Aarohi couldn't sleep that night.
Not because of fear.
But because she heard the flute again.
Not soft.
Not soothing.
Demanding.
She followed the sound into the grove.
Alone.
Ishaan was still analyzing dream data from the mirror room.
"Just five minutes," she told herself.
"Just to see what it wants."
The trees shifted again.
A soft breeze, like a breath holding back.
And then —
She saw him.
Blue skin.
Peacock feather.
A bansuri in hand.
Dancing alone.
Graceful. Silent.
His back toward her.
Aarohi's heart skipped.
"Is it… him?" she whispered.
The flute stopped.
The figure turned slowly.
A smile formed — beautiful, but wrong.
His eyes were… empty.
Still glowing, but with nothing inside.
She stepped forward.
Her heart said run.
But something inside her whispered, "Look closer."
The moonlight hit his feet.
But the ground below him was clean.
No shadow.
Aarohi froze.
"You're not him."
The figure tilted its head.
The flute melted in his hand.
Became ash.
His form shimmered —
and for a moment, it had no face.
Aarohi stumbled back, heart pounding.
The figure whispered, voice echoing backwards:
"If he won't come… I will."
Suddenly —
A conch shell blared from behind.
The sound rippled like lightning through the grove.
The figure disintegrated.
And behind her — Ishaan stood, holding Vrinda's diary.
"You weren't supposed to come alone," he said.
"Neither was he."
Aarohi collapsed into his arms.
"It looked like Him, Ishan. But it wasn't. It had no… bhav."
Ishaan nodded slowly.
"The Raas brings divine light. But that means it also… casts out shadows."
"Then who was that?"
Ishaan looked at the burning diya beside the Tulsi grove.
"Not who.
What."