Page 39 of Scars and Crowns

"So . . . " His eyes linger on mine. " . . . exactly like her mother." The smile he gives me steals every coherent thought from my head.

For one dangerous heartbeat . . . I forget how to look away. When I finally do, it's because I force myself to. I busy my hands with the breakfast tray instead.

The eggs are slightly overcooked. The toast isn't evenly browned. One slice is almost burnt around the edges.

I pick up the teacup. One sip. And it's exactly the way I used to drink it. Not almost. Exactly.

Less sugar.

Extra ginger.

Just enough cardamom.

My fingers tighten slightly around the cup. He remembered. After all these years . . . He remembered something as small as how I liked my morning tea. No one has made tea specifically for me in so long that the thought almost overwhelms me.

I lower my eyes before either of them notices. Breakfast continues around me in cheerful chaos. Sara provides a detailed commentary on every bite she eats. Apparently the toast tastes "very crunchy." The eggs are "a little funny." The juice is "perfect."

Yuvaan listens to every opinion with complete seriousness, nodding as though she's conducting an official food inspection.

I find myself laughing more than eating. And somewhere between Sara's endless chatter, Yuvaan's quiet smiles and this imperfect little breakfast spread across the bed . . . Something inside me softens.

I sit between them, watching the two people who somehow occupy every corner of my heart without either of them fully knowing it. My daughter laughs until she nearly spills her juice. Yuvaan reaches over automatically to steady the glass before it tips.

The movement is so effortless. So natural. As though they've known each other much longer than a week. I watch them together.

Then I look down at the cup warming my hands. A question rises quietly inside me. One that has followed me ever since he looked up in that study and whispered Daisy.

Can I really survive this? Can I stand this close to the man I've loved for half my life . . . .Watch him fill ordinary mornings with impossible kindness, watch him care for Sara as though she has always belonged in his world . . . And still keep enough distance to protect myself if everything falls apart?

I don't know.

Maybe I should.

Maybe I need to.

But sitting here this morning—wrapped in the warmth of sunlight, laughter, burnt toast, perfectly remembered tea, and the sound of Sara arguing that breakfast somehow tastes better in bed—I realise something. For today . . . I don't want to know the answer at all.

M-I-L

ANAMIKA

By the time I reach Amma Saheba's wing, my stomach has tied itself into a dozen impossible knots. It reminds me of being twelve years old again. Back then, being called to her rooms usually meant one thing. Yuvaan and I had done something we absolutely weren't supposed to.

More often than not, it had been his idea. Somehow, I'd always ended up standing beside him anyway. I still remember those long walks to her sitting room, both of us rehearsing increasingly ridiculous excuses that never fooled anyone.

Today feels strangely similar. Except this time . . . There isn't a scraped knee or a broken flowerpot waiting for me.

It's much worse. I'm walking toward my mother-in-law.

The thought alone feels surreal.

Sara, meanwhile, is completely unbothered.

She insisted on wearing the purple frock she'd picked herself this morning and rejected every other option I suggested with the unwavering confidence of someone absolutely certain she possesses flawless fashion sense. She skips a few steps ahead of me, humming happily to herself, stopping every now and then to admire something that catches her attention before running ahead again.

Watching her, I can't help smiling. This palace already feels familiar to her. Comfortable. In some strange twist of fate . . . I suppose my childhood home is her home now too. The thought still feels too enormous to hold. As we walk, my mind keeps circling the same fear.

Maybe this is the conversation. The one I've quietly been preparing myself for ever since the wedding. Amma Saheba was never cruel. Not once. Not to me. Not to anyone, as far as I ever saw.