Chapter Title: Of Tantrums, Teasings, and Things Unsaid
1855,MAY
The royal corridor was still scented with sandalwood and the rustle of silks long after Maharaja Arav stepped out from his parents' chambers. He moved down the marble staircase with the nonchalance of a man who carried the weight of both pride and privacy on his shoulders.
As expected, Raza was waiting outside in the courtyard — perched like a devilish bird on the edge of the lotus fountain, twirling a twig between his fingers and kicking imaginary dust.
"Took you long enough," Raza called out, straightening up. "I almost grew a beard waiting."
"I'd pity the beard," Arav replied, smirking as he walked over.
Raza scoffed. "Royal humour. How refreshing."
They began strolling toward the open verandah that overlooked the gardens. The evening breeze curled around them like an old friend.
"So?" Raza nudged him with his shoulder. "How was mummy and daddy time?"
"Heartwarming. Nourishing. Full of deep life advice and marriage bait."
Raza laughed. "Let me guess… Noor Jahan?"
Arav gave him a pointed look.
"That's a yes."
"It was bound to come up," Arav said, slipping his hands behind his back. "She was always mentioned alongside me. Like jam with bread."
"Or poison with wine," Raza muttered dramatically.
Arav chuckled under his breath. "Don't be a fool."
"You know they still think you two are meant to be," Raza said, cocking an eyebrow.
"I haven't seen her in years," Arav replied honestly. "And even if we were close as kids… people change."
Raza innocently shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just saying. Firozabad's streets do strange things to men. Like making them chase girls over fractions."
Arav stopped walking.
Raza smirked.
"You think that—?"
"I know nothing," Raza raised his hands. "But your face is saying a lot more than your words."
"I don't know who she was," Arav muttered. "She was infuriating. And clever. And—"
"Pretty?" Raza teased.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't need to."
Arav shook his head and walked ahead. Raza caught up.
"She reminded me of someone," Arav said quietly. "That spark. That fire."
"And yet, you let her go."
"She didn't even give me her name."
"Ah," Raza said dramatically, "The girl without a name! This is shaping up to be a tragic folktale."
Arav elbowed him. "Stop turning my real life into your gossip poetry."
"I'm just your mirror, my friend," Raza said with a wink. "Reflecting the drama that your royal self tries hard to suppress."
They both laughed, the sound echoing in the garden as their boots clicked lightly on stone.
"You know," Raza said more sincerely now, "if she was Noor…"
"She wasn't," Arav cut in sharply, then paused. "At least… I don't think so."
"And if she wasn't Noor…" Raza added slowly, "Then why are you still thinking about her?"
Arav fell quiet.
Raza didn't press.
Sometimes, silence said more than men's words.
Before the weight could settle too heavily, Arav smirked again. "Anyway. You called me out here to gossip like women or to ride like warriors?"
Raza laughed. "I was hoping we could steal the horses and ride toward the mango orchards."
"Sounds more romantic than I'm prepared for."
"I meant for you and me."
"That's worse."
They both burst into another round of rough laughter.
And just as the sun dipped behind Sitapur's towers, a voice called from the gates. Formal. Measured.
"Salaam, Maharaja saheb."
It was the voice of Sultan Mirza, followed closely by a graceful Mrs Mirza. Their arrival was greeted with respectful bows from servants and an exchange of warm courtesies.
The two men turned.
"I see the wait has ended," Raza murmured.
"But the girl hasn't come," Arav noted, his voice unreadable.
"She's still dodging," Raza replied under his breath.
"Or ill," Arav countered.
"She is either dying ir dodging."Raza said with exasperation
Arav said nothing more. But somewhere deep down, his thoughts tugged back — not to childhood memories, but to a white churidar, clinking bangles, and a voice that had argued over fractions.