After months of relentless pursuit—chasing shadows, unraveling conspiracies, and battling the unseen hands of rival proxies—Amar knew he and Ria needed a respite. The weight of his mission as the God of Darkness had pressed heavily on them both, their lives consumed by late-night strategies and encrypted files. A break was long overdue. On a quiet Saturday morning, he texted Ria to meet him at his Koregaon Park apartment. When she arrived, her eyes bright with curiosity, they shared a simple breakfast of masala omelets and chai, the monsoon's gentle patter outside a soft backdrop to their laughter.
Amar took her hand, his golden eyes softening. "Close your eyes," he whispered. She grinned, trusting him completely. Shadows swirled around them, a cool embrace of darkness, and in an instant, they stepped through a portal of shadow, emerging under the creaking silhouette of an old windmill in the Netherlands. Amar had seen the place online—a sprawling 100-acre flower farm, a vibrant sea of tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths stretching toward the horizon, dotted with ancient windmills. It was early morning there, the sky a pale gold, the air crisp and clean. No one was in sight, just rows of meticulously planted flowers swaying gently in the breeze, their colors a vivid tapestry under the rising sun.
Ria gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. She had always dreamed of visiting such a place, her love for flowers no secret to Amar. "This… this is incredible," she whispered, spinning slowly to take in the endless fields. Her sundress, a soft yellow, fluttered in the cold wind, and she shivered slightly. Amar slipped off his heavy leather jacket—dark, oversized, imbued with his scent of cedar and storm—and draped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her frame but warmed her instantly, cozy and comforting. She hugged him tightly, her arms wrapping around him in gratitude. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, her face buried in his chest.
He smiled, a rare softness breaking through his guarded demeanor. "You deserve this," he said simply. They set up two folding chairs side by side, pulling them from the picnic basket he'd packed. Inside was a spread of sandwiches, mango lassi, and homemade samosas—comfort food for a day of peace. They sat, chairs angled toward the vibrant fields, and talked for hours. They spoke of small things—her favorite books, his memories of childhood pranks, the way the windmills seemed to hum with history—and deeper ones, like their fears and hopes for a world less broken. The drinks were cool, the snacks crisp, and the conversation flowed effortlessly, a balm to their weary souls.
As the day wore on, the sun climbed high, then began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The flowers glowed in the fading light, and Ria leaned against Amar, her hand finding his. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling, and kissed him—a soft, lingering moment of bliss that felt like the world pausing just for them. Pulling back, she laughed, her voice bright against the quiet fields. "Thankyou Chaos King," she teased, squeezing his hand, her smile radiant.
Amar chuckled, his chaotic heart lighter than it had been in months. The Darkness, the rival proxies, the weight of justice—all faded in this moment. They packed up as the sun dipped below the horizon, the windmills casting long shadows across the fields. Holding hands, they stepped back through a shadow, returning to the monsoon-soaked streets of Pune. But the warmth of the day lingered, a memory of flowers and laughter to carry them through the battles ahead.