𝐌𝐚𝐡𝐚 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢

नैनोवाले ने आहा
नैनों वाले ने छेड़ा मन का प्याला
छलकै मधुशाला

मेरा छैं रैन नैन अपने साथ ले गया

पग पग डोलू रे...हो...
पग पग डोलू रे
दगमग सी मैं चलती हूं
जगमग लौ सी जलती
तेरे नैनों की कोई मदिरा
थर-थर कापू रे
तेरे तीर से झपात

चंदन के नाग सी लिपटी
मैं बेहोश तू नशा
ऐसी मोह की दशा

मेरा छैं रैन नैन अपने साथ ले गया
नैनोवाले ने आहा
नैनोवाले ने
नैनोवाले ने छेड़ा मन का प्याला
छलकै मधुशाला
मेरा छैं रैन नैन अपने साथ ले गया

The holy city of Banaras shimmered under the mellow light of the rising sun. Streets were alive with the fervor of Maha Shivratri. Devotees filled the ghats, the rhythmic sounds of bells and conch shells echoing across the holy waters of the Ganga. Bright marigold garlands adorned every doorway. Scented smoke from the incense sticks danced through the air, wrapping the city in an otherworldly charm.

At the heart of the city stood the grand Mahadev Temple - a place known not just for faith, but for fate. It was said the blessings offered here on Maha Shivratri never returned empty.

And this year, the temple had a special guest. Ayaan Singh Aalwhat - the reclusive heir to one of the biggest empires in the country - had agreed to perform the evening aarti. Known for his discipline, mystery, and sharp silence, Ayaan was as untouchable as he was powerful. But what most didn't know was his deep-rooted devotion to Shivji, a quiet faith that grounded his chaotic world.

The house of the Alawhats echoed with the soft chimes of the temple bell in the courtyard as the golden rays of early evening poured in through the carved jharokhas. The fragrance of incense wafted through the air, mingling with the marigold garlands that adorned every corner of the haveli.

Ayaan Singh Aalwhat stood by the wide window of his room, dressed in a cream kurta with intricate embroidery paired with a deep maroon stole. His eyes, calm yet constantly calculating, scanned the distant horizon where the ancient temple of Kashi Vishwanath stood tall - sacred, eternal.

His phone buzzed. A message from Reyansh:

> "Bro, temple security's handled. But remind Vihaan not to carry his gun there this time "

He smiled faintly but didn't reply.

Just then, a soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Ayaan beta?" came the gentle voice of his Dadi, her walking stick tapping softly against the marble floor as she entered.

He turned immediately, offering her a respectful nod. "Dadi, aap kab aayi?"

"Jab se tum khayalon mein ghoom rahe ho, main tab se idhar hoon." she smiled, settling onto the antique chair near the bed. "Aaj Maha Shivratri hai. Ja rahe ho na Aarti ke liye?"

"Haan, jaa raha hoon. Tayyari ho chuki hai." Ayaan said, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. He never missed the temple rituals, not just out of devotion - but tradition, discipline, and maybe something deeper.

"Toh ek kaam aur kar lena wahan," she added softly, eyes twinkling.

"Aaj apni hone waali dulhan ke liye bhi prarthana kar lena."

Ayaan froze.

"Dadi..." he exhaled, clearly uninterested. But she raised a wrinkled hand to stop his protest.

"Main toh sirf keh rahi hoon... Har kisi ke naseeb mein koi hota hai, jo unka saaya ban kar zindagi bhar saath chalta hai. Tumhare liye bhi koi toh likha gaya hoga. Bas Shiv ji se keh dena, jab bhi bhejein, woh muskurati ho."

He gave her a rare smile - the one only she could draw from him.

"Main Aarti ke liye nikalta hoon. Late ho jaaunga." he said, pressing her feet before walking out.

Outside, his car waited, polished to gleam under the soft sky. As he slid into the back seat, the evening sun dipped toward the ghats, and the echo of conch shells from the temple rang through the city - a silent reminder that something divine was about to unfold.

Little did Ayaan know, the girl who'd leave a thousand questions in his mind was already there... lost in the crowd, waiting to trip her way into his destiny.

a humbler, softer world bustled with giggles, marigolds, and the scent of rosewater. Amid the narrow alleys that led to the ancient temple, three girls made their way through the crowd - hands full of flowers, dupattas fluttering like soft flags of joy.

"Arey Prisha, sambhaal na tray! Pooja ki thali koi aise pakadta hai kya?" Kavya scolded playfully, steadying her friend's hand.

Prisha pouted. "Mujhse na ho paayega yeh sab... Dekhna aarti ke beech mein gir gayi toh blame mat karna mujhe!"

"Bas karo drama queen!" Mannat laughed, adjusting the tiny bells tied to the corners of the mandap. "Tu na har baar shikayat karti hai, par sabse zyada excited bhi tu hi hoti hai."

Prisha rolled her eyes, a smile playing at her lips. She wore a pastel yellow kurti that caught the sunlight like a prayer answered. A tiny black bindi sat on her forehead, almost protectively, as her brown eyes took in the holy chaos around her.

The temple was in full bloom - garlands hung from ancient pillars, earthen lamps were placed at every step, and the air echoed with the faint chant of Om Namah Shivaya.

As the girls helped with last-minute preparations, their chatter danced in the air like petals on wind.

"You know, yeh temple mujhe hamesha peaceful feel karwata hai. Jaise... jaise koi mujhe dekh raha ho, par bina daraaye." Prisha murmured while setting jasmine garlands near the idol.

"Waise hi bol rahi ho ya koi specific feeling aa rahi hai aaj?" Mannat teased.

Kavya leaned closer, winking. "Ya phir Shivji ne kisi ki entry likh di hai aaj tere liye?"

Prisha blushed, batting her eyes with mock annoyance. "Bas karo tum dono. It's not like that! Mujhe bas... aaj kuch alag lag raha hai. Pata nahi kya."

"Dil ki awaaz hoti hai Prish. Kabhi kabhi Bhagwan bhi hamari kahani likhne aate hain." Mannat whispered, half in jest, half in belief.

The three of them exchanged a look, the kind that only close friends could understand - where teasing and truth blurred together.

The sky had turned a golden pink outside, bells began to ring louder, and the temple suddenly felt like it was holding its breath.

Somewhere across the same mandap, in the shadows of the crowd, he had just entered. The Aarti was about to begin.

The black Mercedes slowed down in front of the ancient Shiv temple of Banaras, its presence almost sinful among the simple saffron and stone surroundings. Ayaan Singh Aalwhat stepped out, adjusting the sleeve of his pristine white kurta, the rudraksha beads around his wrist shifting as he moved. His presence was calm, commanding - like a thunderstorm waiting in stillness.

As his polished shoes touched the temple steps, a familiar voice called out.

"Oye Ayaan!"

Ayaan turned, lips curling into a rare smile. Reyansh, in his trademark leather jacket and devil-may-care attitude, stood near the temple gate, arms crossed and shades tucked into his collar.

"Tu time pe kaise aa gaya?" Reyansh raised an eyebrow.

"Dadi ne kaha tha. Aarti miss nahi kar sakta," Ayaan replied simply, a slight tilt of reverence in his voice. "Aur tu?"

"Main toh bas tere intezaar mein tha, aur Vihaan toh already andar hai. Keh raha tha ki aarti mein shamil hone ka moka chhod nahi sakta."

Ayaan nodded. "6 baj gaye hai, chalo."

The two of them climbed the stairs, weaving through devotees, flower-sellers, and priests, their demeanors distinctly different from the crowd. While Reyansh's eyes scanned the place with sharp mischief, Ayaan's stayed focused, calm - as if his mind had already entered the sanctum.

As they reached the inner temple courtyard, the sky above turned a dusky lavender, casting golden hues over the temple dome. Bells rang in rhythmic devotion. The smell of incense wafted thick in the air, mingling with marigold and camphor.

Inside, Vihaan stood with a peaceful smile, already deep in prayer.

"Bas yaar, tum dono ko dekh ke lagta hai Shivji ne VIP darshan rakh liya hai aaj," Vihaan teased, folding his hands as Ayaan approached the sacred space reserved for the Aarti.

Ayaan smiled faintly, stepping ahead as the priest handed him the grand aarti thaal - a massive brass plate adorned with five flaming wicks, symbolizing the five elements.

He took it with reverence, stepping before the deity, the crowd silencing in awe. The echo of the conch shell vibrated through the temple walls.

Then it happened.

A flash of yellow drifted into his peripheral vision - delicate fabric fluttering like sunlight incarnate. He looked up, and amidst the sea of faces, his eyes found her.

Brown eyes, wide and curious.

Soft curls, framing her glowing face.

And that tiny black bindi between her brows.

His fingers froze mid-circle. For just one second, time lost its rhythm. The flames of the aarti wavered, mirroring the flicker in his heartbeat.

He blinked.

And turned away, refocusing on the aarti.

He told himself it meant nothing. Just a face in the crowd.

But the way her presence stirred something unspoken - that wasn't nothing.

And the universe?

It was just getting started.

The aarti had ended, but the echo of bells still lingered in the air - soft, sacred, and honeyed. Smoke from incense curled like blessings into the twilight sky. Ayaan descended the temple steps slowly, his thoughts uncharacteristically clouded.

That face.

Those eyes.

He didn't believe in distractions during devotion. But there was something strange about the girl in the yellow kurti - fleeting, but unforgettable. As if the universe had whispered her name while he prayed.

He shook the thought off, adjusting the cuff of his kurta as he stepped down toward the courtyard.

And then - chaos.

A wave of devotees surged forward, eager to touch the temple threshold, to catch the last glimmers of holiness before nightfall. Prisha, caught in the shuffle, tried to maneuver her way through the crowd, balancing a wicker basket of marigolds and roses.

"Kavya! Mannat! Ruko na-" she called out, trying to follow her friends.

But the push of the crowd threw her off balance. Her sandal caught the edge of a step, and the basket tumbled from her hands.

Flowers scattered between them like whispered confessions.

Time slowed.

Prisha tilted dangerously, heart lurching, breath caught-

-until arms like steel and warmth wrapped around her waist, steadying her in mid-fall.

Her fingers curled around the fabric of his kurta, eyes snapping upward instinctively. And there they were-his eyes. Cool, unreadable, storm-grey. Like he knew everything and nothing at once.

Ayaan.

He held her like she was something breakable. He didn't speak immediately, only glanced at the flowers at their feet - yellow, red, white - like blessings that fell to witness something divine.

And then, finally, his gaze returned to hers.

"Sambhal ke chaliye," he said, voice deep, low, and laced with an odd softness that didn't match his stoic face.

Prisha stared at him - her cheeks flaming, heartbeat rioting.

"Main... sorry..." she stammered, fingers tightening on her dupatta as the wind fluttered it between them.

But he didn't wait for a reply.

He released her gently, like she was a moment he wasn't meant to hold onto. Then turned, steps firm, disappearing into the crowd with a grace that left her breathless.

Prisha stood still.

Staring at the scattered flowers.

At the spot where their worlds had accidentally collided.

"Arre tu theek hai?" Mannat rushed back, grabbing her arm.

Kavya followed with a teasing smirk. "Kya Prisha! Temple mein bhi tu heroine wali entry maar rahi hai."

But Prisha didn't answer.

She just pressed her palm to her chest, where her heart still hadn't slowed, and whispered, more to herself than anyone else-

"Kaun the woh...?"

"Yeh kya kiya tumne, Prisha! He's the most reputed man here - Ayaan Singh!" Kavya whispered in a half-horrified, half-awestruck tone, gripping Prisha's arm like it was the end of the world.

Prisha's eyes widened. "You know him?!"

"Everyone knows him!" Mannat chimed in with a dramatic toss of her dupatta. "Ayaan Singh-the temple trustee, richest businessman under 30, and probably the most eligible bachelor in Banaras."

"Don't forget dangerously handsome," Kavya added, fanning herself like she was going to faint.

Prisha, however, was not enjoying this fan moment.

Instead, she let out a dramatic groan and hid her face into her dupatta, crouching slightly as if she could disappear into the earth. "Oh my God... he saw me!"

"Not just saw you, babe," Mannat teased, unable to hide her grin. "You practically fell into his arms. Like full-on slow motion-flowers flying, wind blowing, dupatta dancing. It was poetic, honestly."

"Poetic?!" Prisha squeaked, lifting her head just enough to glare at them. "I EMBARRASSED myself in front of a literal Greek god and showered him with flowers like it's Holi!"

Kavya laughed, looping her arm through Prisha's. "You do have a flair for the dramatic. But hey - look on the bright side. At least you didn't trip over his feet and take him down with you."

Prisha scowled. "That's not helping."

But even as her friends chuckled, she couldn't stop her heart from rewinding the moment - again and again.

The way his arms had caught her - firm yet gentle.

The way his eyes held hers - unblinking, unreadable.

The way he said, "Sambhal ke chaliye" - not mocking, not amused... but like he cared.

Her stomach fluttered.

There was something in him - a silence that didn't feel empty.

"You're staring into space again." Mannat nudged her. "Don't tell me you're already writing poetry in your head."

Prisha didn't respond. She simply turned to look at the temple exit where he had disappeared. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her dupatta, her heartbeat still not normal.

She didn't know what it was - why it felt like something had shifted inside her. A name she didn't know was already echoing in her chest.

And somewhere not far from there - in the backseat of a sleek black car, Ayaan sat with his jaw tight and mind full.

"That girl..."

Her eyes had unsettled him. Like a truth he wasn't ready to face.

He didn't believe in fate.

But he would remember the warmth of her fall - and the fire in her eyes - for a long time to come.

They didn't know it yet...

But this was only the first line of a love story the universe had already started writing - in silence, in scattered flowers, and in glances that refused to be forgotten.