It started with me running my mouth.
I didn’t even realize it when I said it. Just a careless remark last week, sitting with Sitara in her chambers, watching her arrange flowers with that graceful efficiency she has. She was talking about how veeraj Bhai-sa used to grumble whenever she dragged him to family picnics, and I—without thinking—had laughed and admitted,“I’ve never actually been to one.”
The look she gave me was sharp enough to make me wish I could swallow the words back down. And when Vihaan, who had been sprawled on the sofa, immediately sat up and said,“What do you mean, never?”I knew I’d walked into trouble.
So here I am now, standing in the courtyard at an unearthly hour in the morning, with a basket dangling from my arm and butterflies in my stomach, watching Sitara direct the servants as though this is some grand festival instead of a simple outing.
“Don’t put the fruits at the bottom, they’ll bruise!” she scolds gently, shifting things herself. Devraj bhai-sa lingers beside her, quiet as always, but his gaze softens every time it lands on her.Meher, glowing without even trying, fusses with the stack of blankets.
I watch as Vihaan steps down from the stairs, his eyes lighten up when they land on me and I smile at him brightly. He doesn’t watch—he walks towards me in urgent strides, and plucks the basket from my hands before I can argue. “Nope. You’re not carrying a thing,” he says, hoisting it easily onto his arm like it weighs nothing.
I flinch, embarrassed and oddly pleased. “Vihaan—”
He grins, utterly unapologetic. “I have two perfectly capable hands and legs. Let me use them, meri jaan.”
I grab the edge of my dupatta to steady myself, trying to look indignant. He only arches an eyebrow at me, the infuriating smirk still there, and my glare melts into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”
He shrugs, as if being impossible is the most natural thing in the world. “I know, you are stuck with me, though.” He beams.
I glare, but the corner of my mouth betrays me by twitching upward.
Veeraj bhai-sa arrives last, muttering something under his breath about early mornings and unnecessary enthusiasm. Sitara ignores him entirely, looping her hand through his arm with the ease of long practice, and just like that, his grumbling dies down. It’s almost funny how she manages him with a smile, while the rest of us don’t even try, because come on, it’s 6 in the morning. While Vihaan does wake up early, I don’t wake up before 8 AM. The reason: Vihaan Singh Shekawat, He doesn’t let me sleep early. I feel a blush rise up my neck.Okay, time to get your mind out of the gutter, Poorvi.
The palace gates swing open, and the world beyond stretches wide—fields bathed in sunlight, trees swaying lazily in the breeze, the smell of earth and grass so different from the scented corridors I’m used to. I pause for a moment, taking it in. Something about the openness feels almost unreal, like stepping into a painting.
We walk together, baskets and blankets in tow, and soon enough we find a patch of shade beneath a wide old banyan tree. Its roots curl like thick ropes into the ground, and the branches spread wide enough to shelter all of us. Sitara claps her hands, delighted. “Perfect.”
Blankets are spread, baskets opened, and within minutes, the air is filled with the mingled smells of freshly baked bread, spiced pakoras, cut mangoes, and something sweet I can’t quite identify yet. My stomach growls in betrayal, and Vihaan, sitting much too close, hears it.
“Hungry already?” he teases, nudging my knee with his.
“Maybe I am,” I shoot back, cheeks heating.
“Good. I’ll feed you first.” He says it so casually that I almost choke on air, glaring at him while he grins shamelessly.
Around us, the family settles in. Devraj bhai-sa helps Meher ease down onto the blanket, his hand hovering near her arm as though even the act of sitting might be too much for her. She laughs at his fussing, but doesn’t push him away. Sitara unpacks food with a running commentary, ignoring Veeraj bhai-sa’s muttered complaints about ants and dust.
I take it all in silently, trying to memorize the rhythm of this. The easy laughter. The gentle bickering. The sense of belonging is so thick in the air, it almost feels tangible. I’ve never hadthis before. And though I don’t dwell on the thought, it lingers quietly, shaping the way my chest tightens with something very close to gratitude.
“Here,” Vihaan says suddenly, holding out a piece of pakora toward me.
I blink. “What?”
“I said I’d feed you first.” His eyes glint with mischief, but there’s softness beneath it.
I roll mine, but lean forward anyway, taking a bite. The crunch, the spice—it explodes on my tongue, and I hum involuntarily. His grin widens. “Good?”
“Don’t look so smug.” My cheeks heat up again.
Too late. He already looks unbearably pleased with himself.
The morning slips into laughter and food. Sitara insists we all try the sweet laddoos she made herself, and even Veeraj bhai-sa grudgingly admits they’re perfect. Devraj bhai-sa tells a story from their childhood, quiet but vivid, and I find myself leaning in, eager to hear. Meher keeps interrupting with her own versions of events, her laughter spilling into the air like bells.
And then, just as the sunlight shifts, she clears her throat.
“I have something to tell you all.”
The way she says it stills everything. Sitara looks up immediately. Devraj bhai-sa straightens beside her, as though sensing the gravity of her tone. Vihaan tilts his head curiously, and my own breath catches.
