Chapter 2: Two Souls, One Thread

The red thread shimmered in the sacred ether, dancing like a flame in the wind. Finer than moonlight, stronger than fate, it wrapped itself quietly around two tiny sparks of consciousness—souls suspended between lifetimes. And then, as silently as it had appeared, the thread vanished, descending into the mortal realm.

Above, the celestial council remained gathered in the Sabha of Eternity. Silence clung to the air like incense after an evening aarti. The decision had been made, yet its weight remained.

Then, cutting through the silence, came a familiar voice, cheerful as ever.

"Narayan, Narayan!"

All divine heads turned toward the wandering sage. Narad Muni stood with his veena resting on one shoulder and a mischievous glint in his eye. His orange robes swayed gently as he hovered midair, entirely unbothered by the seriousness of the moment.

"Well, that was dramatic," he said, tapping his chin. "Seven lifetimes? In this age? That's bolder than even my attempt at composing a shloka in rap meter!"

Parvati stifled a smile. Lakshmi chuckled softly. Even Kartikeya, stoic as he was, shook his head in amusement.

Lord Shiva, ever still yet ever aware, opened his eyes and looked toward Narad. "You disapprove?"

"Me?" Narad placed a hand over his heart. "Never, Mahadev. I simply admire the divine optimism. Have you seen the world lately? They say 'forever' on Monday, break up by Thursday, and get engaged by Saturday."

Vishnu raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps they need a real example."

"True," Narad admitted. "But seven lifetimes is no small stage. Even your most loyal bhaktas couldn't handle such a cosmic marathon of emotions."

Saraswati interjected, her voice composed and gentle. "They are not ordinary souls. They have seen shadows and light in equal measure. It is in their nature to struggle—and strive."

Brahma added thoughtfully, "They were never meant to remember. Only to rediscover. Each lifetime a veil. Each vow a challenge."

Narad tilted his head. "And yet, some part of them will know. A pull. A pause. A question without words."

Ganesh, munching on a modak, spoke up. "That pull is the red thread. Stronger than memory. Weaker than ego."

The gods nodded.

From the pool of fate, the vision shifted.

Somewhere on Earth...

The sun rose over a quiet village nestled at the edge of a forest. Roosters crowed. Temple bells rang. And in a modest hut of mud and thatch, a baby girl was born.

Her mother wept tears of both exhaustion and joy. Her father clasped the child gently, as if she might break, murmuring prayers of protection under his breath.

The child did not cry too loudly. Instead, her eyes opened wide and calm—eyes that held the softness of a thousand lifetimes.

They named her Aarohi.

Far away, in a grand city of glass towers and marble mansions, another child was born.

In a sterile, private hospital wing, under the watch of suited men and emotionless nurses, a baby boy came into the world. No tears, no noise—just the silent weight of a destiny waiting to unfold.

His father, a man of empires and power, nodded once. His mother held him like he was a crown.

They named him Ishaan.

In the instant both children took their first breath, a shimmer crossed their closed eyelids. Unseen by the world, the red thread had found its way.

In the Celestial Realm...

Narad peered into the pool, hands behind his back, humming a soft tune.

"She is born into love and lack. He into power and distance. Perfect," he muttered. "Let's see how long it takes before they annoy each other."

Parvati stepped beside him. "She will feel more than she speaks. He will speak more than he feels."

Lakshmi nodded. "Let her teach him warmth. Let him teach her courage."

Shiva simply said, "Let them forget."

Years Passed...

Aarohi grew up surrounded by struggle. Her family had little, but she had music. Her voice carried through the village lanes as she sang bhajans at the temple. She offered her portion of rice to stray dogs. She learned to repair her schoolbag with needle and thread.

She was the kind of girl who would pray for others and forget her own wishes.

But sometimes, late at night, she would dream of a garden she'd never seen. A boy whose face she couldn't recall. A sadness that didn't belong to her.

In the city, Ishaan Malhotra was raised like royalty. Tutors taught him eight languages. Security guards trailed his steps. He signed his first business document at age ten.

He did not play. He did not believe. He did not trust.

But on stormy nights, he would wake up breathless, unsure why he felt empty, or who he had lost.

The Gods Watched.

In the heavens, the pool shimmered.

Saraswati said, "Soon, they will meet."

"And when they do?" Indra asked.

Narad grinned. "Fireworks, lightning, and a little name-calling, most likely."

Parvati placed a hand on Shiva's arm. "Let it begin."

Shiva whispered, "Let love remember itself."

And so, the wheel turned.

The first lifetime began in truth.

Their paths would cross not by magic, but by chance. Not in temples, but on dusty roads. Not with realization—but resistance.