But laughter fades when the lights go out. And here I am again, in the dark, my back pressed lightly against his.
We’ve started sharing the same bed since that night. At first, it had felt impossible. Wrong. Too much. But now… there’s acomfort in knowing he’s here, within reach, his breathing steady against the silence. He doesn’t hold me unless I ask, doesn’t push for more. Just being there is enough. Somehow, that patience unsettles me more than anything.
I close my eyes, listening to the rhythm of his breath. For a while, I let the silence cradle us, but the thoughts press too hard against my chest, demanding release.
“Vihaan,” I whisper into the darkness.
There’s a pause, then his voice, low and warm. “Hmm?”
“Thank you… for tonight.” My words feel clumsy. “For pretending my curry was better than it was.”
He chuckles softly behind me, and I feel the vibration through the mattress. “I wasn’t pretending. It was good. You’re just harsh on yourself.”
I smile faintly, though he can’t see it. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Poorvi.” His tone shifts, turning gentle in a way that makes my chest ache. “I never will.”
I swallow, the words tangling on my tongue. I want to believe him, but the doubt is stubborn. Always there. Always waiting.
“Sometimes…” My voice falters, and I have to force it steady. “Sometimes I wonder why you say things like that. Why you’re so—” I stop, searching for the right word. “So kind. When I’m just…” My breath hitches. “Just the wrong princess.”
The silence stretches until I almost regret speaking. My chest tightens, shame crawling up my throat. Maybe I shouldn’t havesaid it aloud. Maybe I should’ve let it stay buried where it couldn’t hurt.
Then I feel the mattress dip. His warmth moves closer until his breath ghosts against the back of my neck.
“Poorvi,” he whispers, and my name has never sounded like that before—half plea, half command.
I don’t turn. I can’t. My nails dig into my palms, bracing for anger, or worse—agreement.
But instead, his hand slides gently over my shoulder, coaxing me to face him. Slowly, unwillingly, I roll onto my back until his shadow leans over me, eyes burning even in the faint lamplight.
“You think you’re the wrong princess?” His voice is low, rough, as though the words scrape against his throat. “No. You are the only woman in this palace who has ever made me forget I am a prince at all.”
My breath stumbles. His hand lifts, almost hesitant, brushing a damp strand of hair from my cheek. His touch lingers, warm, trembling faintly.
“When I walk into a room full of courtiers, I see their ambition, their hunger. When I look at you, I see…” He falters, then exhales sharply, eyes searching mine. “I see peace. I see fire. I see the only person who looks at me and doesn’t measure me against a crown.”
Tears sting behind my eyes, but I force them down. “But you said—”
“I know what I said in that meeting.” His tone softens, regret etched in every syllable. “I let anger speak for me, and I’ve hated myself for it since. You heard one careless phrase, but not thetruth that followed. The truth is this, Poorvi—you are the only one who has ever felt right. The only one who makes this place feel less like a throne room and more like…” He swallows, voice breaking on the word. “Home.”
The tears spill before I can stop them. “You are my home too, Poorvi,” he beams. My chest aches so fiercely I can hardly breathe.
His thumb catches one tear, sliding it away. His eyes don’t leave mine, unwavering. “I was a fool for not saying this sooner. I love you. Not because you are a princess. Not despite it. Just you. The way you laugh when you forget to guard yourself. The way you argue when you think I’m being unfair. The way you still carry yourself with dignity when life has given you every reason to shatter.”
I blink at him, stunned, drowning in his words. My lips part, but no sound comes.
His hand shifts, cradling my face, his forehead lowering to mine. “I don’t care if the world calls you the illegitimate princess. To me, you are the only woman who was ever meant to stand beside me. You are not my mistake, Poorvi. You are my choice. My only choice.”
My breath trembles out, shaky and uneven. “Vihaan…”
Something raw flickers in his gaze. He lowers his voice, almost a vow. “Let them have their titles. Their rules. You’re mine. Not because duty chained us, but because my heart did.”
The sob I’ve been holding back slips free, small and broken. My hand finds his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, needing something solid to hold onto before I unravel completely.
“I love you, too,” I whisper, the words torn from me, desperate and certain.
His eyes close, as if the words themselves undo him. And when they open again, there’s no hesitation, only reverence. He leans in, our noses touching. “May I?” he asks, the gentleness in his tone stealing what little air I have left.
