Page 36 of Scars and Crowns

She moves through every room with the unconscious caution of someone expecting life to pull the ground out from under her again. That wasn't who she was.

And I hate whoever taught her to become that person. She'll never ask me for help.

I know her too well. She left this palace because she wanted to prove she could stand on her own feet. Coming back here already cost her more than she'll ever admit aloud. Now she'll work herself to exhaustion before accepting a single favour. Smile through every difficult day. Tell everyone she's fine. Pretend she's managing. She'll keep refusing until people eventually stop asking.

Not this time. I refuse to let history repeat itself. Across the room, Sara pulls Anamika carefully to adjust the daisy tucked behind her ear. Apparently it's sitting "crooked." Anamika crouches down obediently while Sara fixes it with complete concentration.

Kairav says something I can't hear. Anamika laughs. A real laugh.

For one fleeting, beautiful moment . . . The years disappear.

She's sixteen again. Running barefoot through palace gardens. Stuffing flowers into everyone's hands. Making impossible plans beneath the neem tree. The shadow leaves her face so completely that my heart physically aches at the sight of it.

That's what I want.

Not today. Not for photographs. Not because we're married now.

Every day.

I want her to laugh without thinking first. I don't know what happened in Mumbai. I don't know who hurt her. I don't know what she's carrying behind that careful smile she keeps offering the world. But I know one thing with absolute certainty.

Whatever it is . . . She doesn't have to carry it alone anymore. Not while I'm here.

Sara suddenly appears beside me and tugs impatiently on the sleeve of my sherwani. "Mister."

I look down. "Hm?"

"When do we eat cake?"

I smile before crouching until we're eye level. "Soon, Princess."

She seems satisfied with that answer. For now.

Around us, Maa laughs at something Samrat says. Kairav has somehow convinced the registrar to take one more family photograph.

Across the room . . . Anamika looks up. Our eyes meet over Sara's head. Neither of us says anything.

We don't need to.

Whatever waits for us beyond today . . . Whatever truths she's still hiding. Whatever pain the last seven years placed on her shoulders . . . I'll spend the rest of my life making sure she never has to face any of it wondering if she's alone.

Because this time when she finally reaches for someone . . . I'll already be standing close enough to hold her.

B&B

ANAMIKA

I wake slowly, tangled somewhere between sleep and reality, aware first of how quiet everything is. Not the familiar quiet of the staff quarters or Mumbai chawls, where silence was always interrupted by someone drawing water, a bucket scraping against stone, children laughing outside, or doors opening and closing along the narrow corridor.

This is different.

Soft.

Still.

The mattress beneath me sinks gently as I shift, so impossibly comfortable that for one confused moment I simply lie there staring at the ceiling, wondering why my back doesn't hurt.

It takes a few seconds before memory catches up. The wedding. The registrar's office. The palace. The room.