The sun beat down on Vaishali like a curse.
Dust rose in thick waves as carts creaked through the merchant square. The smell of stale grains and desperation clung to the air like rot. Hunger had become more than a feeling here—it was a smell, a sound, a shadow that followed everyone.
Yuvan stood tall, dressed in muted crimson silk, arms crossed as his father's men yelled prices to the crowd.
"One silver for a quarter sack!"
"Three for full grain, clean and dry!"
And yet… no hands were raised.
The villagers stared, silent. Their eyes weren't empty—they were burning.
Whispers flowed like wind.
"Does he think we still have coins?"
"We gave him our savings last harvest. And he raised the price again."
Yuvan looked away, jaw tightening. This wasn't the response he expected. He had ordered the stores opened. He was trying to help... wasn't he?
Then, like a blade through murmur, a voice rang clear.
"If you're here to help, why are you selling food like it's gold?"
The crowd parted. And there she was.
Anaya.
Same dusty shawl. Same calm, unreadable eyes. But this time, she wasn't speaking to him in private.
She was challenging him before the whole village.
Yuvan's heart thudded, but his face remained stone.
"I don't run a temple, girl. My family feeds kingdoms. We are not a charity."
"Kingdoms don't beg," Anaya said softly. "But we're not kingdoms. We're your people."
A child tugged on Anaya's sari. She bent down, handing the boy a small ball of boiled root. The crowd watched.
Yuvan saw the child. Thin arms. Bones where cheeks should be. Something twisted in his chest.
"You think feeding a handful of mouths with weeds makes you righteous?" he snapped.
Anaya stood, eyes steady. "No. But I feed what I can. While your rats eat more rice than my entire lane."
A few villagers chuckled, bitterly. Others looked away.
The air crackled.
"You walk in here with your silk and guards," she continued, "but it takes courage to come without anything… and still offer something."
Yuvan's face flushed — partly from shame, partly from the rising storm inside him. No one spoke to him this way.
"Do you know what it takes to protect a granary?" he spat. "Thieves, mold, taxes, storage? You think feeding is simple?"
"It is," she said. "When you see others as human."
From the clouds above, Narada Muni plucked a note on his veena, smirking.
"Oh-ho, now this is music!" he chuckled, floating on an invisible wind above the market. "Conflict, pride, hunger, and... a spark. My favorite symphony."
He glanced toward the sky, where faint images of the gods shimmered.
Parvati folded her arms, watching Anaya with a proud smile.
"She speaks with clarity," she said. "Her truth is quiet, but it moves mountains."
Lakshmi, standing beside Vishnu, looked toward Yuvan.
"He holds wealth, but not wisdom. Yet his soul... it stirs."
Vishnu's eyes twinkled. "Let the tension grow. Ego must burn before the heart softens."
Narada floated lower, whispering to a bird passing by.
"Go tell the banyan to bloom tonight. These two are fire and clay... and the gods do love a little smoke."
Back in the market, the merchant — Yuvan's father — stepped forward, red-faced.
"Enough of this spectacle! This girl insults our name—"
"She's telling the truth," Yuvan said suddenly.
The silence was sharp.
Anaya blinked.
Even his father turned.
"What?"
Yuvan's voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop.
"The grain... it's not reaching the ones who need it. It's just sitting here."
He turned to the guards. "Open one of the sacks. We'll give out five small portions. Free."
Gasps followed. The guards hesitated.
His father's eyes narrowed. "You're letting pity dictate policy?"
Yuvan clenched his jaw.
"No. I'm letting purpose guide it."
That night, a handful of rice changed more than a few empty stomachs.
It fractured something deep inside Yuvan: the idea that value was only measured in coin.
And it planted something in Anaya — not trust, but the first trace of curiosity.
As she watched him from across the square, handing out grain with unfamiliar hands, she wondered:
"Is he pretending… or changing?"
The hunger of the body is cruel… but the hunger of the soul? It can break an empire… or build a bond.