Neil Rajput didn't believe in fate.
He believed in skincare, horsepower, and making an entrance.
While the rest of Delhi choked in its usual gridlock, Neil zipped through on his Triumph Bonneville, sunglasses on, leather jacket flapping behind him like a cape. He wasn't a Bollywood star—not yet—but he had the smile of one, and enough followers on Instagram to pass.
Model. Rider. Minor celebrity.
But there was something underneath the gloss and glam—the unspoken feeling that he was waiting for something. Or someone.
He first noticed it a month ago.
He was at a fashion shoot, dressed in designer whites, leaning against a horse for a calendar spread. The stallion wouldn't stop bucking—snorting, restless, eyes wild.
The handlers gave up, but Neil stepped forward. Calm. Silent. And in a whisper he didn't recognize, he said:
"Shānt ho, Ashvamedha…"
The horse froze.
Then bowed its head.
The entire set fell silent.
"Dude," the photographer said. "What was that?"
Neil didn't answer.
He didn't know.
Since then, the flashes started.
Visions of himself riding into war, hair tied, twin swords in his hands, armor glinting in the sunlight. A man with his exact face beside him—but quieter, darker-eyed. A twin.
And sometimes, at night, a shadowy palace corridor.
A woman crying behind a closed door.
A vow.
"She must never cry alone again."
Neil didn't know who she was—but the guilt felt ancient. Personal. And it burned like betrayal.
Outwardly, nothing changed. He was still charming, cocky, hard to pin down.
But inside, Neil was unraveling.
He found himself drawn to books on ancient Indian warfare, on royal dynasties. He took a last-minute trip to Hastinapur on a whim, and when he stepped into the ruined palace grounds, something in him cracked.
He heard a voice in the wind:
"You were the beauty in the shadow of war."
That night, he dreamed of Draupadi for the first time.
She wasn't looking at him.
She never did.
Neil woke up with a sharp breath, sweat cooling on his skin.
He didn't know what he was supposed to remember. But he was sure of one thing:
He hadn't been born into this life to pose for cameras.
He had been born to protect something sacred.
And somewhere out there… his brother was waiting for him.