Yuvaan turned to face Khushi. The stern lines that so often defined him had softened, leaving behind a quiet fatigue and something else—something akin to genuine gratitude. For a long moment, he didn't speak. The hum of the settling house and distant crickets filled the space between them.
"Thank you, Miss Khushi," he said finally, his voice low and rougher than usual. "Today… Kiaan's birthday. What you did for him." He paused, searching for the right words. "It was a gift. To all of us."
Khushi offered a small, gentle smile. It wasn't triumphant, but understanding. "Children shouldn't carry the weight of our silences," she said softly. "Helping him feel light again… it was my privilege."
The formality of their titles—Miss Khushi, Mr. Yuvaan—hung in the air, a thin veil over the raw intimacy of what had just transpired in his home. He cleared his throat slightly, an uncharacteristically awkward gesture.
"There must be something I can do. To repay you." The offer was sincere, a man of transaction in a moment that felt beyond any currency.
Khushi's smile turned thoughtful. She wandered a few steps toward the large French window, the night sky sprawling beyond it like dark velvet. The moon was nearly full, a colossal, luminous pearl suspended in the blackness.
She was silent for so long he wondered if she'd heard him. Then, without turning, her voice came as a quiet murmur, more to the moon than to him.
"Repay me?" She let the question hang, then glanced over her shoulder, her profile silvered by the celestial light. Her eyes held a glimmer of something ancient and whimsical. "Alright, Mr. Yuvaan. Bring me the moon."
The words didn't come as a playful tease, but as a soft, impossible challenge. A poet's request, not a child's.
Yuvaan went utterly still. He stared at her, then at the distant, untouchable orb, then back at her serene face. It wasn't shock or disbelief that crossed his features, but a profound, disorienting awe. He was a man who built empires, commanded legions, and solved problems with will and wealth. He could buy a mountain, but he could not fetch the moon.
And in that impossible request, he understood her true meaning. Some debts, the meaningful ones, could not be settled. Some gifts, like the laughter of a healed child, were beyond price.
He didn't smile. He simply gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze never leaving hers. The silver light painted them both, connecting them in a silent pact that acknowledged the depth of what she had given, and the beautiful futility of ever truly repaying it.
---
The air in the hidden chamber was thick with the scent of beeswax and old stone. Varun faced the young fox, Dildaar, every muscle coiled with a decade of pent-up desperation.
"I know why you're here," Dildaar said, his voice unnervingly calm. He didn't move from his place by the wall, a shadow among shadows. "You came for my sister. It's a suicide mission."
Varun's stance was defensive, ready for a fight. "I don't need your permission. I need to see her."
"And do what?" Dildaar's question was a blade, precise and cold. "Throw yourself at her feet? She won't know you. The moment your scent hits her, the moment she sees a strange mortal in this fortress, her duty will override any ghost of a feeling. She will signal the guards. My mother will have you executed before dawn—likely as a ceremonial offering for the upcoming… nuptials." He spat the last word with distaste.
A hot, violent denial rose in Varun's throat. "She loves me."
The pity in Dildaar's eyes was more crushing than any scorn. "She loved you," he corrected, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that seemed to absorb the candlelight. "Past tense. My mother didn't just forbid the relationship. She carved it out of her."
Varun's breath hitched. "What are you saying?"
"Her memories of the mortal realm—of you, of your life together—were taken. Sealed away by a blood enchantment. She doesn't remember your face, your voice, the promises you made." Dildaar took a step forward, his youthful features hardened by grim reality. "The woman you see in the halls is Dilruba, the Fox Princess. She is not the girl who loved you. Not anymore."
The truth landed not with a shout, but with the silent, suffocating weight of a tombstone. Nine years of searching, of holding onto a love as his guiding star, unraveled in an instant. The hope that had sustained him crumpled, leaving a hollow, freezing void.
Varun didn't speak. He couldn't. The dim glow of the fox realm cast his stricken face in long, desperate shadows. The mission had just shifted from a reunion to a rescue—not of her body, but of her very mind. And he had no idea where to begin.