earth as she stepped outside, the lingering drizzle giving the street a slick, silver sheen. The pavement glistened under the streetlights, puddles reflecting the dull gold glow of the lamps.

"Maaaaa... oh, Maaa!" she hollered, tugging at the straps of her bag.

"Are baba, stop shouting! I'm coming!" her mother's voice floated from the kitchen, exasperated yet indulgent.

Abhijishya barely glanced back as she threw her arms around her in a hasty embrace, adjusting her mask with practiced ease. "Maa, I told you earlier-I need to go to KK's house to get the Botany notes. I'll be back by six."

Her mother sighed, shaking her head. "Be careful, Abhu," she called after her. "Krishna khyal rakhna is larki ka." (May Lord Krishna take care of this girl.)

But Abhijishya was already halfway down the street, her steps light and quick, a quiet thrill bubbling in her chest. It had been weeks-months, even-since she had last seen Keya in person, despite living just a few lanes apart. The absurdity of it made her grin.

As she turned a corner, a shiver ran down her spine.

A sudden, inexplicable sense of unease.

She stopped in her tracks, breath catching, her heart thrumming in her ears.

Slowly, she turned, her gaze scanning the dimly lit street behind her. A few meters away, three men huddled over a makeshift table, playing cards beneath the glow of a flickering street lamp. Crumpled rupee notes lay between them, caught in the idle drift of the evening breeze.

Her eyes landed on one of them-Suresh Kaka.

Her nose wrinkled. She had never liked gambling.

Keya often teased her about it, saying she had terrible luck. And perhaps that was true-she had lost every school fête lottery she had ever entered. But that wasn't the reason for her distaste. No, it was something deeper, something more ancient-the memory of Yudhisthir's fatal game of dice, the treacherous roll that had condemned Draupadi to humiliation.

She exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She reached for it-

And the world shattered.

A force slammed into her, swift and brutal, knocking the breath from her lungs.

A growl-low, guttural, inhuman-slithered through the air, interwoven with a strange, gibbering whisper.

She gasped, staggering backward, her hands grasping at empty air.

And then-nothing.

Her feet lifted off the ground, as if snatched by an unseen hand.

An iron grip clamped around her throat.

She tried to scream, but only a strangled choke escaped. Her vision blurred, her limbs flailing uselessly. The world twisted-pulled, stretched, unraveled.

The sky and earth dissolved into a vortex of churning colors. Light and shadow spiraled in dizzying loops, her body tossed as if she were nothing more than a leaf in a storm. Cold wind howled past her ears, rushing with a force that seemed to strip away the very fabric of reality.

She plummeted.

Faster.

Faster still.

The wind screamed. Or perhaps it was her.

And then-

Impact.

------------ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ------------

The forest was alive in the hush of night, its towering sal and peepal trees swaying under the moon's watchful gaze. Silver light poured through the canopy in scattered fragments, dappling the moss-laden ground with trembling patches of luminescence. The air carried the mingled scents of damp earth and night jasmine, thick with the quiet hum of unseen life. Somewhere, deep within the undergrowth, a nightjar let out a long, sorrowful call.

Prince Arjun and his younger brother Nakul moved carefully through the shadows, the weight of the wounded wild boar heavy between them.

Suddenly, the air grew still.

The leaves ceased their rustling.

The insects fell silent.

Then, the wind howled-sharp, unnatural, laced with something otherworldly.

A great rumble tore through the forest floor. The ground trembled beneath their feet, sending loose stones skittering down unseen slopes. Overhead, the branches groaned as though whispering a warning.

And then-

A shadow plummeted from the heavens.

Arjun's breath hitched as he sprinted forward. The shape tumbled through the branches, breaking twigs and sending a cascade of leaves fluttering around it. It struck the earth with a sickening thud.

Arjun and Nakul skidded to a halt, eyes widening.

A woman.

Her body lay twisted among the fallen leaves, her limbs bent at odd angles. Her breathing was shallow, her skin smeared with blood.

Nakul crouched beside her, fingers pressing against her throat. "She is alive-but not for long. We must take her back to the Rajvyada at once!"

Arjun hesitated, glancing at the storm-torn sky. The unnatural stillness unsettled him. But he did not question dharma.

"I will carry her. Take my bow and lead the way."

They hurried toward their horses. The storm had vanished as suddenly as it had come. But something in the air had changed.

Something irreversible.

------------ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ------------

Far away, in the golden city of Dwaraka, Krishna reclined on his swing, suspended over a bed of lotus petals. The air around him shimmered, heavy with divine fragrance-jasmine, sandalwood, and the faintest whisper of tulsi. The celestial fabric of his blue angavastram rippled in the breeze, its deep hues shifting like the ocean at dusk.

The swing itself was a marvel-crafted from celestial gold, its frame adorned with pearls and emeralds that gleamed under the soft glow of oil lamps. Peacocks and swans embroidered in silk adorned the cushions, their eyes seeming almost alive, watching.

And yet, Krishna did not sway with the breeze.

His stillness was absolute.

His flute lay untouched beside him.

His smile-always present, always knowing-had faded.

His dark eyes flickered, their depths endless, unfathomable.

Something had changed.

Something had fractured.

Balram, standing nearby, frowned. "Kanha? You seem troubled."

Krishna's gaze darkened, his voice softer than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of the universe.

"The Wheel of Time has been tampered with, Dau."

Balram said nothing, only watching as Krishna closed his eyes once more.

Searching.

Somewhere, across time and fate, a thread had frayed.

And destiny had begun to unravel.