Chapter Title: The Echoes of Sitapur
The haveli of Sitapur, bathed in the soft blush of afternoon light, stood like a patient monument of time. The sandstone walls, warm under the sun, held stories in every grain, and now welcomed back the one they had waited years for.
Arav Rathore stepped into the courtyard with the air of someone both belonging and estranged. His boots echoed faintly across the red floor tiles. Before he could call out, a voice broke through the warm silence.
"My son," came Rani Devi's voice, full of breath and affection. She appeared from the inner hall with a diya thali in her hands, her eyes glassy with emotion.
"You haven't changed," Arav said softly, watching her as she performed the small welcoming aarti. "Still dramatic."
"And you have," she said, circling the thali before applying the red tilak on his forehead. "But only a little. You're leaner. Harder. A soldier now. But my Arav, still."
From behind, Maharaj Rathore appeared, his presence regal, his smile proud. "You've made us proud. And you've taken too long to come home."
Arav bent to touch his father's feet, and then his mother's, before the three moved to the shaded seating beneath the flowering amaltas tree.
"You've brought no letters, no word for weeks," Rani Devi chided gently.
"I wanted to come back first. With stories, not scrolls."
"Then tell us one. A real one," said Rathore, pouring him a glass of cool aam panna.
Arav took a sip and let the taste anchor him home.
"The stories can wait," he said. "But I have to ask... the Mirza family hasn't visited. Not once since I returned?"
Rani Devi's expression flickered.
"Dont blame my dear friend,Sultan Sahib came the first day,along with his Mrs" Rathore offered. "He said Noor Jahan was unwell."
"Very unwell," Rani Devi added. "Yasmeen did visit briefly, but she left early. Said she had to be with her friend."
Arav leaned back, eyebrows narrowing. "Noor Jahan? The one who once dragged Yasmeen away from every function early? Now suddenly ill and distant?"
Rani Devi chuckled. "She is not the same child you remember."
"No, no," Maharaja joined in, "She is grown now. A woman of grace and wit. And beauty, unmatched in all of Sitapur."
"We still call her our own," Rani Devi said. "And I say this, not as her elder, but as a woman: She has grown into the kind of young lady any house would be proud of."
Arav smiled faintly, a distant spark in his eyes. "I remember the fire in her eyes when she beat me in archery. Twice."
"Three times," corrected his mother.
"You haven't seen her," Mr Rathore noted, studying his son.
"No. And I've been waiting."
Rani Devi sighed, brushing a lock of grey hair back. "Perhaps she stays away because she fears the ache of change. Or perhaps because she now carries the weight of being the Mirza jewel. The quieter she becomes, the more the world watches."
Arav didn't reply. He only nodded, as if saving the thought for later.
At the edge of the courtyard, unnoticed by them, Raza leaned against a pillar, his icy green eyes fixed at ahad,arms crossed. He lifted his brow, made a slight nudge with his chin—a silent, exaggerated signal to Arav. A habitual gesture, the kind only the oldest of friends could decode.
Arav caught it, barely suppressing a smile. He shook his head slowly, mouthing without a sound: "Not now."
Raza exaggerated a sigh, threw up his hands, and turned around with theatrical frustration.
Meanwhile, Maharaja leaned forward. "You should visit the Mirzas. Take some fruit, give our greetings. They'll be delighted."
Rani Devi nodded. "She may not come here, but her heart will recognize you anywhere."
Arav stood, finishing the last sip of aam panna. "If she hasn't forgotten me."
"Oh no," his mother smiled knowingly. "Some people leave footprints too deep to be erased."
He didn't reply. But something about the way he carried his silence said he hoped she was right.