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Author's POV
The palace was still asleep.
Not the kind of sleep that comes after exhaustion, but the kind that settles after grief-quiet, fragile, careful not to disturb old wounds.
Shivansh opened his eyes at exactly 5:03 a.m.
He didn't know why.
Or maybe he did.
His body felt heavy, but his chest felt... hollow. As if something had been scooped out from inside him during the night and left unanswered.
Beside him, Isha slept.
Her face was turned toward him, lashes resting softly against her cheeks, breath even, calm-too calm for the storm she had lived through. One arm was loosely wrapped around his waist, as if even in sleep she needed to be sure he was still there.
Shivansh didn't move for a long time.
He just stared at the ceiling.
I was a father, the thought came uninvited.
And I didn't even know.
Something twisted painfully inside his chest.
Slowly-carefully-he lifted her arm from around him, replacing it with the pillow, as if apologizing even for leaving the bed. He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, pressed a soft kiss to her hair, and whispered without sound.
"I'm sorry."
He didn't know if that apology was for waking up early...
or for everything else.
After a shower that did nothing to calm his thoughts, Shivansh stepped out into the corridors.
The palace looked different at dawn. Softer. Honest.
That's when he noticed it.
The mandir courtyard.
Marigold garlands. Fresh flowers. Lamps being cleaned. The soft scent of incense already hanging in the air.
Staff members moved quietly, respectfully, as if preparing something sacred.
Shivansh stopped mid-step.
"What's happening here?" he asked one of the workers, his voice low.
Before the man could answer-
"Up so early?"
Shivansh turned.
His mother stood there.
Not in heavy silks. Not in royal formality.
Just a simple cotton saree, hair tied loosely, eyes sharp with a softness only mothers carry.
He froze.
"Maa?" he asked quietly. "Why are you-"
She studied him for a moment. Really studied him.
The sleepless eyes.
The clenched jaw.
The way his shoulders sagged like he was carrying something invisible.
"I could ask you the same," she said gently. "Why are you awake, Shivansh?"
He looked away instantly.
"I just... woke up early."
She smiled. Not amused. Not fooled.
"I'm your mother," she said. "You can lie to the world, but not to me."
He tried to redirect. Pointed toward the mandir.
"What's all this?"
She followed his gaze.
"A havan," she said softly. "For peace."
He frowned. "Whose?"
She turned back to him then.
"Ours."
"Come," she said, already walking. "Let's sit."
They moved through the corridor that connected the mandir to the garden-the one that opened toward the flowers court. The early morning breeze carried the scent of wet grass and flowers.
She sat first.
Shivansh sat beside her.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Then she placed her hand on his head.
Not on his shoulder.
Not on his arm.
His head.
That single touch broke him.
His breath hitched.
"I tried," he said suddenly, voice cracking. "I swear I tried."
She didn't interrupt.
"I did everything to save her," he continued, words spilling out unevenly. "I thought... I thought someone was pushing me, forcing me, cornering me. I couldn't understand who."
His hands trembled.
"And now I know," he whispered. "It was my child."
His voice collapsed.
"My child was screaming for me. Asking me to protect their mother. And I didn't even hear them."
Tears fell freely now.
"I didn't know I was a father," he sobbed. "And still... I failed."
She pulled him closer, his head resting against her shoulder like he was a boy again.
"She went through everything alone," he continued, broken. "Pregnant. Betrayed. Abandoned. And still-still she stood up. She forgave me."
He laughed weakly through tears.
"Who does that, Maa? Who forgives like that?"
She ran her fingers through his hair, slowly, grounding him.
"And what did I do?" he choked. "I forced her into a marriage. I hurt her again. I thought I was protecting her-but I chose the worst way possible."
He wiped his face angrily.
"I don't think I deserve forgiveness and definitely not her."
She held his face gently, forcing him to look at her.
"Listen to me," she said firmly. "And listen carefully."
He stilled.
"What happened was not your fault alone," she said. "And it was not hers either."
"But-"
"No," she interrupted softly. "You made mistakes. Yes. Big ones. Painful ones. But guilt and punishment are not the same thing."
She cupped his cheek.
"If she came back," she continued, "if she chose you after everything, it means she wants a future-not a prison of regret."
He looked away again.
"She lost a child," she said gently. "And she still chose to live."
Silence fell between them.
"She doesn't need you drowning in guilt," his mother said. "She needs you present."
Her voice softened.
"You don't forget what happened," she said. "You remember it. You respect it. And you make sure you never repeat it."
She leaned closer.
"And if you ever make her cry again," she added quietly, "you'll answer to me first."
He nodded immediately. "I won't."
"Good," she said. "Now..."
She paused.
"If you truly feel like a father today," she said, "then do something for your child."
He looked up, confused.
"Not with grief," she continued. "With purpose."
She gestured toward the mandir.
"That havan isn't just for peace," she said. "It's for closure. For healing. For letting the soul of your baby know they are remembered."
His throat tightened.
"And after that," she added softly, "you live."
She smiled faintly.
"Because holding onto the past will only hurt her again."
Shivansh closed his eyes.
For the first time since last night, the weight on his chest felt... lighter.
Not gone.
But bearable.
"I'll try," he whispered.
She kissed his forehead.
"That's all a mother ever asks."
The garden was still half asleep.
Morning light filtered softly through the old trees, the kind of light that didn't hurt the eyes, only warmed the skin. Shivansh sat beside his mother on the stone bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers clenched together like he was holding himself in one piece.
He hadn't cried like that in years.
And somehow, crying hadn't made him weaker - it had made him honest.
His mother watched him quietly, letting the silence do what words couldn't.
After a long pause, she spoke again.
Her voice wasn't commanding. It was steady. Grounded.
"You both have suffered a lot," she said softly. "Alag-alag... par dard ek hi tha."
Shivansh swallowed hard.
"I know, Maa."
She turned to him then, and really looked at him.
"You said something very important just now," she continued. "You said you can't forgive yourself."
He nodded slowly.
"I can't. Not yet."
She sighed - not disappointed, not angry - just thoughtful.
"Achha hai," she said. "Mat karo."
He looked up, startled.
"What?"
She gave him a small, sad smile.
"Forgiveness is not something you force. Especially not when the wound is still open."
She placed her palm over his clenched hands, gently prying his fingers open.
"But guilt," she continued, "guilt should not make you stop living. Guilt should give birth to responsibility."
Her words settled somewhere deep inside him.
She leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on the mandir being decorated in the distance.
"Tum dono ka bachcha..." she paused, choosing her words carefully.
"Woh sirf ek yaad nahi hai, Shivansh. Woh ek presence hai. Tumhari zindagi ka hissa hai."
His throat tightened.
"Isha didn't say we should forget," he said quietly. "She said... we shouldn't let the past choke us anymore."
His mother nodded.
"Exactly."
She turned back to him, her eyes sharper now, more resolved.
"Tumne suna hoga," she said, "jab koi apna chala jata hai, toh log ya toh toot jaate hain... ya phir kuch aisa karte hain jisse unka jaana bekaar na lage."
Shivansh's brows furrowed.
"Maa?"
She smiled faintly.
"Isha ka khayal sahi hai," she said. "Agar tum dono apne bachche ke naam par kuch karte ho... toh woh sirf uske liye nahi hoga. Woh tum dono ke liye bhi hoga."
He inhaled slowly.
"She wants to do something," he said. "For our baby. Something that means... we didn't abandon them. That they're still with us."
His mother's eyes softened.
"I know," she said quietly. "She will say something like this."
He looked at her.
"You knew?"
She nodded.
"Isha never showed her pain, beta. But a girl who can endure so much and still think about someone else... will definitely do something meaningful for herself too.."
She paused, then added gently,
"she was a mother. Isliye woh jaanti hai."
The word maa hit him harder than anything else.
He lowered his head again.
"I want to do something real," he said. "Not symbolic. Something that actually helps."
That was when his mother straightened, like a thought had finally found its shape.
"Then listen, " she said.
He looked up.
"Tumne kaha na," she continued, "Isha jab pregnant thi, woh akeli thi. Uske paas koi nahi tha. Na tum, na family, na ghar."
His jaw tightened.
"Bahut si ladkiyan hoti hain," his mother went on, "jo issi wajah se toot jaati hain. Jinhe ghar se nikaal diya jaata hai. Jinhe chhod diya jaata hai. Jinhe lagta hai unka bachcha ek bojh hai."
She looked straight at him now.
"Why not start a foundation?" she said.
He froze.
"A... foundation?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "A place where pregnant women who are abandoned, scared, or alone can come. Jahan unhe sirf shelter nahi mile - dignity mile."
His mind began racing.
"They will be cared for," she continued. "Medical help, emotional support, legal guidance. Aur jab bachcha ho jaaye..."
She smiled softly.
"Tumhara bachcha un sab ka hissa ban jaayega."
His eyes burned.
"My NGO will support it," she added. "and I am sure Shree will handle hospital things. Doctors, checkups, nutrition - sab. Aur bachchon ke liye... children NGO bhi jud jaayega."
Shivansh exhaled shakily.
"It won't just be charity," he said slowly. "It will be... continuity."
His mother nodded.
"Exactly."
She reached out and cupped his face, just like she did when he was a child.
"Tum dono ne jo khoya hai," she said, voice trembling slightly now, "uska dard zinda rahega. Par agar tum uss dard se kisi aur ka dard kam kar pao..."
She smiled through moist eyes.
"Toh woh bachcha kabhi akela nahi hoga."
Shivansh closed his eyes.
For the first time since last night, the guilt inside him didn't feel like a punishment.
It felt like a direction.
"Isha will agree," he said quietly. "I know she will."
His mother nodded.
"Tum dono ek-dusre ko bachane nahi aaye ho," she said. "Tum dono ek-dusre ke saath jeene aaye ho."
She stood up slowly.
"Ab jao," she said. "Uske paas jao. Aur jab waqt aaye... sabko sach bata dena. Dard chhupane se kam nahi hota."
He stood too, steadier now.
"Maa," he said softly.
She turned.
"Thank you."
She smiled - the kind of smile that only mothers give when they know their child has finally understood something life-changing.
"Bas ek baat yaad rakhna," she said.
"Usse kabhi akela mehsoos mat hone dena. Na khushi mein. Na dard mein."
He nodded, deeply.
As he walked back toward the palace, the marigold flowers swayed gently in the morning breeze.
For the first time, the future didn't feel heavy.
It felt purposeful.
And somewhere between loss and love,
their child had already begun to exist -
not in absence,
but in meaning.
Morning did not announce itself loudly in that room.
No rush of sunlight.
No playful teasing.
No hurried breaths tangled in laughter.
Just silence.
The kind that doesn't feel empty-
the kind that feels full.
Isha woke up slowly, the way one wakes after a night that has rearranged something inside the chest. Her body was rested, but her heart still felt tender, like it had been touched too deeply to pretend nothing had happened.
She didn't move immediately.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtains, and then-
she noticed it.
Shivansh was already awake.
He was sitting against the headboard, knees bent, elbows resting loosely on them, fingers clasped together. His gaze wasn't fixed on anything in particular-just somewhere ahead, calm but distant, like a man who had finally stopped drowning and was now floating, learning how to stay above water.
He wasn't restless.
He wasn't panicking.
He wasn't breaking.
That, more than anything, told her something had shifted.
Isha turned slightly on the bed, the sheet rustling softly.
"You're awake," she said quietly.
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
A faint smile touched his lips-not bright, not forced-just... honest.
"Did I wake you?"
She shook her head. "No. I was already half awake."
There was a pause.
Not awkward.
Not heavy.
Just gentle.
She studied his face-the calm set of his jaw, the softness around his eyes. Last night had stripped him bare in ways no argument ever could, and somehow, he looked... steadier now.
"You're... quiet today," she said, carefully.
He exhaled slowly. "I feel quiet."
That made her sit up a little. "Is that a good thing?"
He nodded. "For the first time in a long while... yes."
She didn't push him. She had learned-some wounds needed air, not pressure.
"I was thinking," she said after a moment, pulling the sheet closer around her shoulders. "About what we talked about."
His fingers tightened briefly, then relaxed. "So was I."
She met his eyes. "About the baby."
He swallowed-but he didn't look away.
"Yes."
Another silence.
This one heavier, but not unbearable.
"I don't want us to forget," she said softly. "But I also don't want us to keep bleeding."
His voice was low. "Neither do I."
She reached for his hand-not dramatically, not desperately-just placed her fingers over his, grounding him.
"We talked about doing something," she continued. "Not as a memory... but as meaning."
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I've been thinking about that too."
Before either of them could say more, there was a soft knock at the door.
And then-
"Rani sa" the butler's voice comes, "Raj Mata is asking you to come down stairs?"
Shivansh glanced at Isha. She nodded.
"okay" he replied. "tell dadi sa, we are coming."
By the time they stepped out, the palace already felt different.
Not festive.
Not mournful.
Sacred.
The air carried the faint scent of marigolds and sandalwood. Yellow and orange flowers lined the corridor leading to the temple space. Soft chants hummed in the background, not loud enough to intrude-just enough to settle the soul.
Isha slowed unconsciously.
She hadn't known there would be a havan today.
Shivansh noticed. "I didn't know either," he murmured.
His mother turned back, watching them both.
"It wasn't planned earlier," she said gently. "But after last night... your Dadi sa felt it was needed."
Isha's throat tightened. "For...?"
"For peace," his mother replied simply. "For healing. For what was lost... and what still remains."
Isha lowered her gaze, emotion flickering across her face.
They reached the courtyard where the havan kund had been prepared. His grandmother sat nearby with her husband, prayer beads moving steadily between her fingers, eyes closed in meditation.
When she opened them and saw Isha-
She smiled.
Not the smile of celebration.
The smile of acceptance.
"Come, beta," she said softly. "Sit."
Isha hesitated only a second before moving forward.
As the Raj profit ji, began arranging the offerings, the family gathered-not crowding, not questioning. No one asked why. No one demanded explanations.
They felt it.
Sometimes, families don't need words.
The chants began.
Low. Steady. Ancient.
Fire crackled softly as offerings were placed-ghee, herbs, grains-each one carrying intention more than ritual.
Isha sat beside Shivansh, her dupatta drawn modestly over her head. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers intertwined, breathing measured.
As the Raj prohit ji, spoke blessings-for peace, for forgiveness, for new beginnings-her eyes closed.
Shivansh watched her.
Not with fear.
Not with guilt.
With reverence.
When the Raj prohit ji finally asked them to offer something personal into the fire, Shivansh stood first.
He took a moment.
Then said quietly, "For the child who came to us... even if only for a while."
His voice did not break.
That was the miracle.
Isha stood beside him.
"For the love that stayed," she whispered. "Even when everything else fell apart."
They placed the offerings together.
The fire accepted it silently.
The living room looked softer after the havan.
Not because anything had changed physically-same carved sofas, same high windows letting the Jaipur sunlight filter in-but because something invisible had settled there. Like the air itself had been washed clean.
Everyone sat scattered around, cups of tea, coffee, and fresh juice resting in their hands. No one was speaking much. They didn't need to.
Some silences weren't heavy.
Some silences were respectful.
Isha sat beside Shivansh, not touching him, not leaning into him either-but close enough that their arms brushed every now and then. Close enough to say I'm here without saying anything at all.
Shivansh's mother-Shivansh maa -noticed it first.
The way Shivansh kept glancing at her.
The way Isha's fingers tightened slightly around her glass every time the conversation drifted too close to emotion.
She met her son's eyes.
Just a look.
That silent language only mothers and children understood.
Shivansh straightened a little.
"I... want to talk about something," he said finally.
The room is still.
Shivansh Maa placed her cup down first.
Dadi sa and Dada safollowed.
Shivansh father adjusted his glasses.
Everyone turned toward them.
Isha felt it-the shift, the attention-and instinctively looked at Shivansh. He didn't look away this time. He reached out and lightly covered her hand with his.
Grounding himself.
Grounding her.
"This isn't an announcement," Shivansh began, voice calm but deliberate. "It's... an intention."
Ranveer frowned slightly.
Aviyansh leaned forward.
Shivansh took a breath.
"Yesterday," he continued, "After learning the biggest truth of my life, we decided something."
Isha's throat tightened, but she didn't pull her hand away.
The words landed-not like a bomb, but like a truth that had been waiting too long to be spoken.
Shivansh's grandmother's hand flew to her chest.
Shivansh's father closed his eyes slowly.
Shivansh Ma inhaled sharply, but didn't interrupt.
No one did.
"We didn't know," Shivansh said. "So we couldn't grieve. We couldn't protect it. We couldn't even name."
His thumb brushed over Isha's knuckles, unconsciously.
"But now that we do know," he went on, "we don't want that life to disappear into silence. We don't want it to be just a pain."
Isha finally spoke.
Her voice was quiet-but steady.
"We don't want to live in the past," she said. "But we also don't want to pretend it didn't exist."
She looked around the room-at the family that had once felt like strangers, and now felt like witnesses.
"So we thought," she continued, "if we can't hold our child in our arms... maybe we can hold others."
A pause.
Shivansh Ma's eyes filled instantly.
"What do you mean, beta?" she asked gently.
Shivansh took over agaain.
Dadisa's eyes glistened. Shivansh's mother lowered her gaze, pressing her lips together.
"That's when Maa suggested a foundation, We want to start a foundation," he said. "For women who are pregnant and abandoned. Women who are scared. Alone. Without support."
Shivansh Ma nodded slowly, already understanding.
"For women like Isha was," he added. "When no one knew."
Isha didn't flinch this time.
She nodded.
"We don't want sympathy," she said. "We want structure. Care. Medical support. Emotional safety."
"And dignity," Shivansh added. "Not charity. Dignity."
Shivansh's grandmother reached out and took Isha's face in her palms, tears slipping freely now.
"My child," she whispered, "you carried this alone?"
Isha swallowed.
"Yes," she answered honestly. "But I don't want anyone else to."
Dada sa cleared his throat, his voice thick.
"That's when Maa suggested a foundation," Shivansh said,
"This foundation," he said, "will carry our family's name."
Shivansh father nodded firmly.
"It will have full backing," he added. "Legal, medical, financial."
Ranveer spoke next, voice softer than usual.
"I handle operations," he said. "I'll make sure it actually works-not just looks good on paper."
Aviyansh smiled faintly.
"And awareness," he added. "I'll handle that."
Shivansh Ma finally stood, walking toward Isha and Shivansh.
She placed a hand on both their heads, blessing them.
"You didn't just survive," she said. "You turned loss into responsibility."
Her voice broke.
"That child," she whispered, "will never be forgotten."
Isha's eyes filled, but she smiled.
Not broken.
Not collapsing.
Healing.
Shivansh exhaled, like something heavy had finally loosened inside his chest.
This wasn't closure.
This was continuity.
And for the first time in a long time, the room didn't feel like it was holding its breath anymore.
It felt like it was moving forward-together.
That was all he needed.
He inhaled, then shifted slightly toward Isha.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice low but clear. "I should have spoken to you first. I didn't... discuss this with you."
Isha turned to him. There was no shock on her face. No hurt. Just understanding.
She shook her head gently.
"It's okay," she said. "Actually... it's better this way."
He looked at her, unsure.
She continued softly, "I didn't know how I would tell everyone either. Some things... they're too heavy to carry alone. Saying it in front of everyone makes it feel lighter."
Her words settled into the room.
Shivansh swallowed, then straightened a little, finally turning to face his family.
She said, choosing her words carefully.
"My child was my hope. After everything I lost, that baby was the reason I wanted to live. When I lost the baby, it felt like my hope died too."
Shivansh's jaw tightened. His hand twitched-but he didn't interrupt her.
"But today," she continued, eyes shining but steady, "I feel hope again. Not because the pain is gone. But because I chose to live with it."
She looked around at everyone.
"So if we are starting a foundation," she said softly, "I want to name it Hope."
The word hung in the air.
Hope.
For a second-no one spoke.
Then Dadi sa exhaled shakily.
"Hope," she repeated. "What a beautiful name."
Dada sa nodded slowly.
"That child... gave you hope. Now that hope will give life to others."
Shivansh's father spoke next, his voice thick.
"I support this. Completely."
"So do I," shivansh chote Papa added immediately.
Ranveer leaned forward.
"It's not just meaningful. It's necessary."
Aviyansh smiled softly at Isha.
"It suits you."
Shivansh finally looked at her then-really looked at her. The way her shoulders had straightened. The way her pain had turned into purpose.
Hope.
He reached for her hand, this time without hesitation.
Dadi sa cleared her throat, breaking the heaviness with something gentler.
"There's something else we need to talk about," she said, her tone shifting. "When you went to the temple, people looked at you with questions in their eyes."
She looked directly at Isha.
"We don't want that anymore. You are the Rani Sa of Jaipur. The queen of this family. No one should ever question who you are."
Isha blinked, surprised.
"We want the world to know," Dadisa continued. "Not quietly. Not secretly."
Isha hesitated for a moment... then smiled.
"If you really want the world to know," she said, a spark lighting her eyes, "then why not do it properly?"
Everyone leaned in.
"Our last wedding..." she glanced briefly at Shivansh, "...was private. Rushed. Forced."
Shivansh winced-but didn't look away.
"So why not," she said, voice soft but confident, "get married again? With rituals. With celebrations. With family. With joy."
The room exploded into reactions.
"A wedding?" Ranveer grinned.
"Again?" Aviyansh laughed. "I like this idea."
Of course he will like the idea because he will get to meet his ishu..
Shivansh's mother covered her mouth, smiling through tears.
"Yes," she said immediately. "Yes, we'll do it properly this time."
Dada sa nodded firmly.
"This time... with happiness."
Shivansh turned to Isha, disbelief and awe mingling in his eyes.
"You're sure?" he asked quietly.
She met his gaze.
"This time," she said, "I want to choose you."
Something in him finally-finally-let go.
And for the first time since everything had shattered, the room didn't feel heavy anymore.
It felt... alive.
Hope had found its place.
The heaviness that had lived in the palace for days-maybe months, maybe years-felt lighter that afternoon.
Not gone.
Just... lighter.
Sunlight poured in through the tall French windows of the living area, catching on the marble floors, dancing lazily as if even the palace itself had decided to breathe again.
Isha sat on the sofa, her legs folded beneath her, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea she had barely touched. She wasn't lost anymore. She wasn't drowning.
She was just... there.
Present.
Shivansh stood near the window, talking to his grandfather and his father, his posture relaxed in a way it hadn't been for years. Not guarded. Not stiff. Just... Shivansh.
Every few seconds, his eyes drifted back to her.
Not because he was afraid she'd disappear.
But because he wanted to look at her.
And Isha noticed.
She always did.
Her lips curved into a small smile when their eyes met, and this time-this time-he didn't look away.
"Stop staring like that," she said softly, raising an eyebrow. "Everyone will think you just got married."
A chuckle echoed through the room.
Grandmother adjusted her dupatta, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"He did," she said calmly. "Technically."
Isha groaned. "Dadi-"
"And this time," Grandmother added sweetly, "he looks much better behaved."
Everyone laughed, including Shivansh.
"Behaved?" he repeated, mock-offended. "I am perfectly-"
"-terrifying," Aviyansh cut in smoothly, walking in with Ranveer. "But slightly less terrifying today. Progress."
Shivansh shot him a look.
Aviyansh grinned back, unapologetic.
She came in the afternoon to surprise Isha and know everything is okay or not with her. But herself got surprised after knowing about the wedding.
Ishika entered just then, carrying a plate of cut fruits, her eyes immediately landing on Aviyansh.
"Progress?" she asked innocently. "That's rare coming from you."
Aviyansh tilted his head. "Oh, I always appreciate growth. Especially emotional growth."
She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway-and Shivansh noticed that too.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Lunch was light, noisy, filled with overlapping conversations-normal conversations. No pauses heavy with unsaid things. No eyes watching cautiously.
Just family.
Isha reached for a piece of roti, and before she could pull her hand back, Shivansh had already placed sabzi on her plate.
"You don't eat enough," he said casually.
"I eat fine."
"You forget when you're thinking."
"I don't-"
"You do."
She paused, then sighed.
"...Okay, maybe."
Shivansh smiled-not victorious, just fond.
Grandfather watched them quietly, then leaned back and murmured,
"So this is what peace looks like."
Shivansh father nodded. "About time."
Across the table, Ishika leaned toward Aviyansh.
"Why are you staring like that?"
"I'm observing," he replied.
"Observing what?"
"How terrifying love can be," he said thoughtfully. "Turns kings into nervous husbands."
She snorted. "You're ridiculous."
"Yet," he said, lowering his voice just enough, "you're smiling."
She froze for half a second.
Then stood up abruptly.
"I'm done eating."
Aviyansh watched her walk away, a slow, thoughtful smile forming on his lips.
Shy..
Later that evening, the palace hummed with preparation-nothing grand, just life moving again. Staff walked around, voices low, smiles freer.
Isha stood on the balcony, watching the sky melt into shades of orange and pink.
Shivansh joined her, not speaking at first.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was... comfortable.
"I was thinking," he said finally.
She glanced at him. "Dangerous territory."
He smirked. "I know. But still."
She waited.
"I don't want us to rush anything," he said honestly. "Not happiness. Not pain. Not healing."
She nodded slowly. "Me neither."
He turned toward her fully.
"But I also don't want us to keep holding back out of fear."
Isha looked at him then-really looked.
"You know," she said quietly, "for the first time in years... I'm not scared of tomorrow."
Something in his chest loosened.
"That makes two of us."
She hesitated, then leaned her head against his shoulder.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Just natural.
Below them, laughter echoed-Ranveer arguing with Aviyansh, Ishika snapping back, Grandmother scolding them both lovingly.
Life.
Real, messy, beautiful life.
That night, as the palace lights dimmed and doors slowly closed, one truth settled gently into every corner of the Raghuvanshii palace,
They weren't trying to forget the past.
They were choosing to live beyond it.
And somewhere between stolen glances, teasing arguments, and quiet promises,
new stories were already beginning.
Some louder.
Some softer.
Some-waiting patiently for their turn.
The palace did not feel heavy anymore.
For the first time in days-no, months-it felt alive, not with noise, but with ease. The kind of ease that comes after storms have passed, when silence no longer hurts.
Isha stood near the balcony doors, moon light brushing softly against her face. She was not dressed heavily today. No royal silks, no jewelry layered for appearances-just a light pastel kurta, hair loose, bare feet against the cool marble.
Shivansh watched her from the doorway.
Not like a king. Not like a man burdened with guilt.
But like someone who was finally allowed to want again.
"You're staring," Isha said without turning.
He smiled. A real one this time.
"I waited five years to do that," he replied. "Don't rush me now."
She turned, eyebrow raised. "Five years of staring rights?"
"Lifetime subscription," he corrected.
She laughed-a small, unguarded sound-and that alone felt like a victory.
He walked closer, slow, and unhurried. Not grabbing. Not claiming. Just... present.
"You look lighter today," he said quietly.
"I feel lighter," she answered. Then added, softer, "Still fragile. But lighter."
He nodded. "I won't touch the fragile parts."
She stepped closer on her own. "You already are. Just... differently."
His fingers brushed her wrist-barely there. A question, not a demand.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she leaned her forehead against his chest.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she murmured, teasing, "You know... for someone who used to intimidate entire boardrooms, you're very nervous around me."
He scoffed. "You survived death. I'm still scared of you."
She tilted her head up. "Good."
He smiled, bending slightly to kiss her hair-not possessive, not desperate. Just... grateful.
"dinner?" he asked.
"Only if you promise not to stare at me like I'll disappear."
"I won't," he said honestly. "Not today."
The dining area buzzed with soft conversation, cups clinking, light laughter-something the palace had forgotten how to do.
Shivansh entered with Isha beside him.
Not leading. Not following.
Walking together.
That alone was enough for heads to turn.
His grandmother noticed it first. Then his mother. Then his father.
No one said anything.
They didn't need to.
Isha sat comfortably, reaching for dal herself instead of waiting to be served.
That, too, was new.
Shivansh's mother watched her for a moment before saying casually, "You look well-rested."
Isha smiled. "I slept... peacefully."
A pause.
Then aviyansh muttered under his breath, "Miracles do happen."
Ishika kicked him under the table.
"What?" he protested. "I meant emotional miracles."
Aviyansh, sitting across from Ishika, smirked. "Sure you did."
Ishika rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.
Shivansh noticed.
He noticed the way Aviyansh leaned closer to Ishika when she laughed.
The way she pretended not to notice-but always did.
Isha reached for a piece of roti.
Shivansh reached the same one.
Their fingers touched.
She froze.
He froze too.
Then she looked up, amused. "You're scared again."
"Habit," he admitted.
She slid the toast toward him. "Relax. I'm not breaking."
He hesitated. "And if I do something wrong?"
She thought for a second. Then said, calmly, "Then we talked. We don't run."
That sentence alone shifted something inside him.
He nodded. "Deal."
Across the table, Ishika whispered to Aviyansh, "They're disgustingly mature now."
Aviyansh whispered back, "Give them a week."
She laughed-too quickly-and looked away.
He noticed.
The palace felt different tonight.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just... warm.
The living area glowed under soft yellow lights, the kind that didn't announce happiness but held it gently. Dessert trays were placed on the centre table-kesar rabdi, gulab jamuns still warm, bowls of sliced fruits, cups of coffee and herbal tea scattered around like people had forgotten rules existed.
Everyone was relaxed.
Smiling without trying.
Isha sat beside Shivansh, knees almost touching, her dupatta casually slipping off her shoulder as if it finally trusted the space. Shivansh leaned back slightly, one arm stretched behind her on the sofa-not possessive, not dramatic-just present.
That alone said enough.
Shivansh grand father cleared his throat softly, spoon tapping against the edge of his bowl.
"I think," he said calmly, eyes moving from Isha to Shivansh, "it's time we talk about something important."
Everyone looked up.
Isha paused mid-bite, blinking.
Shivansh straightened instinctively.
"Yes, Dada sa?" Shivansh asked.
Shivansh's grandfather smiled faintly and asked isha, "Is your family here? In Jaipur, I mean."
Isha nodded. "Yes. Mummy and Papa are here. They're staying at the Luka palace... they didn't want to disturb me that's why they stayed there, ishika told me."
"Good," he said simply. "Because we should call them."
That got everyone's attention.
Aviyansh raised a brow. "Call them... like-now now? Or ceremonially call them?"
Ranveer chuckled. "There's always a difference with you."
Shivansh's grandmother ignored them, eyes steady.
"We should discuss everything. Properly. The wedding. The rituals. The celebrations. Where and how you want it."
Isha's fingers tightened around her spoon.
"Abhi?" she echoed softly.
Shivansh grandmother nodded. "No, tomorrow I call them, and invite here."
Shivansh turned to look at Isha, surprise flickering across his face before settling into something warmer.
Silence followed. Not uncomfortable-understanding.
Shivansh grandmother continued, "Yesterday, I already asked Raj prohit ji to look for auspicious dates. Once we get them, we'll plan everything properly."
Shivansh's mother smiled. "And before the wedding functions start, Isha will go back to her parents' house. Like it should be."
Isha blinked. "Back... home?"
"Yes," her mother-in-law said warmly. "As our daughter. Not as someone who just came back."
Ranveer leaned forward. "That also means-"
Aviyansh cut in instantly. "-no seeing each other during the wedding rituals."
Shivansh groaned. "Wait, what?"
Isha turned slowly toward him, lips twitching.
"No seeing each other," she repeated innocently.
"That's not fair," Shivansh protested. "We live in the same palace."
Aviyansh smirked. "Exactly why it'll be fun."
Ranveer added, "Traditionally, the groom isn't supposed to see the bride till the wedding."
Shivansh narrowed his eyes. "Who made these traditions?"
Isha leaned closer, whispering just enough for him to hear, "Scared grooms, probably."
He glanced at her, scandalised. "You're enjoying this."
She smiled. "Immensely."
His chote maa laughed, the sound light and pleased.
"Good," she said. "Let them tease. This time, there should be joy."
Shivansh father turned to Isha.
"You will be introduced properly this time. As Rani Sa of Jaipur. No whispers. No questioning looks."
Isha hesitated. "bada sa... I-"
"No," the old woman interrupted gently. "You've carried enough quietly. Now we celebrate loudly."
Shivansh grandfather nodded. "Tomorrow, we'll call your parents. Sit together. Decide everything."
Isha looked at Shivansh, eyes shining-not with tears, but something steadier.
"Okay," she said. "But on one condition."
Everyone leaned in.
She smiled softly.
"This time... I want to marry you willingly."
The room is still.
Shivansh's breath caught.
"I want to choose you," she continued, voice calm. "Not because of fate. Not because of pressure. But because I want to."
Shivansh reached for her hand openly, fingers curling around hers.
"I'm yours," he said quietly. "Every way you want it."
Aviyansh cleared his throat loudly. "Okay, wow. Enough romance before dessert melts."
Ishika, who had been quietly watching everything, smiled softly-eyes lingering just a little longer on Aviyansh than necessary.
Their story hasn't begun yet.
But something had stirred.
And as laughter filled the room again, as spoons clinked and teasing resumed, one thing was certain-
This wasn't a restart.
This was a second beginning, done right.
The palace slowly slipped into its night rhythm.
Dessert plates had been cleared, laughter had softened into tired smiles, and one by one, doors began to close-each room carrying its own silence, its own emotions, its own unsaid words.
Tonight wasn't loud.
Tonight was... settled.
The door closed softly behind them.
Not slammed.
Not rushed.
Just... closed.
Isha stood near the window for a moment, her back to him, fingers loosely holding the curtain. The palace lights outside shimmered against the glass, but her mind wasn't there. It was somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.
Shivansh didn't speak immediately.
He removed his watch, placed it carefully on the side table-habits he never broke-and then looked at her.
She felt him before she turned.
"You're thinking again," he said quietly.
She smiled without turning.
"Am I that obvious?"
He walked closer, slow, unhurried, stopping just behind her.
"To me?" His voice softened. "Always."
She finally turned, looking up at him, eyes calmer than they had been days ago-but still carrying depth.
"I was just thinking," she said, "how strange it feels."
"What?"
"That we're... okay," she whispered. "Not pretending. Not fighting. Just... breathing."
His hand lifted instinctively, fingers brushing her cheek-not possessive, not desperate. Just there.
"We didn't breathe for a long time," he replied.
She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a second.
"And yet," she murmured, "here we are."
He rested his forehead against hers.
"Here we are," he echoed.
Silence followed-not awkward, not heavy. Comfortable.
Then she laughed softly.
He pulled back slightly. "Why are you smiling like that?"
She looked at him, eyes mischievous now.
"Because your dadi basically announced our second wedding like it's a festival."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "You were the one who suggested it."
She shrugged. "I had to. I refuse to let that wedding be our story."
He chuckled quietly. "Fair."
She stepped closer, arms wrapping around his waist-not tight, not clinging. Just... grounding.
"You know," she said softly against his chest, "I'm not scared anymore."
His breath hitched-but he didn't interrupt.
"Not of the past," she continued. "Not of tomorrow. Not even of being happy."
He rested his chin lightly on her head.
"I was terrified," he admitted. "That happiness would feel... undeserved."
She pulled back enough to look at him.
"And now?"
He looked into her eyes, honest. Raw. Present.
"Now," he said, "I think happiness is something we protect. Together."
Her fingers curled into his shirt.
"That's all I ever wanted," she whispered.
He kissed her forehead-slow, lingering, repeated.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Not urgency.
Reassurance.
She sighed, eyes closing.
"Stay," she murmured.
"I'm not going anywhere," he replied instantly.
They moved toward the bed, not rushing-just settling beside each other, limbs naturally finding familiarity again. Her head rested on his shoulder, his arm around her, thumb tracing slow, absent circles.
No need for words.
Tonight, closeness was enough.
In another wing of the palace, the atmosphere was... different.
Lighter. Louder.
Ishika sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone, laughing softly.
Aviyansh leaned against the headboard, arms folded, watching her with amusement.
"What?" she asked, not looking up.
"You've been smiling at your screen for ten minutes."
She finally glanced at him. "Because I am talking to someone special."
He raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"My sister will get married again and this time with so much love," she said. "And it will be fun. "
He laughed. "You're smiling."
She tossed the phone aside and leaned back dramatically completely ignoring his question.
"I swear," she said, "this family doesn't do anything half-hearted."
He shifted closer, nudging her knee with his.
"And yet," he said casually, "you don't seem unhappy about it."
She paused. Then looked at him.
"I'm not," she admitted. "It's just... nice. Seeing them like this after years."
He nodded. "After years? Yeah."
She hesitated, then spoke softer. "Do you think... happiness can actually last?"
He looked at her-really looked at her.
"I think," he said slowly, "it lasts longer when you stop waiting for it to disappear."
She studied his face, then smiled.
"When did you get so wise?"
He smirked. "Living in this palace does that."
She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"You know," she said casually, "if they're doing a grand wedding... there's going to be chaos."
His arm slipped around her instinctively.
"Royal chaos."
She smiled. "I kind of want front-row seats."
He looked down at her, teasing. "Just front row?"
She glanced up, eyes playful. "Maybe... center stage someday."
He froze for half a second.
She noticed.
Her smile softened. "Relax. I'm not proposing."
He exhaled. "Good. Because I'd panic."
She laughed, burying her face briefly in his shoulder.
"Liar," she said. "You'd love it."
He smiled quietly-because maybe, just maybe... she was right.
Two rooms.
Two couples.
Different journeys.
But the same truth settled into the palace walls that night-
Healing didn't always arrive loudly.
Sometimes, it came as quiet laughter, shared silence, and the simple comfort of knowing:
We're here. We're together. And we're choosing this.
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