The light softens first—slanting gold through carved windows, settling lazily on marble floors like it belongs there. Then the noise follows suit. Doors close with less urgency, footsteps slow, voices lower. It’s as if the entire place exhales together, shedding the stiffness of the day.
I sit with Maa and Yagini in the smaller sitting area, legs tucked beneath me, hands wrapped around a porcelain cup that’s gone lukewarm without me noticing. Yagini is talking—animated as always—about a debate she had in class today, something about a professor who refuses to accept any opinion that doesn’t mirror his own. Maa listens with half a smile, occasionally interjecting with a dry comment that makes Yagini roll her eyes dramatically.
I watch them, quiet.
It still surprises me how easy it feels to be here. How little I feel like I’m performing.
A soft knock interrupts us, and two staff members enter, each carrying a plate. Chocolate pastries. Rich, glossy,unapologetically indulgent. The kind that smells like it doesn’t care about guilt or calories or restraint.
My stomach tightens before I can stop it.
They place one plate in front of Maa, one in front of Yagini.
I wait.
Seconds pass. No third plate.
Maa glances around, brows drawing together slightly. “Where’s Sitara’s?”
One of the staff members bows politely. “Rani-sa’s maid informed us that she wouldn’t be eating dessert today.”
Something inside me dips. Not sharply. Not enough to hurt outright. Just enough to notice. I never said anything of that sort to Maya, so why would she? But it doesn’t feel right to bring it up, so I decide to stay quiet.
“Oh,” I say quickly, before anyone else can react. I smile, light and easy, like this is nothing. “It’s fine.”
Yagini’s head snaps toward me. “No, it’s not.” She frowns, already halfway out of her seat. “Why wouldn’t you eat? This is from a bakery in Ranakpur—the one with the seventy-year-old chocolatier who refuses to sell outside the state.” She turns to the staff. “This is that one, right?”
“Yes, Rajkumari sa.”
She looks back at me, eyes narrowed. “You’re eating.”
I laugh weakly. “Yagini—”
“Nope, I specifically ordered it because it’s a crime that you have been here for two months and still haven’t had it. So,” she slides her plate toward me, “non-negotiable.”
Maa watches the exchange quietly, her gaze thoughtful but not unkind.
I hesitate.
This shouldn’t be hard. It’s just cake. I’m not allergic. I’m not being punished. No one is watching me with judgment in their eyes. No one has said anything unkind. And yet—The reluctance sits heavy in my chest.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
I take a small bite. The pastry melts on my tongue, rich and perfect, and for a brief moment, I let myself enjoy it.Really enjoy it.
Yagini beams. “See? Happiness.”
I smile back, hoping it reaches my eyes.
It doesn’t. Later, after dinner and my evening walk through the inner gardens, I return to my room.
The door is ajar.
My stomach drops instantly.
Maya is inside.
She’s smoothing the bedsheets with practiced movements, her back to me. The lamp is on, casting a warm glow that feels suddenly intrusive. She turns when she hears me, lips curving into a smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes.
