our tale
How Our Paths Crossed
We first met on the ramparts of Mehrangarh at golden hour — Bhavya sketching the jharokha windows for a college folio, Rudra lost on the wrong side of the fort looking for the same view. He asked her the way down; she pointed him toward the sunset instead.
For two winters we found each other again and again — over kachoris in Sardar Market, at Rajasthan International Folk Festival concerts under the stars, always somewhere the desert wind carried a dhol beat.
One evening, as the dunes of Osian turned to gold, Rudra asked Bhavya to walk every sunset to come by his side. She said yes before the first star rose over the fort.