Mrityunjay’s eyes were fixed on Moksha, the woman he had just saved from falling. Even though her face was partially hidden behind her ghunghat, he could sense her racing heartbeat, the fear etched on her lowered lashes, and the delicate trembling of her body. The proximity between them sent a strange electric sensation coursing through both their veins.

Moments passed, but Moksha didn’t feel the pain she had expected. Instead, she felt the warmth of steady hands holding her. Slowly, she opened her eyes, only to find herself lost in Mrityunjay’s deep blue gaze. His eyes, like an ocean holding a storm within, met hers—dark and doe-like, filled with pain and loneliness. It was as though time had come to a standstill, the unspoken connection between them bridging the gap of unfamiliarity.