CHAPTER 245: CHAPTER-245.

This time, her mind didn’t drift into darkness.

Instead, she found herself standing on a path she didn’t recognize, her bare feet brushing against soft petals scattered across the ground. When she looked up, there it was—a massive tree, its branches heavy with white Arjanta flowers swaying gently as though they breathed.

Beneath its shade sat the same physician she had seen before. His back leaned lazily against the trunk, eyes half-lidded as if lost in thoughts too heavy to share. The petals kept falling over him, some catching in his hair, others dissolving on his faded robes as though the fabric itself swallowed them whole.

Kaya slowly walked toward him, her steps crunching softly against the fallen Arjanta petals. No matter how close she came, the man’s face remained hidden, blurred by a faint mist that clung to him like a veil. Still, she could feel his presence—warm, steady, strangely familiar.

As if sensing her nearness, he stirred and opened his eyes. They were a startling blue, deep and clear, like frozen lakes under the winter sun. His gaze fixed on her, and in a voice so soft it almost blended with the rustling of the flowers, he murmured,

"You..."

His eyes dropped to her hands, and a faint crease formed between his brows. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently took them in his own. His touch was careful, reverent, as though he feared breaking her. "Can you not take care of yourself?" he whispered, shaking his head with quiet helplessness. "Look how much you’ve hurt yourself."

From the folds of his robe, he drew out a small vial, something glowing faintly, like liquid silver. With delicate movements, he began untying the bandage around her hand. Kaya watched him in silence. Though his face was hidden, she could feel the gentleness in every motion, every brush of his fingers—so unlike the harshness of the world she was thrown into.

He studied her wounds, his expression softening into something that felt both tender and stern. "You mustn’t treat yourself like this," he said, his voice lowering, almost scolding. Then he lifted his gaze to her, eyes piercing through the veil of mist as he asked in a tone that brooked no excuses,

"How did you get hurt this badly? Hm?"

And strangely, Kaya’s lips moved before her mind could catch up. The words spilled out from somewhere deep inside her chest, almost as though they weren’t her own:

"I was... just practicing."

At that, his frown deepened. He carefully smeared the cool ointment across her knuckles, his touch soothing but firm. "Practicing..." he echoed, almost disapprovingly. Then, with a sigh that carried both patience and rebuke, he said,

"You must control your anger. Just because you’re angry does not mean striking harder will fix anything. Pain will not make you stronger."

His voice sank into her like a command and a plea all at once.

Suddenly, Kaya heard faint voices echoing through the haze of the dream.

Kaya? ... Kaya? ... Kaya?

Her head turned sharply, but the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The man beneath the Arjanta tree lifted his gaze to her, his blue eyes soft yet unreadable.

"It seems," he said in a low voice, "someone is calling you."

Before Kaya could answer, his figure began to blur, dissolving into the same mist that cloaked his face. The blossoms, the tree, the entire dreamscape faded like water slipping through her fingers.

"Kaya?"

Her eyes snapped open. She jolted upright, breath uneven. The room was dim and quiet. The only sound was the steady knock at the door and Veer’s muffled voice calling, "Kaya? Come out!"

She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to shake off the heavy fog of sleep. "Coming!" she called back, her voice rough.

But then her eyes dropped to her hand—

Her bandage had been undone.

And where Veer’s sharp-smelling green ointment should have been, there was something entirely different. A faintly glowing, silver-like salve clung to her wounds, gleaming softly in the dim light. She blinked, her breath catching.

"What the..." she whispered, leaning closer. The scent that rose from it wasn’t acrid like neem—it was gentle, soothing, almost floral. She stared, utterly bewildered. She remembered clearly—Veer had used something else. Something pungent, bitter. So how...?

Kaya? Veer’s voice came again, louder this time, impatient.

Kaya snapped out of her daze, quickly curling her fingers as though to hide the strange ointment. "Yes, yes!" she answered, pushing herself up from the bed.

Ignoring the strange weight in her chest, she smoothed her clothes, pulled her expression back into its usual calm, and stepped out of the room.

As Kaya stepped out of her room, her hair still damp from sweat and her clothes thrown on in a rush, she frowned at him. "What the hell are you shouting for?" Her voice carried clear irritation.

But when Veer’s eyes landed on her, his lips curved before he could stop himself. A small laugh slipped out of him, low and amused.

Kaya narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unamused. "What’s so funny?"

Instead of answering, he walked over and raised his hand, ruffling her messy hair with deliberate mischief before smoothing it out with his palm. "You look like a peacock right now," he said, half-teasing, half-gentle. His hand lingered as he tried to tame the wild strands sticking out in every direction.

Kaya stared at him blankly for a moment, then turned away with a look that plainly said idiot. Without another word, she brushed past him and headed toward the bathroom to wash her hands.

She’d always been like this—a tomboy through and through. Unlike other girls, she had never learned how to style her hair into the delicate braids and buns people admired. Her hands were clumsy with such things; the most she could manage was a ponytail or a rough bun. That was it. And somehow, this simple difference had been one of the many reasons her parents frowned at her, always seeing her as lacking, unrefined.

But Kaya never cared much. Let the world fuss about appearances—she had other battles to fight.