Suhaan's breath had stilled.
Rudra stood above him, eyes glowing crimson—his voice deep with fury.
“You deserved this.”
The ophidian slithered back, retreating to his neck, returning to its tattoo form—silent once again.

The Morning

Birds chirped gently outside the window.

Rudra sat on his couch, dragging a palm down his tired face.
“Arrrghhh!!”
A sudden sharp ache twisted through his chest. He clutched it tightly.

“This pain… it’s getting worse!”

He stayed still for a moment, panting. Then, a long exhale escaped his lips. Calm. Silence. He sat upright.
Slowly, he got to his feet and walked to the bathroom.

Drip. Drip.
The water slid down his face. The shower didn’t wash away the ache, but it gave him a breath.
Wrapped in a robe, he stepped out, still drowsy.

“Ahh… why am I still sleepy…” he muttered.

Step… step… step…
His feet led him to the old piano at the side of the room. He sat. Let his fingers touch the cold keys.
A soft melody poured out.

“It’s been so long… but I still remember…”

His fingers moved gently. The music was familiar—ancient.
His eyes fluttered shut.

200 years ago…
A young woman stood in the garden, sunlight hitting her floral saree just right. Her voice was humming the same tune, sweet and distant. Hana.

Rudra opened his eyes.
“In this melody… I can still hear you, Hana.”