Fifteen days later, the air was crisp, cool, and infused with the scent of wild cedar and burning camphor. The Shastri Ashram sat nestled against the pristine green hills of Haridwar, overlooking the quiet, turquoise ripples of the upper Ganges. Mrinalini stood by the marble courtyard, her health visibly transformed. Thanks to the glucose drips, Samar’s hair tonic, and Anant’s iron-rich diet, her face carried a soft, radiant glow. Her long, pitch-black hair completely restored and shedding no more hung down past her waist in a thick, lustrous braid, swinging softly as her silver anklets chimed against the stone floor.

Parth stood right beside her, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, refusing to let her out of his sight. Inside the traditional therapy pavilion, Vaidya Anant was overseeing the preparation of warm, herb-infused saltwater pots (Neti Lota) and mild herbal decoctions for the gentle Shatkarma cleansing. Two senior, white-bearded Vaidyas of the ashram walked into the pavilion, looking at Parth’s regal, protective presence and the young, glowing woman beside him. One of the senior Vaidyas stroked his beard, looking at Anant with a warm, mischievous twinkle in his eyes.