The air tonight smells of incense and jasmine, thick with the sound of conches and temple bells.

It's Shivratri, and everything inside me feels a little more alive... a little more sacred.

"Ishu, tujhe pata hai na yeh anarkali tujhe kitna royal banata hai?"

priya grins my assistant, looping her arm through mine as we climb the white marble steps of the temple.

I glance down at my cream and emerald green Anarkali, delicately embroidered with golden threads around the neckline. My long hair is curled softly, open and I'm wearing my favorite oxidized golden jhumkas, and golden payal and bangles and heels which i removed outside mandir and a small bindi rests right between my brows.

Simple. Traditional. Me.

"Shut up, priya You're just saying that so I'll buy you that huge modak thali after darshan."

I nudge her with a smile.

"Obviously!" she winks, and behind her mahi chimes in,

Sona ne bola tha na, yeh mandir wali din Shivratri ka crowd next level hota hai. Tera dream guy yahin mil sakta hai."

I roll my eyes but can't help the stupid smile that tugs at my lips.

Maybe...

Maybe somewhere in this crowd of hundreds, my story is waiting to unfold.

The temple is glowing - marigold garlands everywhere, rangolis at every corner, and dozens of diyas flickering like stars scattered on the floor. The sound of "Om Namah Shivay" fills the air, as priests chant in rhythm, pouring milk, honey, and belpatra over the giant shivling inside the sanctum.

We press our palms together and step into the long queue line . My heart slows, steadies. It always does here - like Mahadev himself is holding it in his palm.

My heart beats slowly.

Calmly.

It always does when I visit Mahadev.

"Mujhe na, bas aisa pyaar chahiye jaisa Shiv-Parvati ka h,"

I whisper softly while standing in queue.

"Dono alag, par phir bhi ek."

"Aur tujhe mil bhi jayega," mahi says confidently, "kyunki tu waise hi pyaar deserve karti hai, Ishu. Pure. Eternal."

I smile at her Eternal."

Her words make me smile, but something inside me grows heavy. Not sadness , but something inside me turns heavy. Not sad, but... longing.

Maybe it's the scent of sandalwood.

Maybe it's the echoing chants.

Or maybe it's that strange pull in my chest that comes every Shivratri... a hope, a prayer, a feeling like someone somewhere is watching the same sky right now and feeling the same way.

As we inch forward, a little girl in front of me stumbles. I quickly hold her arm.

"Arre sambhal ja, princess."

I smile at her.

She beams, shyly clutches her father's kurta, and nods.

Innocence, faith, devotion - all dancing in the same space.

We finally reach near the sanctum. The shivling glistens under moonlight pouring in through the open roof. Milk cascades down it, curling in silver threads.

I close my eyes, fold my hands, and and let my heart speak.

"Mahadev... mujhe koi aisa bhej jo mujhe samjhe... jisme gussa ho, magar pyaar usse bhi gehra ho. Jo na bole, par meri aankhon mein sab kuch padh le. Jo toot chuka ho, par phir bhi kisi aur ko sambhalne ki himmat rakhta ho."

The aarti begins.The damru sounds loudly, breaking the silence of my prayer. The aarti begins, filling the temple with firelight and chants.

I step back slowly, my eyes damp, my chest strangely warm.

I step back, eyes still moist, chest warm with something unnamed.

A prayer left unsaid.

A wish made quietly.

Just then, sona bumps my shoulder and says,

"Bas kar Ishita. Mahadev ne sunn liya hoga. Ab tu modak khila."

I laugh.

But somewhere...

A piece of me still lingers at the sanctum.

Still waiting.

Still hoping.

RUDRA SINGH RATHORE'S

Location: Outer Ring Road, stuck in traffic, Shivratri evening

"What the hell is this chaos?" I mutter under my breath, jaw tightening as I glance at my Rolex.

7:46 p.m.

The meeting was scheduled for 8:15 - a last-minute strategic negotiation with an international buyer. I never miss meetings. Never run late. But today?

Today, the city has collapsed under incense, bhajans, and barefoot crowds dressed in white and saffron.

Shivratri.

I exhale slowly, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel of my black Range Rover Velar, the engine idling in frustration.

My driver, Ramesh, sits beside me, unusually silent. He knows better than to speak when I'm visibly irritated.

I lean slightly forward, watching the scene outside the windshield.

Thousands of people - some walking, some sitting, some lying flat in dandvat - all moving in the same direction. A huge temple up ahead, flooded with lights, flags, bells, and smoke.

And the chants.

Loud, rhythmic, intoxicating.

"Om Namah Shivay... Om Namah Shivay..."

It rings in my ears like a drumbeat - foreign, unnecessary, and oddly... heavy.

My brow twitches.

"Take the alternate route through Noida expressway, right now."

My voice is sharp, precise.

"Sir, woh bhi blocked hai. Pura Delhi jam hai aaj. Poora raasta Shivratri ke liye bandh kar diya gaya hai."

Ramesh replies cautiously.

I don't answer. I just lean back in my seat, fingers locking together as I stare out at the crowd moving like a wave - some holding belpatra, others drenched in milk, some crying, some dancing.

This city... this country... still bows to gods like they're watching over everything.

I've never stepped foot in a temple.

Not once in 25 years.

Not even when they carried Tara's ashes.

My sister died during a Kedarnath yatra. A little girl, full of laughter, gone under a crashing wave of mud and ice.

She had prayed every day.

She had loved God.

And yet, he didn't save her.

Since then, I don't believe.

Not in prayers. Not in fate.

Definitely not in gods.

"They waste hours chanting when they could be building something real."

I scoff under my breath, eyes narrowing at the drums and flowers thrown in the air.

"Sir? Chalein gaadi reverse karke try karein peeche se nikalne ka agr nikl jaye to thik h ?"

I nod.

The car begins to reverse slowly as I watch the temple gates disappear in the rearview mirror. The glow, the chants, the crowd... all fading behind me.

Good.

The last thing I need in my life is unnecessary emotion, nostalgia, or belief.

The meeting can wait. The world can wait.

I have an empire to run - and no space for mythical love stories or imaginary deities.

he hasn't met her yet. But fate just brought him within 400 feet of the girl praying for him