"Reborn in the Movie Universe: Continuation"

[SATYAPRIYA'S POV]

The car sped toward the cremation ground, sunlight streaming through the window. I stared outside, my thoughts tangled, and I felt the tears slip down my cheeks. Everything around me was moving too quickly, and I barely had time to catch my breath. Just a few years ago, life had been so different.

Back in college, I met Jaidev. He'd been there for me through the darkest days, always supporting me when I was struggling. During those times of depression, he stood by my side, patiently helping me find my way back. We became inseparable, the kind of friends who knew each other's silence as well as each other's laughter. Jaidev's unwavering support brought me out of my despair, and life started feeling brighter again.

One day, though, Jaidev asked me something that changed everything—he wanted us to be together, to get married. His words took me by surprise. I hesitated, unsure of what to say. It wasn't that I didn't care for him; Jaidev was my best friend, my constant companion, and, in some ways, I felt drawn to him. But deep down, a part of me resisted. A strange feeling lingered in my heart, a quiet, insistent whisper telling me that he wasn't the one. It was as if my soul was searching for someone else, someone I hadn't met yet but somehow knew I was destined to find.

I struggled to make sense of my feelings, trying to ignore that small voice in my heart. It didn't make sense to me—how could Jaidev not be the right person? He was there through everything, always by my side, never faltering. Maybe I didn't love him in the romantic sense, but I liked him, I trusted him, and I thought maybe, just maybe, love could grow over time. And that notion—that vague feeling of "someone else"—seemed foolish, like a fantasy from a story, not something grounded in real life.

So, I accepted Jaidev's proposal and spoke to my father, hoping he'd understand. But he refused. My father simply didn't see Jaidev as my partner, and his disapproval was resolute. Feeling torn and stubborn, Jaidev and I decided to go through with a court marriage, despite everything. I believed that, in time, my heart would follow.

But on our wedding night, reality hit me hard. When Jaidev tried to get close, I pushed him away without even thinking, my body reacting before my mind could process. I was confused, almost horrified. There was no desire, no warmth or spark—I felt nothing but a strange, heavy emptiness. I tried to explain, hoping he'd understand that I simply didn't feel a physical connection, but deep down, I couldn't be sure if he truly did.

Since then, it became a pattern. Each time he approached, that same instinctive reaction would surface, pulling me back. It wasn't intentional, but something within me resisted, and with each attempt, it only solidified the distance between us. I was left wondering if my heart had known all along, even when my mind refused to see it.

At one point, I began to question if I might be asexual. It seemed like the only explanation that could make sense of why I felt no physical attraction toward Jaidev, despite my deep respect for him. I met with a doctor, shared my concerns, and underwent several tests, hoping for some clarity. But the results left me more perplexed; I wasn't asexual, and medically, there was nothing wrong. I shared my situation with the doctor, explaining my lack of desire, but there were no answers. I was left standing on shifting ground, clinging to Jaidev's understanding and patience as my only reassurance.

(A/N: I'm not sure how this works, so please don't judge me)

Life continued to flow around me, and though my marriage seemed calm on the surface, it was filled with unspoken distances. Then, I began noticing a change in Jhanvi, my younger sister. She grew distant, retreating further into herself, and spending most of her days behind closed doors. At first, I thought it was just a phase, something temporary. But as time went on, her silence became unsettling. I asked her countless times if something was wrong, tried to reach out in every way I knew, but she refused to open up. Her silence felt like another unanswered question hanging in the air.

Around the same time, my father began inviting Brahma into our lives. I despised Brahma, his presence always felt like an unwelcome shadow. Yet, his influence in our family and, it seemed, in the state as a whole, grew stronger. Party members I once considered allies slowly distanced themselves from me, voices I thought I could trust fell silent, and I felt myself fading from the circle I once belonged to. The only person who seemed to remain was Jaidev, steady and unwavering. Yet, even in his company, there was an aching emptiness—a distance I couldn't explain. It was as if he was beside me, but never truly with me, as if he'd always been just out of reach, a part of my life but never really a part of me.

In the chaos, an NGO in Amaravati created by the well-known Krishna Prasad, I found a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long time. People spoke so highly of Krishna—a young businessman who held 70% of Andhra Pradesh's economy in his grasp. Though I'd heard much about him, I'd never had the opportunity to meet him. That day, as I sat in the garden of the NGO, watching children play and laugh, I felt a rare tranquility wash over me.

Then, a voice from beside me pulled me back to the present. I turned, and there he was—Krishna himself, standing close, gazing at the children with a gentle smile. He looked even more striking in person than he did on the news. My heart fluttered, a strange sensation rising in me. I felt drawn to him in a way I couldn't quite name. It wasn't the friendly affection I felt for Jaidev, my husband; this was something deeper, almost instinctive. I felt like I'd known Krishna before, like he was the very person my heart had been quietly waiting for, the one it had whispered about in those moments of quiet doubt.

As he settled down on the bench beside me, a subtle, warm scent lingered in the air, filling me with an unexpected longing. For the first time in my life, I felt a desire I'd never felt before, a pure, almost overwhelming pull toward someone else. My heart pounded, and I quickly buried these feelings. How could I be thinking this? I was a married woman. But the intensity of this attraction, this strange recognition, was something I couldn't entirely ignore.

Trying to steady myself, I looked back at the children, willing my thoughts to settle. But even as I focused on them, a part of me remained tethered to Krishna, unable to shake the feeling that meeting him was more than mere coincidence, as if fate had placed him here beside me, testing the boundaries of a heart that had longed for something it hadn't yet understood.

As Krishna and I talked, his words began to drift toward a deeper, almost fated connection between us. He mentioned destiny, how it sometimes crosses paths that were never meant to meet, like ours. Sensing the direction of the conversation, I decided to tease him a bit, trying to keep the mood light. "Are you trying to flirt with me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because, in case you missed it, I'm already married."

Krishna's smile softened, an almost wistful look in his eyes. "That's exactly why I mentioned how strangely destiny works. We never truly know what the future holds, do we?" He paused, glancing at me with that same gentle expression. "Sometimes, destiny gives us the wrong things at the right time, and the right things at the wrong time."

His words hit me like a gentle but unmistakable wave, stirring something I'd carefully kept hidden. For a brief moment, it felt like he was saying the unspoken—that maybe Jaidev wasn't the right choice for me, that perhaps my heart had always been waiting for something else, someone else. But I quickly composed myself, unwilling to let him see how his words had affected me. I forced a smile, pretending I hadn't fully understood.

Our conversation drifted into quieter topics before Krishna handed me something unexpected—a Rubik's cube. I looked at him, puzzled, but he just smiled, a strange glint in his eyes. "This isn't just any cube," he said cryptically. "You might find some answers in it." He gave me his number too, adding, "If you're ever in trouble, don't hesitate to reach out." And then he turned to leave.

As he walked away, a sudden urge gripped me—a pull to call him back, to tell him to stay, to wrap myself in the comfort of his presence. But I resisted. I reminded myself of the boundaries I had promised to uphold, the vows I had made. Still, Krishna's words, his presence, his gift, lingered long after he was gone. My mind tried to rationalize, but my heart kept drifting back to him, questioning, aching in ways it never had before.

Days passed, but Krishna's thought never quite left me. I tried immersing myself in my routine, pushing these feelings aside. But yesterday, everything shattered when I got the call—my father was in the hospital. I rushed there, my heart pounding, and stayed by his side, hoping, praying for a miracle. But, in the end, he left me alone. Gone, just like that.

As I sat there, numb with grief, it wasn't Jaidev who filled my mind. It was Krishna. I felt a pang, a quiet, aching thought whispering that if he were here, if he had been the one by my side all along, maybe my life wouldn't have turned out this way. It was a thought both painful and oddly comforting—yet I knew it was a wish too late, a longing that I could never act on.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, then glanced at Jhanvi, who sat beside me, silently crying. Her face was pale, and she stared straight ahead, her tears marking her quiet sorrow. I followed her gaze to the ambulance in front of us, carrying our father's lifeless body. A shiver ran through me. It didn't feel real—it didn't feel right. Jaidev told me it was a natural death, but my heart refused to believe it. There was a quiet, insistent voice inside, whispering that this was no ordinary passing. It felt like something darker.

My mind raced. Could it be Brahma? No… even if I hate him he's my stepbrother, I couldn't believe he'd be do such a thing. But then, an image of Jaidev flashed in my mind. I shook my head, horrified. This is absurd, I thought. He couldn't… he wouldn't… would he?

I asked myself again and again, hoping for some reassurance, but the silence around me only grew heavier. Doubt was like a shadow, creeping closer, refusing to leave. I sighed, feeling a strange, gnawing emptiness. Suddenly, my thoughts drifted to Krishna. If only he were here—if only he could give me some clarity, some comfort. But I shook my head, trying to dismiss it. Why was I thinking about him now, of all times?

With another deep sigh, I looked out the window, hoping that the scenery passing by might distract me from the confusion and grief swirling within. But even the familiar roads, the trees lining them, felt distant, veiled in the same eerie sense that nothing was as it seemed.

(A/N: This is an explanation about Satyapriya.)

———————————————

———————————————

[3RD PERSON POV]

Outside the cremation ground, a sea of people gathered, waiting silently, reverently, for their chance to pay final respects to Chief Minister PKR. A line of police officers formed a barrier, holding back the waves of mourners who had come from villages, towns, and cities, filling the air with murmurs that became chants of "PKR, PKR." Just moments ago, the rain had ceased, leaving the earth damp and heavy with the bittersweet scent of fresh rain—a fitting companion to the solemnity of the occasion.

The media thronged the edges, cameras capturing every tear-streaked face, every moment of grief and respect, feeding the collective sorrow of a state. The mourners' voices mixed with the click and hum of equipment, as journalists shared this chapter of Andhra Pradesh's history with the rest of the world.

Within the cremation ground, security was tight. The state's most influential people and political leaders were seated in rows, shoulders squared with somber dignity, faces obscured by veils of mourning. Under a simple but elegant tent at the center lay the body of PKR, encased in a glass coffin that reflected the low, cloudy sky above. The rain droplets still clinging to the tent canvas shimmered faintly as if capturing the last traces of the late afternoon light.

Mourners moved slowly, keeping a respectful distance, their eyes lingering on PKR's peaceful face, their voices hushed as they whispered silent prayers or shared final words of gratitude and admiration for the man they had trusted, respected, and loved.

Inside the tent, seated closest to PKR's body, were Satyapriya and her sister Jhanvi, side by side, their hands intertwined, each lost in their own quiet grief. Satyapriya's eyes, rimmed with tears, stared blankly ahead, though her mind was miles away, buried in memories that now felt painfully incomplete. Next to Satyapriya, Jaidev sat in silent, though his expression was unreadable, distant.

Standing vigil beside the coffin was Home Minister Narayana Verma. Opposite him stood Bangaram Naidu, the opposition leader.

The silent gathering seemed suspended in time as if everyone there had forgotten the passage of hours. The air was thick with sorrow and respect, and each mourner seemed to sense that this was not just the end of PKR's life, but the end of an era.

In front of PKR's body, Brahma stood motionless, his hands folded in respect, his eyes fixed on his father's still form. He felt an ache in his chest, a heaviness so deep that it threatened to overwhelm him. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he fought them back, refusing to let his grief show. He glanced towards his sisters, searching for a familiar connection, but Satyapriya's gaze remained distant, as if she couldn't—or wouldn't—acknowledge him.

Slowly, Brahma approached his father's portrait, a garland of marigolds framing PKR's serene face. He bent down, picked up a fresh flower, and laid it at the base of the photo. As he straightened, Narayana Verma approached, placing a firm but gentle hand on Brahma's shoulder.

Brahma looked at him, his gaze sharp and unyielding, barely masking his distrust. Verma's hand slipped back as if stung, and he hesitated, trying to mask his own unease.

Looking back at PKR's portrait, Brahma felt a surge of anger he could barely contain, the resentment flickering in his gaze. Breaking the tension, Verma spoke, keeping his tone low and calculated. "The party has been talking," he began, his voice laced with a confidence that felt rehearsed. "They believe that, in honor of PKR's legacy, I should take on the mantle as the next Chief Minister."

A fire flared in Brahma's eyes, a simmering rage that he worked hard to suppress. It took all of his self-control to keep from lashing out, here, in front of his father's body. He gritted his teeth and turned back to the photo, his fists clenching at his sides.

Seeing the intensity in Brahma's stare, Verma shifted uneasily but continued, his voice laced with practiced humility. "Of course, this is but a blessing from PKR himself, a responsibility to honor his vision. The party's loyalty, the devotion of its workers—these are gifts of God's grace."

The words dripped with reverence, but to Brahma, they were hollow—a thin veil covering Verma's ambition.

Adjusting his glasses with a slight tremor, Narayana Verma leaned closer, his voice lowering to a nearly conspiratorial whisper. "Brahma, if you could… perhaps give this some serious thought. If you'd just consider supporting me…" His words trailed off as he caught Brahma's stare, intense and unwavering, a silent warning that chilled him to the core. The bravado in Verma's voice faltered. "I—I know this isn't the right time or place, but…"

Before Verma could finish, Brahma turned away, dismissing him without a word. Verma's words lingered in the air, unfinished and hollow, as he watched Brahma's retreating figure with an expression that flickered between irritation and unease.

Just then, the pandit's voice cut through the tense silence. "Sir, please, we need to know who will light the sacred funeral pyre. The ceremony must begin before we approach the inauspicious hour."

Hearing this, Brahma stopped in his tracks. The weight of the moment hung over him like a storm cloud, the final duty he owed to his father pulling him back. Behind him, Verma opened his mouth as if to take control, his mind already calculating. But before he could speak, Murugan, one of his most trusted aides, came rushing over, his face drawn and tense, eyes darting around as if he bore news too urgent for whispers.

"Sir…" Murugan glanced quickly at Verma, then at Brahma, a bead of sweat slipping down his brow. He hesitated, the fear in his eyes betraying the seriousness of whatever he'd come to say.

Narayana Verma frowned, his patience thinning as he watched Murugan's nervous fidgeting. "Why do you look so shaken? What's happened?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Murugan swallowed, his gaze flitting from Verma to the cremation ground beyond, voice barely steady. "A... a car is moving toward the cremation ground at high speed."

Verma's eyes narrowed in confusion. "And? It's just a car, isn't it? The road's blocked for common traffic because the PM's convoy is arriving."

Murugan's face paled further. "Sir, that's exactly it—the PM's convoy has stopped and given way to that car."

The words struck like a thunderclap. Narayana Verma's eyes widened, his confusion giving way to disbelief. Slowly, heads turned, eyes widening, whispers rippling through the crowd like a wave. Verma's heart pounded as he struggled to find words. "Who... who is coming?" he stammered, feeling the chill of uncertainty crawl up his spine. "Whose car commands even the PM to give way?"

The silence that followed was thick, charged with the weight of something—or someone—beyond all they understood. For the first time that day, as Verma looked into the distance, he felt his power, his influence, dim in the face of an unknown force heading straight toward them.

As the crowd whispered and wondered, the silence only intensified, blanketing the mourners and officials alike. Everyone seemed absorbed in the mystery of who could command such an arrival—everyone, that is, except Brahma. He remained calm, a faint knowing flicker in his eyes as he stared past the crowd.

Then, the air stirred with the low hum of an approaching car engine, growing louder as it neared the cremation ground. All eyes turned toward the entrance as a sleek, pitch-black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a halt in front of the crowd. The polished surface of the car reflected the somber, cloudy sky, its powerful presence somehow blending with the grief-laden atmosphere.

Cameras flashed in unison, journalists eagerly leaned forward, and murmurs swept through the gathered masses. The sound of raindrops slipping from the leaves and pattering onto the wet earth filled the silence that followed. Then, as if on cue, the heavy car door opened with a quiet click.

A single foot stepped out—a white leather shoe that seemed untouched by dust or mud, pristine and intentional. Slowly, a figure stepped out, unfolding with a measured grace that seemed almost otherworldly. He wore a stark white outfit that gleamed against the muted sky, radiating an aura of calm amidst the frenzy. In one hand, he held a garland, the soft petals brushing his fingers. His dark hair was slightly tousled, dancing with the gentle breeze, and his eyes—strikingly dark and profound—seemed to pull everything around him into a quiet focus, as though he could see right through each soul. He was Krishna Prasad.

As he stepped fully into view, an eerie, sudden silence fell. The bustling crowd, the excited murmurs, even the cameras stilled as if the world itself held its breath. The police officers looked on in awe, their gazes reverent, almost intimidated. The spectators who had moments before been chanting PKR's name fell silent,their gazes reverent, almost intimidated. The spectators who had moments before been chanting PKR's name fell silent, the weight of Krishna's presence pressing down on them.

All around, only the faint drip of water falling from leaves punctuated the quiet—a soft, steady rhythm that felt like the heartbeat.

Krishna's face held a serene calm, his expression unreadable yet powerful, as he moved through the parted crowd toward the cremation ground. A hush had blanketed the onlookers, an invisible, almost mythical aura emanating from him that seemed to grip everyone in silent awe. It was as though the very air was holding its breath, sensing his presence and daring no one to disturb him. People instinctively froze, and a quiet fear pulsed beneath their stares; any movement, any sound felt dangerous, as if it would break some unspoken rule in his presence.

As he continued his unhurried steps, Krishna's gaze swept the crowd and then rested on ACP Indrajeet, standing nearby. The officer's spine stiffened instantly, his entire body reacting under the weight of that calm, piercing gaze. A cold sweat broke out on Indrajeet's forehead, his breath caught in his throat. His legs trembled, and before he knew it, his body betrayed him, a damp spot spreading on his pants as he stood paralyzed in that gaze, his heart hammering as if he'd glimpsed death itself.

Then, without a word, Krishna's eyes moved on, releasing the officer from his quiet judgment. He walked forward, leaving Indrajeet breathless, shaken, a mere shadow of his usual self.

As Krishna approached PKR's body, it felt as though time itself slowed. He was surrounded by people, yet none dared to move, to even breathe too loudly. All eyes followed him, but he seemed untouched by their stares, his focus absolute.

As Krishna reached PKR's body, he paused, his gaze softening as he looked over at Sathyapriya. Her eyes held a storm of emotions—relief, happyness, and something deeper that words couldn't capture. For a moment, the heaviness of the air lightened as their eyes met in an unspoken understanding. Krishna lowered his gaze and placed the garland gently on PKR's glass coffin, his hand resting there with a quiet reverence. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath. When he finally exhaled, there was a weight to it, a silent farewell.

Then, without warning, Krishna's eyes snapped open, the warmth gone, replaced by a piercing intensity. His gaze zeroed in on Brahma, who stood near his father's body, unaware of the storm brewing beside him. In one swift motion, Krishna's fist connected with Brahma's jaw, striking him with a force that sent him sprawling backward, crashing onto the ground. The impact echoed in the stillness, rippling through the crowd.

A gasp swept over the onlookers, but no one dared make a move. Brahma's men, typically swift to act, were frozen in place, fear anchoring their feet as the full weight of Krishna's presence bore down on them. The audacity of Krishna's action, the unrestrained rage behind it, hung in the air like a tangible force. Even the most loyal guards couldn't bring themselves to react; their faces pale, limbs rigid. It was as if Krishna's aura alone had silenced the entire gathering, his calm yet imposing presence stifling any thoughts of retaliation.

For a long, drawn-out moment, the world stood still, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional drip of rainwater from the trees.

(A/N: Hey guys, I'm a bit confused. I've tried reading other fanfiction novels based on Indian movies, but I end up disappointed. In most of these stories, the MC travels through the Indian movie multiverse but seems to have no final goal beyond creating a harem. The romances don't even make sense—MC meets a female character, and by the next scene, she's already in his bed. It's just nonsense.

I don't mean to judge anyone; I know these are wish-fulfillment novels, but I'd appreciate seeing more depth—actual story, character development, and connections. Many MCs just come across as horny teenagers who only think about "getting" female characters. If I've offended anyone, I'm sorry, but that's just my opinion.

I'm also writing a harem novel, but I'm taking my time to build romance and set up the R18 scenes. I just hope future novels focus on story and other meaningful elements beyond just sex. Thanks for reading!)

(A/N: If you'd like to support me, please use this UPI: omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar". If you do, please let me know your webnovel name so I can recognize you.)

(Word's Count:-4210)