The temple was bathed in moonlight, its golden domes shimmering beneath a sky of endless indigo. The stars hung heavy, scattered like shards of crushed diamond, their glow soft and knowing. The wind whispered through the corridors, carrying the scent of incense and distant rain.
Aaravi stood at the temple's highest terrace, her fingers curled around the carved railing, her gaze fixed on the vast expanse beyond the sacred grounds. The hills stretched into shadow, the river winding like liquid silver beneath the watchful moon.
She had not come here to think about him.
And yet, he was there—in the edges of her thoughts, in the weight of the night air, in the way the firelight had flickered against his skin when he had looked at her.
She exhaled sharply.
This was dangerous.
Not the kind of danger she had spent her life avoiding—the kind that came with war and wounds and battles waged with steel.
No, this was a different kind of danger.
One that had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the soul.
A rustling of fabric behind her. A shift in the air.
She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Vihan's presence was unmistakable—heavy like a storm before it breaks, warm like fire before it consumes.
"You don't sleep," he murmured, stepping up beside her.
Aaravi inhaled. "Neither do you."
Vihan huffed a quiet laugh. "Touché."
They stood in silence for a moment, the night stretching wide and endless around them. The wind caught the hem of Aaravi's robes, making the silk ripple like water. She let her fingers skim the stone railing, grounding herself.
"What keeps you awake?" he asked. His voice was lower now, quiet, like he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Aaravi tilted her head, watching the way the stars reflected in the river far below. "The same thing that keeps you awake, I imagine."
Vihan exhaled, leaning his forearms against the railing. His tunic was loose again, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the lines of old scars and fresh bruises. He did not carry his sword tonight, but he still looked like a man ready for war.
Or perhaps, a man who did not know how to live without one.
"The mind is a restless thing," she said after a moment.
Vihan hummed. "So is the heart."
Aaravi turned her head slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye.
He was staring straight ahead, golden gaze fixed on the moonlit landscape, but he was not really looking at it.
He was elsewhere.
Buried beneath the weight of memories he had not yet spoken aloud.
And she… she was not sure she was ready to hear them.
Because she had already seen them.
She had seen his fire.
Had felt it beneath her skin the moment she had touched him.
And yet, even now, it still burned.
Vihan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "It's strange."
Aaravi arched a brow. "What is?"
His lips pressed together for a moment, as if he were choosing his words carefully.
"This place," he said finally. "It feels… steady."
Aaravi exhaled. "You say that as if it's a foreign thing."
Vihan glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "It is."
Aaravi hesitated, watching the way his fingers flexed against the railing, the way his body never fully relaxed.
She had spent her life tending to wounds.
She knew the ones that could be stitched and healed.
And she knew the ones that festered long after the bleeding stopped.
She turned slightly, shifting so she could face him fully. The moonlight painted his features in silver and shadow—the strong lines of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the golden fire in his gaze that never quite went out.
"You don't have to be on guard here," she said softly.
Vihan's jaw tensed, but he did not look away.
"I don't know how to be anything else," he admitted.
Something tightened in Aaravi's chest.
Because she understood.
She reached for the tray beside her, lifting the clay pot carefully. The scent of saffron and spice curled through the air as she poured a fresh cup of chai, the steam rising between them like something unspoken.
Vihan arched a brow. "More tea?"
Aaravi smirked. "It worked last time, didn't it?"
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."
She handed him the cup, watching as he took it with careful fingers.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly, he lifted it to his lips.
Aaravi watched the way his expression shifted—the way his shoulders loosened, just slightly.
"This is different," he murmured, studying the cup. "It's not the same as before."
Aaravi nodded. "It's a night blend. Something to calm restless minds."
Vihan's gaze flickered to hers. "And hearts?"
Aaravi hesitated.
Then, softer, "Perhaps."
Vihan exhaled, his fingers curling around the warm clay. "And does it work?"
Aaravi tilted her head, considering him.
His fire had burned for so long.
But even fire could be tempered.
She lifted her own cup, letting the warmth seep into her palms.
"Tell me in the morning," she murmured.
Vihan held her gaze for a long moment.
Then, slowly—almost reluctantly—he nodded.
The night stretched quiet around them, the temple bathed in moonlight, the stars flickering overhead.
And for the first time, Vihan did not feel like he had to burn.