Dhruv stands a respectful distance away, giving us space. He hasn’t said much this morning, but he’s been there—always there. A steady presence at my side, his hand finding mine whenever my breathing goes shallow, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against my skin which I am grateful for.
Bhai-sa exhales sharply. “Never mind,” he finishes. “Just remember—you’re not leaving us.” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “One word from you and I will be there, Tara.” He looks up, a soft smile on his lips as a tear escapes his eyes. “I will always be there for you.”
I nod, though my heart feels like it’s being pulled in too many directions at once. I want to sob so loudly. My heart feels like its breaking.
Then it’s Maa-sa’s turn.
She steps forward slowly, as if every movement costs her something. For a moment, she simply looks at me—really looks at me. Her eyes soften, just a little. “Be happy,” she says, her voice low. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
I swallow hard. “I’ll try.”
She hesitates, then reaches out, pressing her lips to my forehead. It’s brief, awkward, but real. When she steps back, her eyes shine suspiciously.
And then—there’s Dhruv.
He comes to my side without ceremony, his hand sliding into mine, warm and solid. He doesn’t pull me away from anyone. He doesn’t rush the moment. He just stands with me, a quiet promise made flesh.
When the car door opens and the moment finally arrives—the one everyone warned me about but no one could truly prepare me for—I feel it like a physical blow.
This is it. This is leaving. My chest tightens, panic fluttering at the edges of my mind. I take a step forward, then stop, overwhelmed. Dhruv squeezes my hand, his voice low, meant only for me. “Hey.”
I look up at him, my vision blurring.
“I will bring you back whenever you want,” he says, steady and sure. “Tomorrow, next week, next month. Whenever. And you’re not alone, Sitara. Not now. Not ever.”
Something inside me loosens at that. I nod, drawing strength from his certainty.
The car begins to move. I watch as my family fades from view, their figures blurring through tears. Devraj bhai-sa stands tall, but his shoulders sag the moment he thinks I can’t see. Vihaan bhai-sa wipes his eyes openly, uncaring of who notices. Veeraj bhai-sa looks like he’s lost a limb. Poorvi is crying with a smile, as if trying to lend me her unwavering strength. Meher bhabhi-sa blows me a kiss, her smile brave and broken all at once. The gates close behind us. And I feel like my heart has been crushed.
A Palace, a Room, and a Door That Won’t Open
SITARA
By the time night truly settles in, the day feels like something I lived in another lifetime.
All the rituals are done. Every chant, every blessing, every careful step dictated by tradition has been completed, checked off like a list the universe insisted on finishing before letting me breathe again. Somewhere between the endless smiles, the polite nods, the ceremonial welcomes, and the overwhelming kindness of people who now call metheirRajrani, the day slipped past me.
We arrived at Dhruv’s palace hours ago.
I remember it in fragments, like scenes stitched together without a clear beginning or end. The towering gates opening slowly, almost ceremonially. The sound of drums echoing through stone corridors. Flower petals raining down as I stepped out of the car, my hand instinctively tightening around Dhruv’sarm because suddenly everything felt too big, too grand, too unreal.
I remember his mother performing the aarti, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes softening when she looked at me. I remember Yagini whispering something sarcastic under her breath that made Dhruv groan and me smile despite myself. I remember being led inside, welcomed, blessed, admired—words blurring together until they lost meaning.
Now, hours later, the palace is quieter. Not silent, but calmer. Like it’s exhaled after holding its breath all day.
I sit on the edge of a long sofa in the sitting area outside our room, my hands folded in my lap, twisting the fabric of my pallu without meaning to. My bangles clink softly every time I move, the sound too loud in the stillness.
Dhruv stands near the window, loosening the cuff of his sherwani, his posture relaxed in a way that makes my chest feel tight for reasons I don’t yet have words for.
“So,” he says lightly, turning to face me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Tour?”
My heart stutters.
I nod, then immediately regret it. “Yes. I mean—if you’re not tired.”
“I’m fine,” he says easily. “And even if I weren’t, I promised.”
He offers his hand. Just like that. I stare at it for half a second too long before placing my hand in his. The contact is… startling. His palm is warm, his grip gentle but sure. Electricity isn’t the right word—it’s too dramatic—but there’s something there, something that makes my breath catch before I can stop it.
