The streets of Ujjain were alive with the buzz of celebration. Drums echoed through the air, a constant heartbeat that resonated through the stone streets, carrying with them the energy of the city. Golden banners swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colours reflecting the joy that swirled like dust on the wind.

Prince Vikramaditya had returned.

The moment his horse crossed the grand gates of Ujjain, the people erupted in cheer. Children ran through the streets, tossing flowers into the air, their laughter intertwining with the melody of flutes that floated from the palace balconies. Mothers whispered tales of his bravery to their wide-eyed daughters, and merchants paused in their dealings to watch the young prince ride by.

Vikramaditya is a legend, even now.

He had left as a boy—a second son, eager to prove himself, eager to escape the shadow of his father. And now he had returned as a man. He carried himself with the strength and confidence of a king, his broad shoulders set with the weight of leadership. His eyes, dark and contemplative, scanned the city that had once been his home but now felt foreign after so many years away.

"Prince Vikramaaditya!"

A chorus of voices followed him wherever he went, and yet he felt distant, removed from the celebrations around him. He had grown accustomed to the stillness of the forests and the quiet intensity of his training. This noise, this attention—it unsettled him.

His brother, the crown prince, rode beside him. Unlike Vikramaditya, he thrived in the limelight, waving to the crowds with the ease of a man born to rule. His armour gleamed in the sunlight, polished and perfect, a reflection of his carefully crafted image.

"Are you not going to wave to your people?" his brother teased, his smile playful but laced with meaning. "They've waited five years to see you."

Vikramaditya forced a small smile but said nothing. His thoughts were elsewhere—on a quiet riverbank far from here. On a woman with dark hair and eyes that saw into the deepest parts of him.

Avantika.

It had been two weeks since their reunion, and yet the memory of her still clung to him like a shadow he could not shake. He could still feel the softness of her hand in his, the warmth of her breath against his skin as she whispered his name. But that warmth was now distant, replaced by the cold reality of his duties.

Ujjain needed him. His family needed him. And Avantika... she needed him to be strong, to be the king his people deserved.

But at what cost?

As they reached the palace gates, the cheering grew louder, the sound reverberating off the high stone walls. The courtyard was packed with nobles, soldiers, and servants alike, all eager to welcome the prince home. The sight of it filled Vikramaditya with a strange sense of foreboding.

The palace was just as he remembered it, yet everything felt different now. The weight of the crown hovered over him like a sword waiting to fall. He had returned, but in many ways, he had never felt more lost.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the crowd surged forward, eager to greet him, to welcome him home. His mother was the first to reach him, her eyes wet with unshed tears as she embraced him tightly.

"My son," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You've returned."

Vikramaditya held her close, his chest tightening with a mix of love and guilt. He had missed her, missed the warmth of her presence, but there was a part of him that had been changed by the years away—changed in ways he couldn't fully explain.

"I'm home, Mother," he said softly, pulling back to meet her gaze. Her face was lined with worry, the weight of years spent praying for his safe return etched into every wrinkle.

Beside her, his father, the king, stood tall and proud, his expression unreadable. Vikramaditya met his gaze, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was something unspoken between them, a tension that had always existed but now seemed heavier than ever.

"You've done well, my son," the king finally said, his voice deep and commanding. "The kingdom will be stronger for your efforts."

Vikramaditya nodded, his jaw tight. "I only did what was required of me, Father."

The king's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing more, turning instead to address the gathered nobles. "Let us celebrate the return of my son! Tonight, we feast!"

The crowd erupted in cheers once more, but Vikramaditya barely heard them. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the web of responsibilities and emotions that had been spun around him.

He had returned to Ujjain, but his heart was still on the riverbank with Avantika.

___________

He sat at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never truly seeing. His mind was a storm, swirling with thoughts of the future, of his duty, of the promises he had made to his people and Avantika. The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.

His brother, seated beside him, leaned in with a knowing smile. "You're thinking too much, Aaditya," he said, using the familiar nickname that only a few were allowed to utter. "You should be enjoying yourself. This is your night."

Vikramaditya forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I suppose I've forgotten how to celebrate."

"You've been gone too long, brother." His brother's tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a reminder that Vikramaditya had left and life had moved on without him. "But you'll get used to it again. Soon enough, all of this will feel like home once more."

Vikramaditya wasn't so sure.

As the night wore on, the feasting continued, but Vikramaditya found himself slipping further and further into his thoughts. He excused himself from the table, the noise and laughter fading into the background as he made his way to the palace gardens.

The air outside was cool, a welcome relief from the heat of the grand hall. The gardens were quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Vikramaditya took a deep breath, letting the stillness wash over him.

This was where he felt most at peace. Away from the court, away from the expectations that weighed on him like chains.

He wandered through the gardens, his mind drifting back to Avantika. He had promised her that he would fight for their love, that he would find a way for them to be together. But the more time he spent in Ujjain, the more he realised how difficult that promise would be to keep.

The kingdom needed him. His father had made that clear. And with the alliance hanging over them, the pressure to marry for the sake of the kingdom was growing by the day.

Could he choose Avantika over his duty?

As he stood by the fountain, the moonlight reflecting off the water's surface, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, expecting to see a servant or a guard, but instead, he found himself face-to-face with his father.

The king's expression was serious, his eyes sharp as he regarded his son.

"I thought I might find you here," the king said, his voice quiet but commanding. "You've always been one to seek solitude when things grow difficult."

Vikramaditya said nothing, his gaze dropping to the ground.

The king stepped closer, his presence imposing. "I know what weighs on your mind, Aaditya. You've been back only a short time, but the world you left behind is not the same as it was."

"I know," Vikramaditya murmured.

His father's eyes softened just a fraction. "You are a prince, Vikram. And soon, you will be more than that. You will be a king."

The weight of those words settled heavily on his shoulders, and for a moment, Vikram felt as though he couldn't breathe.

"Your people look to you," the king continued. "They rely on you. And there will come a time when you must choose—between your desires and your duty."

Vikram's chest tightened. He knew his father was right. He had always known.

But how could he choose between his love for Avantika and the kingdom he had sworn to protect?

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm. "You are my son," he said quietly, "and I believe you will make the right choice."

With that, the king turned and walked away, leaving Vikram alone with his thoughts.

The moon shone brightly above, casting its pale light over the gardens, but the path ahead of Vikramaditya had never seemed darker.