After an enjoyable dinner, they retreated to their room.
Mehendi was exhausted from the long journey—first, traveling from Mumbai to Shimla, then spending the day exploring the city with Tiya and Jai. Their company had been delightful, filling her heart with warmth and laughter. But now, sleep called to her, and within moments of lying down, she drifted into a deep slumber.
Chahat, however, found no such peace. Restlessness clung to her as her thoughts lingered on the man she had spotted earlier at the tea shop.
He had been dressed in a simple white dhoti and kurta, his face carrying an air of serenity and contentment. Despite the years that had passed, he looked exactly the same. A wave of nostalgia washed over her. This man was none other than her mother's revered Guru, the one who had shaped her understanding of music. He had always been an honest, kind-hearted teacher, deeply devoted to his craft. But could he remain the same in the coming days?
The thought unsettled her.
For decades, he had dedicated his life to the Gurukul, nurturing students with his wisdom and discipline. Yet, the sacred institution was no longer what it used to be. It had been taken over by the Singhanias—a family known for their ruthless grip over everything they claimed as theirs. They would stop at nothing to solidify their control, employing whatever cruel methods were necessary to keep obstacles out of their way.
And the Guru? He was an immovable force, a rock that the Singhanias would undoubtedly seek to cast aside.
Chahat's mind swirled with apprehensions, but exhaustion finally overtook her, pulling her into slumber.
The following morning, she awoke to a world still shrouded in darkness. Checking the time, she saw it was just past 5 a.m. With a sigh, she rose from the bed and walked toward the window, drawing the curtain aside.
A breathtaking sight unfolded before her.
The sky was a vast, unblemished canvas, slowly being painted with hues of gold and crimson. The only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds, their melodies adding to the serenity of the moment. It was as if nature itself had orchestrated a masterpiece, a creation so perfect that it could only belong to a divine artist.
Chahat stood there in silent admiration, allowing the tranquility to seep into her soul. In that quiet hour, she felt something shift within her. The past, the future, and all its uncertainties loomed over her, but for now, she simply breathed—lost in the beauty of a world that, for a fleeting moment, felt untouched by chaos.