The next evening, the sun was sinking behind the dunes, staining the sky a dusty gold. The temple courtyard was quieter now, with only a few villagers passing by. Most were headed to the sarpanch’s haveli for an evening meeting.

Diya, however, had escaped it all.

She needed peace. And no one ever followed her to the old stepwell, except the wind and her thoughts.

She was pacing along its edge when she heard footsteps behind her.

Steady. Unhurried.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Raghav.

“What do you want?” she asked, without looking back.

He stopped a few steps away. “You came to my place once,” he said calmly, “Now I thought I’d return the favour.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was a mistake. I mistook it for an empty mind and found an empty man.”

A beat of silence.

Then he laughed. Softly. “Still good with insults, I see.”

She turned now. Full face. Full flame.

“And you’re still good at acting like you own everything.”

He took a step closer. “I don’t act, Diya.”

His voice was lower now. Smoother.

It wasn’t the American polish — it was something older. Something Rajasthani.

Something only she could understand.

“I know why you’re here,” she said, folding her arms. “My father, the land, the power — you’re here to win. Like all men.”

“I don’t care about your father,” he said, “I’m here because this place owes me something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly does Ramgarh owe you?”

His gaze didn’t flinch. “You.”

The silence that followed cracked the air between them.

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “You must be mad. Or obsessed.”

He stepped even closer.

“Maybe both. But tell me, Diya… have you really forgotten everything? Even the promise under the neem tree?”

Her smile faded. For a moment, just a moment — something flickered in her eyes.

Confusion?

A memory?

Pain?

But before it could settle, she blinked it away.

“That was child’s play. It means nothing.”

“To you,” he said softly, “Maybe. But it meant everything to me.”

She looked away, heart suddenly racing — and not because of the wind.

---

Elsewhere, in the Chauhan haveli

Yug stood alone in the study, holding a wine glass filled with nothing but water.

His father’s voice echoed in his memory.

“She will never be yours. Not while her heart is wild.”

He smiled to himself. Slow. Cold.

He pulled out a phone and dialed a number.

“I need you to dig into Raghav Singh Rathore’s life in New York. Everything. From his business deals… to his failures. Find the cracks.”

---

Back at the stepwell, Raghav had already turned to leave.

“Why now?” Diya’s voice stopped him.

He paused.

“You had all these years. Why come back after so long?”

He turned his head slightly, but didn’t face her.

“I didn’t come back for you,” he said.

“But now that I’m here… I’m not leaving without you.”

And with that, he walked away — the setting sun painting shadows behind him.

Diya stood still.

A storm swirling in her chest.

She wasn’t sure if it was anger, or something worse.

Hope.

---