“Buddy read?” His brow furrows in confusion.
“Yes!” I exclaim, excitement making my voice louder than intended. “You know, like… we can read the same book together. In the same time frame. And then we can discuss it!”
He stares at me for a beat before smiling slowly, the kind of smile that starts in his eyes and takes its time reaching his lips. “Sure. We can do that.”
My heart does this ridiculous flip, and I beam at him. “I have always wanted to do it, but I didn’t have…” My voice falters.Anyone.
The word sticks in my throat, heavy and familiar, so I let it hang there, unfinished.
He doesn’t press, though. Just sighs softly, his gaze softening in a way that makes my chest ache. “What do you miss about your home?” he asks, voice quiet, careful.
Home. The word feels foreign. Heavy. It takes me a moment to answer because the truth is, I don’t even know what that means. After a pause, I smile faintly and say, “Ah… I used to love gossiping with some of the maids. Janki-ji… she has seen me since I was a child. She was like a second mother to me.”
He hums in acknowledgment, his expression thoughtful. “Do you miss your mother?”
“Every day,” I reply instantly, my smile sad but steady. “She was the only one who never made me feel I was illegitimate… or unwanted.”
“You are not unwanted, Poorvi.” His words come quick, almost urgent, his voice so firm it takes me by surprise. For a moment, I believe him—truly believe him.
I swallow hard, then clear my throat and change the topic before the weight of it pulls me under. “Do you miss your parents?”
“Baapu-sa, yes,” he says, his tone dipping softer. “Maa-sa is still alive. She was… banished.”
I frown, startled. “Why?”
“She didn’t like Meher bhabhi-sa because she was a commoner. So she did things… things she shouldn’t have.”
I nod slowly, understanding the complicated threads of royal politics. “Do you think she would approve of me?”
His answer is instant, his smile easy and certain. “Absolutely. What’s there not to approve?”
“You know I am illegitimate and all,” I whisper, looking down at my feet.
He stops mid-step, and so do I, turning to face him. His eyes are sharp, serious now, as he says, “Can I say something?”
I nod hesitantly.
“This may sound harsh… but maybe you should not let people’s words affect you so much.” His voice is calm, not unkind, but firm enough to make me listen. “I know that’s all you’ve heard since you were a child. But this is something that’s not your fault. Neither can you change it. And we can’t shut people’s mouths either. So stop letting them tell you who you are.”
My throat tightens, my eyes stinging, but I force myself to hold his gaze as he steps closer.
“You are Poorvi. That’s all,” he continues, his voice gentler now. “Not an illegitimate child. Not Sisodiya’s hidden princess. You are just Poorvi. And you are strong. Beautiful. Kind.”
His smile is soft, almost tender, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from spilling. I nod slowly, afraid that if I speak, my voice will break.
“Just be you, Poorvi,” he says simply.
I nod again, this time with a little more strength, and we start walking again. But something shifts inside me—like a crack in a wall I didn’t know I’d built around my heart.
As we walk, I let my hand brush against his slightly, a silent thank you. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curl around mine, warm and steady, intertwining them like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I look down at our joined hands, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. When I glance up, he’s already looking at me, his gaze unreadable yet so calm it almost feels like an anchor in this storm of thoughts inside me.
Then, with his free hand, he reaches up and gently pushes my slipping spectacles back up the bridge of my nose. The gesture is so small, so intimate, it makes my breath hitch.
“Let’s go,” he whispers, voice deep and soft in the quiet night. “It’s too late.”
I nod, my heart thudding like a drum, and we walk back in silence. But it’s a different silence now—softer, like the air between us is learning how to breathe.
