The evening sun spilled golden light across the narrow lane, painting the world in warmth. Children in neatly pressed uniforms walked in small groups, their laughter echoing between the walls of tiled-roof houses. Dilli, with his satchel slung lazily over one shoulder, stood quietly near the houses's worn-out gate, his eyes scanning the path as though waiting for something—or someone.
And then, he saw her.
Shakti.
Her father's old bicycle rattled into view, the spokes singing a faint metallic hum. She sat on the small iron seat welded to the middle bar, her tiny hands gripping the little handle fitted before her, her legs dangling freely, brushing the air with every pedal stroke. Her hair danced behind her in the morning breeze, catching the sunlight like strands of silk.
Dilli's breath caught. A sudden ache swelled in his chest, sharp and overwhelming, as if the earth itself had paused. In her giggle, in the way she looked around at the world with wonder, he felt something shatter and then heal within him at once.
A whisper escaped his lips, trembling, almost inaudible:
"Shakti..."
The sound of her name pulled forth a flood of memories from the deep recesses of his soul—memories not of this life, but of another. Of love, of loss, of battles fought and lost, of promises broken by fate. His eyes blurred, tears pushing past his will.
"No," he told himself fiercely inside, "I don't care about the results of my past life. Shakti… in this life, I will be your companion. I will make you the Empress of the world I will create. Together, we will roam every corner of this earth, hand in hand. I will protect our families, I will raise them with pride, and I will make the world know—we were always meant for each other."
The bicycle wobbled over a pothole, her father chuckled softly, "Hold tight, Amma, we'll be there soon."
"Yes, Daddy!" Shakti's little voice chimed, clear as a temple bell.
Dilli's heart trembled. That innocent tone struck him harder than any sword. He clenched his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Every tear that slid down his cheek carried both the torment of his past and the fire of his resolve.
"You are just a child now," he continued his silent vow, "and I am walking a path filled with storms. But from the shadows, I will guard you. I will rise, I will endure, and when the time comes—I will take you not as a loser, but as a winner. This time, destiny will not mock me."
The bicycle rolled past him, her laughter echoing like a song only his soul could hear. He stood rooted, his vision blurred with tears, but within, something had ignited—a flame fiercer than ever before.
No matter how complicated, no matter how risky—he would walk his path.
Not for himself alone.
For her. For their families.
For the life he swore to claim.
And as Shakti disappeared into the gates of the school, Dilli wiped his face roughly, his jaw firm. The turmoil in his heart had birthed a new clarity. Each step he took from that moment carried the weight of his vow.
This was no ordinary morning. This was the day Dilli's destiny was reforged.