Dwarka stood restored after months of labor and Devashree also had made significant strides in her recovery, with her strength returning more each day.

There was only one problem. Her family was treating her with a delicacy that sometimes bordered on suffocation.

As Devashree gingerly tested her healed leg in the garden one sunny morning, Vasudev approached with a furrowed brow.

"Devashree, perhaps you should rest," he suggested gently, offering his arm as a support.Devashree took his arm more out of respect than need and smiled.

"Pitashree, I feel much better, really. The healers have assured me that walking will aid my recovery."

Vasudev nodded, but his eyes remained laced with concern. "Of course, Putri. But do not overexert yourself. Let us not forget how fragile life can be."

Another afternoon, as Devashree reached out to pick a flower, Devaki quickly stepped in to assist her.

"Let me do that, my dear. You should take care not to bend too much."

Devashree accepted the flower with a gentle nod, hiding her mild frustration behind a patient smile.

"Thank you, Maa, but I must try to do some things by myself."

Nearby, Rohini discussed the arrangements for the festival but kept her eyes fixed on Devashree. As usual she was quick to intervene at the slightest hint of discomfort or fatigue on Devashree's face.

"Oh, look at you, moving around already! But you shouldn't exert yourself too much," Rohini chimed in, her maternal instincts in full swing as she approached with a cushioned chair. "Here, why don't you sit down for a while?"

"Rohini Maa is right. You've been on your feet quite enough for today. Sit down and let me tell you about the new training drills I've implemented in the army." Before Devashree could protest, Balram had joined in, his voice booming gently across the courtyard.

And then there was Krishna, the most protective of all.

His eyes rarely strayed far from Devashree, his presence a constant shadow by her side. As she settled into the chair, Krishna kneeled beside her, his hand taking hers.

"Shree, I know you want to regain your strength, but let's not rush things. The city is safe, and the people are happy. You don't need to push yourself so hard."

As days turned into weeks, Devashree's progress was evident to all. She began to walk more confidently, though still under the watchful eyes of her family.

One night, draped in a dark shawl that blended with the night, Devashree silently slipped out of the chambers she shared with Krishna, her footsteps whisper-light on the cool marble floors as she made her way to the palace gardens.

Taking advantage of the quiet and solitude, she made her way slowly down the path.

She felt the grass beneath her feet, felt the cool night air touching her face, and sighed in pleasure. She had missed this so much.

Inside their chamber, Krishna woke to find the bed beside him empty.

Panic fluttered in his chest as he called out softly, "Shree?"

There was no response; the sheer curtains billowed slightly with the night breeze, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. His heart raced as he hurriedly threw on a robe and stepped into the cool corridor, calling for the guards as he moved.

"Has anyone seen the queen?" he demanded, his voice tight with worry.

The guards, startled by the urgency in his voice, shook their heads. "No, my lord, we have not seen her since she retired to her chambers," one replied.

With a curt nod, Krishna hastened towards the garden, a place he knew Devashree loved. The moonlight guided his hurried steps as he moved along the familiar paths, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of her.

Finally, he spotted her silhouette against the backdrop of moonlit flowers, her figure relaxed and serene amidst the blooms.

Relief washed over him, quickly replaced by a surge of frustration.

"Shree!" he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet of the night.

She turned, startled, her face catching the moonlight. Seeing the worry etched on his face, she immediately felt a twinge of guilt but stood her ground.

"Krishna, I needed a moment alone, some fresh air," she explained, her voice calm yet firm.

Krishna approached swiftly, his relief palpable but his concern not quite abated.

"You should have told me," he said, reaching her side. "I woke up, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Devashree took his hand, her touch gentle. "I didn't mean to worry you. But I can't stay cooped up all the time, Krishna. I needed to feel like myself again, and that means doing things on my own, even if it's just walking in the garden."

As a shiver passed through Devashree, Krishna quickly draped his arm around her shoulders, protective and warm. "Let's go back inside," he urged gently.

"Just a little while longer, please? I miss the night air, the stars, and the peace of these gardens," she pleaded softly, her voice conveying a deep yearning for a semblance of her old life.

Seeing her so earnest, Krishna couldn't refuse.

"Alright, a little longer."

Stepping away for a moment, he quickly returned with a thicker shawl, draping it around her shoulders. "Here, wear this. We don't need you catching a cold."

Wrapped warmly in the shawl, Devashree smiled gratefully.

They found a bench beneath an old, sprawling tree, and sat down together, Krishna's arm never leaving her side. The garden around them was quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant sound of the ocean waves.

"This is what I needed," Devashree murmured, her head resting against Krishna's shoulder. "A moment of peace, away from the constant fussing and worrying. It's as if everyone forgets I was once capable of leading armies. Still am"

Krishna chuckled softly, his breath stirring her hair. "No one has forgotten, least of all me. But it's hard not to worry when you mean so much, not just to me, but to all of Dwarka."

After some time, Krishna stood, extending his hand to her. "Let's go back inside now. You need your rest, and I promise to make our room feel as open and airy as this garden."

Devashree looked up at him. "Let's," she agreed softly.

Krishna scooped her up gently in his arms, mindful of her recent recovery and Devashree nestled against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, as he carried her back to their room.

As they re-entered the warmth of their quarters, Krishna laid Devashree down on the bed, tucking the shawl around her. He then opened the windows wide, allowing the night air to fill the room, mirroring the openness of the gardens.

"There," he said, sitting beside her on the bed. "Now you have the stars and the breeze even here."

Krishna then began packing for the journey to Panchal. A grand celebration had been organized after the birth of his fireborn son and daughter.

Devashree watched him from the bed, her thoughts spinning with growing restlessness.

Known for her free-spirited nature, she disliked being left behind, especially for such important occasions. Her recent recovery and the protective bubble her family had enveloped her in had left her feeling restless and caged. The thought of vibrant Panchal, with its rich culture was too enticing. She wanted to be part of it, beside Krishna, participating in the rituals and the celebrations.

Noticing her gaze, Krishna paused and joined her on the bed, his expression softening as he took her hand.

"What's on your mind, Priye?" he asked, already anticipating her unspoken question.

Devashree squeezed his hand, her voice playful yet earnest, "I was thinking how wonderful it would be if I could accompany you to Panchal. Imagine the adventures we could have together, and I could use a change of scenery to complete my recovery."

"Oh, my Chanchale," he chuckled, "I have no doubt the change would please you, and your company would certainly make the journey delightful for me."

Devashree's eyes lit up with hope and she moved closer, her voice lowering to a warm, coaxing whisper, "Then let it be so. We'll ride together, see new sights, meet new people. It would do wonders for both of us, don't you think?"

Krishna's smile lingered, but his eyes held a seriousness. "Shree, you know I would love nothing more than to have you by my side. But your health must come first. The journey is long and potentially arduous, and I would never forgive myself if it set back your recovery."

Devashree's shoulders slumped slightly, a sigh escaping her lips.

Krishna wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. "My love, I promise, we'll travel together soon. But for now, Panchal must wait for another time for you."

The conversation shifted as Krishna detailed about the fireborn prince and princess.

Devashree listened absentmindedly, her mind half on his words and half on her thwarted plans. As he spoke, her hand gently played with the edge of his dhoti, her thoughts drifting to strategies on how she might yet convince him in the morning.

As the night deepened, Krishna's voice became the soft backdrop to her scheming, a soothing melody that eventually lulled her into sleep. He noticed her breathing even out, her features relaxing into sleep's embrace. He smiled tenderly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face before continuing his packing quietly.

In the morning Krishna was already awake and contemplating the intricate details of his upcoming journey and was tying the last few bundles when Devashree awoke.

With a playful yet determined glint in her eye, Devashree slid out of bed and approached Krishna, who was methodically checking each item for his trip.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, her voice soft and coaxing.

"Good morning, Swami," she murmured, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Surely, the king of such a vast and vibrant city can't refuse a small request from his queen?"

Krishna chuckled, turning to face her, his hands capturing hers.

"And what might that request be?" he asked, already knowing the answer but enjoying their playful banter.

"To let your queen accompany you on this important journey," Devashree replied, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly. "After all, what is a king without his queen by his side?"

"My queen rules the kingdom with such grace and wisdom that surely she can allow her king to venture alone this once," he countered, his tone teasing yet final.

Devashree's smile faltered slightly. She stepped back, crossing her arms. "Krishna, I'm serious. I feel strong enough, and the healers agree. I need this, not just for my body but for myself."

"Shree, I know you feel caged, but the journey is unpredictable. It's not just the physical exertion; the political atmosphere in Panchal is tense. It's not the place for you to be right now, not until you're fully recovered."

"Krishna, you don't understand. I feel so trapped, so suffocated. It's as if everyone forgets that I am more than just someone to be coddled. I am a person, a free spirit who needs to breathe, to move, to feel alive!" Her voice, usually calm and controlled, trembled with emotion.

Krishna knew his beloved's spirit had always been akin to the wind-unpredictable, vibrant, and free. She thrived in the open spaces. Her laughter could light up the darkest of spaces, and her adventurous heart found joy in the simplest of nature's offerings. He knew, intimately than any other that she was a free spirit, meant to soar.

Seeing her so animated, so impassioned about her need for freedom, Krishna's heart wavered.

For a fleeting moment, he imagined them together in Panchal, her laughter mingling with the bustling sounds , her joy at experiencing new landscapes, cultures, and the bustling energy of King Drupad's court. The thought brought a smile to his face.

"Perhaps," Krishna began, his voice softening, "perhaps it wouldn't be so risky to bring you along. The change could do you good, and I would be there to ensure your safety."

Devashree's face lit up at his words, hope rekindling in her eyes. She stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm, her voice gentle, coaxing.

"Yes, Natha, together....we will go together."

But as quickly as the image came, it was shattered by the vivid, haunting memory of her lying in pain, her leg grotesquely twisted, her screams echoing in his ears. The sight of her in agony, the bone jutting from her skin, flashed before his eyes, stark and terrifying.

Krishna's face hardened as he remembered, the memories of her accident-the stark fear he had felt when he saw falling flashing vividly in his mind.

No. Never again.

His expression darkened, the shadow of that memory clouding his judgment.

"No, I... I can't. It's too soon, and the memories of that day are too vivid. I can't risk it, Devashree. I can't risk you." His voice, once soft, turned sharp and resolute.

Devashree recoiled, her brief spark of hope extinguished by his blunt refusal. "Why not? I am almost recovered. The healers themselves have said so!"

"Shree, I haven't forgotten. But I cannot-and will not-risk your well-being." His voice grew stern, more forceful than he intended. "You were gravely injured, my love. Does that mean nothing to you? That day haunts me. What if something happens to you again under my watch?"

Devashree recoiled as if struck, her eyes widening with hurt. "So, I am to be punished for an accident? To be kept under lock and key because you fear what might happen?" Her sorrow was quickly giving way to resentment, a barrier rising between them.

Krishna reached out to her, trying to bridge the gap with his touch, but she stepped back, her stance defiant.

"I need you to trust me Krishna, trust me to know my own limits. All I need is your trust!"

"And I need you to be safe!" Krishna countered, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious chamber. "I cannot lose you, Shree. My duty as your husband is to protect you, even if it's from yourself."

This last remark stung, and Devashree's face flushed with a mix of anger and pain.She recoiled, hurt by his insistence, by the implication that she was not capable of assessing her own risks. Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away from him, her body tense as she fought to control her emotions.

"You see protection; I see captivity," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And if you cannot trust me to know my own strength, how can this-how can we-work?"

Krishna reached out to her, his own heart aching at the sight of her distress, his hand hovering in the air between them, undecided and shaking. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to soothe her, to take back the hurtful words. But the fear of losing her, of seeing her harmed, held him back.

Devashree gathered her strength again, her resolve tightening as she turned back to face Krishna. There was a softness in her eyes when she spoke again, trying to reach out to him one more time.

"Krishna, please understand," she began, her voice a gentle plea, "I need to feel that my life is my own. That I-"

"No, Shree," he said firmly. His voice was sharp, severing the delicate thread of her plea."I've seen what can happen. I've held you, broken and crying. I can't relive that. I won't. It's final."

The interruption was like a physical blow to her. She felt the sting of his words cut through the tender hope she had been nurturing. Her attempt to bridge their divide, to appeal to the love and partnership they shared, seemed to crumble in the face of his unwavering refusal.

Krishna's face was set, his jaw tense, as he watched the hurt flicker across Devashree's features. 

Devashree took a step back, her shoulders slumping slightly as she absorbed the full impact of his words. The space between them grew wider with the silence that followed.

"If that is your final word, my lord," she said formally, reverting to a formality that was rarely used between them, signaling the depth of her retreat, "then I must accept it."

With that, she turned and walked away, each step echoing her disappointment and the growing distance.

Krishna stood watching her leave, his heart heavy with the weight of their impasse, knowing he had kept her safe in body, perhaps, but at what cost to her spirit-and to their bond?

But his mind was relentlessly drawn back to that harrowing day, replaying the incident with a vividness that made his heart clench and his hands tremble. The memory was etched deep in his psyche, each detail seared into his consciousness with a clarity that was both a curse and a reminder of his deepest fears.

The sound-the sickening crack-had cut through the air, a stark, horrifying interruption to the peaceful morning. Krishna had turned just in time to see Devashree fall, her foot catching on an uneven stone, her body twisting unnaturally as she tried to brace herself against the sudden loss of balance.

The fall itself was brutal in its efficiency, with her leg bending under her in a way that limbs should never bend. The sound of bone breaking-a sharp, definitive snap-had echoed up from the ground, sending a shockwave of dread through Krishna's body.

Her scream had pierced the air next, a sound of pure agony that Krishna would never forget. It had been a raw, primal sound that had cut to his very soul, freezing him in place for a split second before he had rushed to her side.

He had found her on the ground, her face pale, beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she clenched her teeth against the pain. The sight had been ghastly-flesh torn, blood beginning to pool beneath her, and the bone-a stark, jarring white against the sudden redness.

He had tried to offer comfort, his voice a shaky litany of reassurances, but his words had felt hollow against the magnitude of her suffering. He had felt her hand grip his, her nails digging into his skin with the intensity of her pain, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

Krishna had supported her head, trying to soothe her and make her feel safe despite the chaos while waiting for the medical attendants to arrive with a stretcher. The wait had seemed neverending, each second stretching out as Devashree's soft moans of pain filled his ears.

Now, recalling that day, Krishna felt a resurgence of the helplessness that had gripped him then, the fear that he might lose her, that he might not be able to protect her from everything, despite his best efforts.

The ordeal had not ended with the initial injury. The physical pain of the injury, while intense, was something she could brave through with gritted teeth and a stoic resolve. But what followed had been even more testing.

A few days into her recovery, Devashree had developed a fever. It had started subtly-one moment she seemed her usual self, and the next, she was shivering, her brow damp with sweat despite the coolness of the room. Krishna had noticed her discomfort immediately, his eyes catching the slight tremble of her lips as she tried to mask her chills.

The fever had escalated quickly, as had her body's reaction to the trauma and possibly an infection from the severity of the wound. The nights had become a blur of cool cloths on hot skin, of whispered reassurances that felt increasingly desperate, and of endless prayers whispered into the dark. Krishna had stayed by her side, his hand constantly on her forehead, checking for signs of the fever abating, feeling powerless against the unseen enemy racking her body.

Devashree's condition had fluctuated, good days marred by bad nights. Her once vibrant eyes had dulled, often clouded with pain or glazed with fever-induced delirium. Krishna remembered how she'd sometimes grip his hand in her half-awake stupor, murmuring incoherently, her words tinged with distress. The sound of her weak voice, so unlike her usual clear and commanding tone, had been a stark reminder of her fragility in those moments.

As he stood alone now, the weight of his memories pressing down on him, Krishna's resolve hardened.

The possibility of her enduring such agony again was something he couldn't face, and so he chose the only path he felt he could-keeping her where he believed she was safest, even if it meant enduring her resentment and sorrow. With that thought he climbed down the stairs, ready to start his journey.

At the palace steps, Devashree stood, her posture rigid and her fingers white-knuckled as they clutched her shawl.

Krishna stood before her. His expression was somber and his eyes betraying the conflict that raged within him.

He wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms and feel her warmth, to assure her and himself that this distance would not define them. Yet, the space between them felt insurmountable, filled with the unsaid and the unresolved.

Devashree's gaze was fixed on a point just over his shoulder, her jaw set, and her lips a thin line.

Usually, he would take her in his arms, cup her face, and place a tender kiss on her brow. But today he did none of that.

Usually, she would stand on her toes, wrap her arms around his neck, and whisper words of love and encouragement, telling him how she would be with him in spirit every moment he was away. But today, her voice was silent, her arms at her sides, her entire being radiating hurt.

Krishna approached the steps, stopping a few paces away from where Devashree stood.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the air thick with everything unsaid.

"I must go," Krishna finally said, his voice low and strained, as if each word was an effort.

Devashree nodded, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

Instead, she swallowed hard, her hands clutching the fabric of her shawl even tighter. The physical distance between them felt insurmountable, a stark contrast to the deep intimacy they usually shared.

Krishna's hand twitched at his side, a visible need of his desire to reach out, to bridge the gap with a touch, to offer comfort. But he restrained himself, acutely aware that the comfort he yearned to provide was the very thing causing their current strife.

Devashree lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes glistening with unshed tears but still fierce.

"Take care," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions he knew raged inside her. It was a simple farewell, devoid of endearments, devoid of their usual promises.

Krishna's heart clenched at the formality of her words. He took a step closer, driven by a desperate need to regain some fragment of their intimacy, before he left.

"Shree, please-"

"Safe travels, my lord," Devashree interrupted her use of the formal address a clear barrier, a protection against the rawness of her emotions. She turned her face slightly, looking away.

Krishna looked down and approached the chariot, his movements slow and deliberate.

His heart ached at the sight of her standing there, so distant and yet so achingly close. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, to reassure her that despite their disagreement, his love for her remained unwavering. But the memory of her pain, her injury, held him back, a barrier of fear that seemed insurmountable.

With a heavy heart, he climbed into his chariot, his movements mechanical. As he settled into the seat, his hand instinctively went to the spot over his heart as if to soothe the ache that had settled there

With a silent nod to the Daruka, he signaled to move forward.

The wheels of the chariot began to turn, each creak and clatter resonating like a closing door, each rotation taking him further from his queen, from his heart.

Devashree watched him go, her heart heavy with regret and longing.

She wanted to call out to him, to beg him to stay, to tell him that she would do anything to bridge the gap between them. But her heart was heavy and her body numb.

She hugged her shawl tighter, a silent tear escaping down her cheek which was quickly wiped away with a shake of her head. She whispered into the chill air, a whisper meant only for the wind and the man who was no longer there to hear it, "I am always with you, even now, my love."

She felt a hollow ache settle in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to scream, to run after him, to erase the hurt and pain that lingered in the space between them. But all she could do was stand there, watching helplessly as he disappeared into the distance, leaving her alone with her regrets.

For the first time in their shared life, they had parted on terms clouded with unresolved tensions and harsh words.

Lying alone in the vast expanse of their royal bed, the fabric that once felt like clouds under their entwined bodies now seemed cold and unforgiving. The silken sheets, which had previously wrapped around them in a comforting embrace, now felt like icy tendrils, each one whispering reminders of their harsh parting.

The haunting memory of Krishna's chariot disappearing into the distance played on a loop, each replay slicing through her like a fresh wound. She berated herself for letting him leave like that-without a touch, without a word that spoke of love rather than conflict.

"Why didn't I stop him? Why did I let my hurt overrule my heart?" she whispered into the darkness, her words dissolving into sobs that shook her frame.

She rose from her bed, restless and paced the room like a caged animal. The thought of waiting days, perhaps weeks, to resolve their argument was unbearable.

She needed to see him, to resolve the hurt, to resolve their pain because her heart would keep on burning until she did not solve this.

Elsewhere Krishna's chariot rolled onward, the landscape shifting and changing around him, he found himself grappling with the weight of his decision.

The image of Devashree's tight embrace around herself, her shawl clutched desperately, replayed over and over in his mind.

He could almost hear the unspoken pleas in her eyes, the silent accusations of leaving her confined not just by physical walls but by his overbearing fears. Each memory stung sharply, the pain of emotional wounds far exceeding any physical battle scars he had endured.

"Stop" Krishna finally commanded the chariot to halt, unable to bear the growing ache in his heart.

Overwhelmed by the storm of emotions, Krishna, buried his face in his hands ,his fingers threading through his hair in a rare display of agitation and despair.

"Why did I leave like that?" Krishna muttered to himself, his voice muffled by his palms. "How could I let fear dictate my actions? She needed reassurance, not just protection."

The realization gnawed at him.

What had I done? How could I have left her like that, standing there with her heart laid bare, while he retreated into the safety of distance and duty?

With a deep, shuddering breath, Krishna lifted his head and spoke with a voice hoarse with emotion,

"We must go back, Daruka. Back to Dwarka"

"My lord, if we turn back now, we will not reach Panchal in time for the celebration. The delay could upset diplomatic ties and the plans long set for this journey."

Krishna felt torn. The thought of enduring a week without reconciliation, without seeing Devashree's smile or feeling her forgiveness, was excruciating.

"I see," Krishna murmured, the realization sinking in.

With a heavy heart, he nodded slowly to Daruka. "Continue to Panchal, then."

As the chariot resumed its journey, Krishna sat back, the lines of his face etched with pain. He felt as if he was abandoning Devashree when she needed him most when they both needed it.

The decision to go forward was logical, necessary even, but it felt like a punishment-a week of heartache, a week of wondering if Devashree was alright, a week of carrying the burden of their unresolved conflict.

He deserved this pain, he thought bitterly. If his heart was in agony, then perhaps it was only just. He had let fear govern over his heart's plea, and now he must live with the consequences.

But even as he accepted this self-imposed punishment, another part of him rebelled against the notion that Devashree should suffer too. She was blameless, her only fault being her longing for freedom and her desire to be by his side. This realization only deepened his torment.

As the miles continued to unfurl before him, Krishna's thoughts were a tangled weave of duty, love, and regret.

The journey to Panchal would indeed be long, not just in miles but in the silent hours filled with longing and reflection, each one a step towards eventual reconciliation and, hopefully, forgiveness.

*******

A/N

Did I not warn you all of the upcoming angst?

No?

Oops! My bad!😁

*Flutters eyelashes innocently*

But don't blame me. I kind of did warn you... didn't you read the title?

Anyway suggest something for our charming Loverboy. How should he grovel? 👀

Also if you enjoyed it do consider voting because it helps other readers to discover this story.❤️

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AND MOST IMPORTANTLY

HAPPY EARTH DAY

VISHWA PRITHVI DIVAS KI AAPKO SHUBHKAMNAYE

LET'S NOT FORGET TO PROTECT AND CONSERVE OUR MOTHER EARTH !!❤️❤️🌍