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Author's POV
Morning didn't arrive loudly in the palace.
It slipped in quietly, like it was scared to disturb something fragile… something newly healed.
Soft sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, touching the marble floor first, then slowly climbing the bed where two lives lay tangled together — not bound by obligation anymore, but by choice.
Shivansh woke up first.
Not because he wanted to.
But because his body wasn't used to this kind of peace.
For a few seconds, he didn't move. He didn't even breathe properly.
He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in.
She's here.
She didn't leave.
She chose to stay.
His arm was wrapped around Isha's waist, her face tucked into his chest like it belonged there. Her fingers were curled into the fabric of his kurta, as if even in sleep she was afraid he might disappear.
He looked down at her.
Really looked.
Her lashes rested softly on her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, breathing slow and even. There were faint marks under her eyes — proof of all the nights she had cried when he wasn't there to see it.
His throat tightened.
"You slept," he whispered, almost unbelieving.
"You actually slept… peacefully."
He lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. His touch was feather-light, like he was scared she might vanish if he touched her too firmly.
She stirred.
Not awake. Just closer.
Her body instinctively pressed into his, her leg draping over his, claiming warmth, familiarity, safety.
Shivansh shut his eyes.
This… this is the beginning, he thought.
Not forgiveness. Not erasing the past.
This is choosing the future.
He bent down and kissed her forehead.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
Slow. Lingering. Like each kiss was an apology he never got to say properly.
Isha frowned slightly in her sleep.
"Shivansh…" she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
His heart skipped.
"I'm here," he said instantly, tightening his hold.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes fluttered open slowly.
For a second, confusion passed through them.
Then recognition.
Then warmth.
Then that soft smile — the one that used to ruin him years ago and was now undoing him all over again.
"Why are you awake?" she asked sleepily, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It's morning already?"
"Unfortunately," he sighed dramatically, pulling her closer.
"I was planning to sleep till noon."
She smiled, burying her face back into his chest.
"King Shivansh Raghuvanshi doesn't want to wake up?" she teased.
"Scandalous."
He chuckled — a real one, not forced.
"Husband Shivansh Raghuvanshi doesn't want to wake up," he corrected softly.
"There's a difference."
That made her still.
Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at him — really looked at him — like she was memorizing this version of him.
"It still feels strange," she admitted.
"Not heavy… just new."
He nodded.
"It feels like breathing after being underwater for years."
She traced circles on his chest, thoughtful.
"I didn't forget anything," she said quietly.
"I still remember everything I went through."
His jaw tightened.
"I know."
"But today," she continued, lifting her head, eyes steady,
"I don't want to wake up angry.
I don't want to wake up scared.
I don't want to wake up carrying yesterday."
He swallowed.
"So this is me," she said softly,
"starting again.
With you.
Not because I have to…
but because I want to."
He pulled her into a tight hug.
The kind that says thank you, I'm sorry, don't leave, I'll protect you — all at once.
"I don't deserve this," he whispered into her hair.
She smiled against his chest.
"Maybe not," she replied gently.
"But I deserve peace."
He laughed softly.
"You're terrifyingly strong, you know that?"
"I know," she said smugly.
"You married me."
They lay there for a long while after that.
Talking about nothing and everything.
About how weird it felt to wake up together again.
About how the palace felt less cold now.
About how this was technically their first morning as a married couple who actually chose each other.
At some point, Shivansh tightened his hold again.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled.
"Don't move."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're the one who's supposed to be disciplined."
"I retired," he said seriously.
"Effective immediately."
She laughed — a sound that filled the room like sunlight.
Eventually, they did get up.
Slowly. Reluctantly.
As Isha stepped into the bathroom, she paused and looked back at him.
"Shivansh?"
"Hmm?"
"This morning…"
"It feels like the first page of a new book."
He smiled softly.
"Then this time," he said,
"I promise I won't ruin the story."
She smiled back — not the forgiving kind.
The hopeful kind.
The walk-in closet looked less like a closet and more like a battlefield.
Sarees lay folded and unfolded again. Suits were hanging, pulled out, placed back, pulled out again. Dupattas were draped over chairs, over the couch, even over the edge of the vanity. Shoes stood abandoned like witnesses to her confusion.
And in the middle of all of it stood Isha—wrapped in a white bathrobe, hair still damp, skin warm from the shower—walking back and forth, muttering under her breath.
"No… not this." She shook her head, pushed a hanger aside. "Too much." Another suit rejected. "This is too simple." She sighed, hands going to her head.
A frustrated groan escaped her lips.
That was when Shivansh, who had been in the bedroom, heard it.
He frowned slightly, then followed the sound.
The moment he stepped into the walk-in closet, he stopped.
For a second, he didn't say anything.
Not because he didn't know what to say.
But because the sight in front of him—her—made him forget every thought.
She turned around abruptly when she sensed him.
"What?" she snapped softly, irritation clear on her face. "Why are you standing like that?"
He raised an eyebrow, arms folding slowly across his chest. "What happened here?" he asked calmly. "Why are you running like someone set the palace on fire?"
She threw her hands in the air. "I don't know what to wear!"
He blinked. "…That's the problem?"
"Yes!" she said instantly. "That is the problem."
She walked past him, then turned again, pointing at the clothes. "Everything feels wrong. Too married. Too not married. Too much. Too less. I don't know."
He leaned against the wardrobe, watching her pace. "You're overthinking."
She stopped. "I am not."
"You are."
"I am not."
A beat.
Then he casually pointed at a red suit hanging neatly to the side. "Wear that."
She followed his finger. "That?"
"Yes."
"Why that?"
"Because," he said simply, "it looks like you."
She stared at the suit for a moment.
Then she looked at him. "Okay. Go out."
He smirked instantly. "Why?"
"Because I'm changing."
He tilted his head, eyes deliberately slow as they travelled over her bathrobe. "Well, I've already seen you without clothes. Years ago."
Before he could finish—
Thud.
A comb flew straight at his face.
He caught it mid-air, laughing.
"You throw things now?" he asked, amused.
"Go out!" she shouted, laughing despite herself.
Still chuckling, he stepped back. "Fine, fine. But you're violent."
She slammed the door on his face.
A few minutes later.
"Knock knock," his voice came softly. "Can I come in now?"
"Yes."
He entered again.
This time, she stood in front of the mirror, applying moisturizer, bangles lying open beside her. Her hair was loosely tied, face bare, calm—but her eyes kept drifting to the vanity.
To that.
The mangalsutra. The small box of sindoor.
She froze.
Her fingers hovered… then pulled back.
Shivansh noticed immediately.
He stepped closer, voice gentle. "If you're not ready," he said slowly, "then don't wear it."
She looked at him through the mirror. "It's not about forcing."
"I know," he replied. "That's why I'm saying—when you want to."
Her lips pressed together. "I don't know how to feel."
He nodded. "Then let me help."
She turned. "…How?"
A pause.
"If you want," he said softly, "I can make you wear it again."
Her eyes softened.
"Okay," she whispered.
He picked up the mangalsutra carefully, as if it were sacred.
His fingers brushed her skin as he clasped it around her neck.
Then he took the sindoor.
Slowly. Carefully.
As he applied it, a tiny bit slipped—landing right on the bridge of her nose.
Both of them froze.
Then they laughed.
"Again?" she murmured, smiling.
"History repeats itself," he said quietly.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead—right where the sindoor rested.
She closed her eyes.
They hugged.
Not tightly. Not desperately.
Just… home.
"I'll take a quick bath," he said after a moment. "Don't go anywhere. We'll go downstairs together."
She nodded. "Okay."
The walk-in closet still smelled faintly of her perfume and his aftershave.
Isha stood near the dresser, her bangles finally settled, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. Shivansh had just turned toward the mirror, adjusting his cufflinks with exaggerated seriousness — until he suddenly paused.
There was a soft rip.
He looked down.
Then slowly looked up at her reflection.
"Isha," he said, in that suspiciously calm tone that always meant trouble, "we have a situation."
She glanced at him lazily.
"What situation?"
He turned fully toward her and pointed at his chest.
The top button of his shirt dangled—half-hanging, defeated, like it had surrendered to fate.
She stared.
Then blinked.
Then burst out laughing.
"Oh my God," she said between laughs, walking closer. "You literally broke your own shirt button."
"I did not break it," he defended. "It sacrificed itself."
She folded her arms. "You are the king of Jaipur. You own, what—hundreds of shirts?"
"And yet," he said gravely, "this is the only one I emotionally prepared myself to wear today."
She rolled her eyes. "Drama."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I saw something yesterday."
Her brows furrowed. "Saw what?"
"A reel," he admitted. "A husband standing very still while his wife fixed his button."
She snorted. "You broke your shirt… for a reel?"
"Yes," he said without shame. "For an experience."
She turned toward the wardrobe dramatically, pulling a hanger. "Wear another one."
He caught her wrist gently.
"No."
She looked at him. "Shivansh—"
"I want this," he said quietly. "I want you to fix it."
Her laughter softened.
She sighed, defeated. "You are impossible."
She moved toward the drawer, pulled out a small sewing kit.
Sat down on the couch.
"Come here," she said.
He obeyed instantly.
She patted the space in front of her. "Sit."
He sat—right in front of her knees.
Too close.
Way too close.
She threaded the needle carefully, her concentration fierce.
"Don't move," she warned.
"I'm not moving," he said softly, eyes fixed on her face.
She leaned forward, bringing the needle to the fabric—and then accidentally pressed it against his chest.
He inhaled sharply.
"Ow."
She froze. "Did it hurt?"
He shook his head slowly. "No."
Then smiled. "I didn't even notice."
She looked up. "Liar."
"I swear," he said. "I was distracted."
"By what?"
"By you."
Her fingers are still.
The room went quiet that mornings sometimes do—soft light, slow breaths, suspended time.
She stitched carefully now, closer to his heart.
"You know," she murmured, "if you bleed on this shirt, I'm not responsible."
"I'd still wear it," he said. "Battle scars."
She smirked. "Drama king."
As she finished the last stitch, she tugged gently on the button to test it.
"There," she said. "Done."
He didn't move.
Didn't stand.
Didn't even look at the button.
He just lifted his hand and brushed his thumb against her cheek.
"You know," he said, voice low, "I imagined this… but it feels better."
She swallowed. "Imagine what?"
"This life," he replied. "Normal things. You fixing my shirt. Arguing with me. Laughing at me."
She met his eyes.
"I'm not promising perfection," she said quietly.
"I'm not asking for it," he said just as softly. "I already lost too much chasing perfectly."
She stood up slowly.
He stood too.
Their foreheads touched.
Then his lips pressed gently to her temple.
Then her cheek.
Then, without hurry, her lips.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Just… there.
When they finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against his chest—right over the repaired button.
"Don't break it again," she murmured.
He smiled into her hair. "I'll try. But no promises."
She laughed softly.
And for the first time in years, the palace didn't feel like stone and history and silence.
It felt like a home waking up.
The palace dining hall had always been grand.
High ceilings. Sunlight falling through carved windows. The long table that had witnessed years of laughter, arguments, silences, and rituals.
But this morning…
this morning felt different.
No one knew why.
They only knew that something had shifted in the air.
The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the staircase.
At first, no one looked.
Then someone did.
And then… everyone froze.
Shivansh was walking down.
And beside him—
Isha.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
Not distant.
Beside him.
Her hand wasn't holding his, but it wasn't away either. Their shoulders almost touched. And both of them… were smiling. Not wide smiles. Not dramatic smiles.
The kind of smile that comes after storms.
Shivansh's mother blinked once.
Then twice.
"W– when…?" she whispered, almost to herself, her eyes fixed on Isha.
Shivansh heard it.
"She came last night," he said calmly, pulling out the chair for Isha like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Everyone was asleep."
Silence.
Heavy. Loud. Deafening silence.
Isha sat down.
And that's when the second shock hit them.
She didn't sit near Aviyansh
Didn't sit near Ranveer.
She sat beside Shivansh.
Shivansh's grandmother leaned slightly toward her husband, her voice barely audible.
"You're seeing this too… right?" she whispered.
He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Isha.
"I am."
Then someone noticed it.
The mangalsutra.
Resting quietly against her collarbone.
And the sindoor.
Fresh. Red. Real.
Shivansh's aunt gasped softly, covering her mouth.
His uncle exchanged a look with his father.
Aviyansh stared.
Ranveer stared harder.
No one spoke.
Everyone whispered.
"Are we being fooled?"
"Did something happen?"
"Is this… real?"
Isha felt those glances. She didn't lower her eyes. She didn't explain. She simply looked at Shivansh for half a second.
And he understood.
As always.
Breakfast was served in a strange silence.
Then, like muscle memory—like years of habit that never really died—Shivansh reached out.
He served Isha first.
Cheela.
A sandwich.
"Shivansh," Isha whispered, amused, leaning slightly toward him. "That's too much."
"You didn't eat properly yesterday," he replied, unfazed. "Eat."
She sighed. "I don't eat like a soldier."
"And I don't listen," he said simply.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled.
Everyone saw that.
Everyone.
Ranveer nudged Aviyansh. "Bro… something definitely happened."
Aviyansh nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Shivansh served himself next.
Just salad.
Isha frowned instantly.
"That's all you're eating?"
He shrugged. "I'm fine."
"You're lying."
He leaned closer. "I'm happy. That's enough for now."
Her expression softened.
After breakfast, Shivansh stood up.
"I have a meeting," he said. "Ranveer, Aviyansh—you're coming?"
They nodded immediately.
Shivansh turned to his father and uncle. "You're not coming?"
His father smiled gently. "No. We're retired. And today…" he looked at Isha with warmth, "…our daughter-in-law is home. We'll stay."
Shivansh bent down and kissed isha's forehead.
Then he looked at every one and then isha.
Just one look.
And left.
Slowly, everyone began to disperse.
His grandfather wasn't feeling well—he went to rest with his wife.
His chote maa had hospital duties.
His mother left for the NGO, to distribute sweets, her eyes misty but happy.
Soon, only Isha, Shivansh's father, and shivansh chote papa remained in the hall.
They looked at each other.
"Well," his chote papa said lightly, breaking the silence. "Looks like it's just us."
Shivansh's father smiled at Isha. "What do you say? Father-daughter day?"
Isha's eyes lit up. "Like old times?"
He nodded. "Like old times."
She laughed softly.
"Where should we go?"
And just like that—
without announcements,
without declarations,
without explanations—
The palace accepted what had returned.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
But gently.
Like love finding its way back home.
The decision didn't come with planning charts or royal announcements.
It came quietly.
Shivansh's father folded his hand, looked at Isha, then at his brother, and said almost casually,
"Why don't we go to the temple first?"
Isha looked up, surprised.
"Temple… now?"
"Yes," his chote papa smiled, standing up. "It's been a long time since we went without an agenda."
Shivansh's father nodded.
"And today feels like a day that needs blessings before anything else."
Isha didn't argue. She never could, not when his voice softened like that.
She just smiled, small and genuine.
"Okay."
The car stopped a little away, but it didn't matter.
Because the moment they stepped out, Jaipur noticed.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But in whispers.
People slowed.
Hands folded.
Eyes followed.
Because it wasn't every day that the royal family walked into the temple—
And never with someone walking between them.
Isha felt it.
The glances.
The curiosity.
The confusion.
She leaned slightly toward Shivansh's father and whispered,
"They're… looking."
He smiled, calm, protective.
"They look because they don't know yet."
She hesitated.
"Know… what?"
"That you belong here."
Her breath caught.
Not because of the words.
But because of how naturally he said them.
Inside the temple, the bells rang louder than usual, or maybe it only felt that way.
The priest froze for half a second before bowing.
"Bade Rana sa…"
"No," Shivansh's father said gently. "Today, just devotees."
The priest nodded quickly, eyes flicking to Isha again.
She stood there, palms joined, eyes closed.
Not praying for forgiveness.
Not praying for the past.
Just gratitude.
When the aarti flame circled, Shivansh's uncle leaned closer and said softly,
"Soon, we should tell them."
Shivansh's father nodded.
"They're already guessing."
Isha opened her eyes.
"What if they don't accept it?"
Both men turned to her at once.
His uncle smiled first.
"Then they'll learn."
After the temple, instead of heading back, Isha spoke up.
"Can we… go to the market?"
Both men paused.
"The local one," she added quickly. "Not the palace stores."
Shivansh's father raised an eyebrow.
"The real market?"
She smiled sheepishly.
"I want to see things. Buy something. Walk."
There was a brief silence.
Then his chote papa laughed.
"Looks like we're being ordered."
They didn't take the car inside.
They walked.
Guards stayed back—not hovering, just watching from a distance.
Enough to protect.
Not enough to suffocate.
People stared.
Because it was strange.
The ones who built half the city… walking inside it like ordinary people.
Isha stopped suddenly.
"There!"
They followed her gaze.
A small stall—bangles, glass ones, shining under the sun.
"Bengali designs," she murmured, fingers already reaching out.
She tried one set.
Then another.
Her eyes lit up the way they hadn't in years.
"These are beautiful," she whispered.
The vendor smiled nervously, recognizing them now.
"Bai sa… you like?"
"I love them."
She picked two sets and few other things also and turned to pay.
Before she could—
"No," Shivansh's father said.
She frowned.
"What?"
"You're not paying."
She protested.
"But—"
"You are our daughter," his chote papacut in gently. "Let us."
The vendor panicked instantly.
"No no no! Rana sa's family cannot pay! This is our honor!"
Shivansh's father smiled, calm but firm.
"If you don't take the money, you insult our choice to shop here."
The vendor hesitated, then bowed deeply.
"…As you say."
Isha watched, overwhelmed, clutching the bangles like something precious.
They were walking back when she stopped again.
"Gol—"
She paused, glanced at them cautiously.
"Golgappe."
Both men froze.
"…What?"
She looked up, eyes wide, almost pleading.
"Please."
Shivansh's chote papa laughed.
"You know we've never—"
She tilted her head slightly.
Puppy eyes.
Sharp. Dangerous.
Silence.
Then Shivansh's father sighed dramatically.
"One plate."
The vendor nearly dropped his ladle when he recognized them.
They stood there.
Royal bloodlines.
Street food plates.
Isha ate first.
Then watched them.
"Eat," she said softly.
They did.
And for a moment—
No palaces.
No politics.
No past.
There were just three people standing under Jaipur's sun, laughing because the spice was too much and the moment was perfect.
Shivansh's father wiped his eyes.
"This… is illegal happiness."
Isha laughed.
"Then let's be criminals today."
The cabin was silent in the way only power knows how to be.
Floor-to-ceiling glass, Jaipur spreading below like it bowed to the man inside. Shivansh sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled, pen moving steadily across documents as if the world outside did not exist. Meetings, files, signatures—routine. Control. Calm.
Until—
The door didn't knock.
It burst open.
"Bhai s—"
Shivansh's pen paused mid-signature.
Aviyansh stood there, breath uneven, iPad clutched in his hand like it was a weapon or a wound—he himself didn't know which.
"What is it?" Shivansh asked calmly, lifting his eyes.
That calm shattered Aviyansh even more.
"You… you need to see this. Right now."
Shivansh leaned back slowly.
"That tone usually means the world is ending. Is it?"
"In some way?" Aviyansh swallowed. "Yes."
He walked in, placed the iPad on the desk, and turned the screen toward him.
Shivansh looked.
And the world did end.
đź“° The Headlines
ROYAL FAMILY SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN
IS THIS THE GIRL WHO DIED FIVE YEARS AGO?
FROM CRASH TO COMEBACK—TRUTH OR COVER-UP?
Photos.
Clear.
Cruel.
Isha—standing beside her Baba sa.
Isha—laughing while holding a paper plate of golgappas.
Isha—walking through the local market, dupatta slipping, bangles clinking, looking… alive.
Too alive.
Before-and-after images flashed beneath.
"Declared dead after plane crash."
"Seen today with the Raghavansh family."
Shivansh's jaw tightened.
He didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Only his hand clenched slowly over the edge of the desk.
"They followed them?" His voice was low.
"Yes," Aviyansh said. "Paparazzi. Locals. Everyone. It's everywhere—news channels, social media, international blogs. They're connecting everything."
He hesitated.
"And… they know it's her."
Silence.
Not the calm kind.
The dangerous kind.
"She went to the temple," Aviyansh continued softly. "Then the market. Baba and Bade papa didn't think—"
"No," Shivansh interrupted. "They shouldn't have to think. She deserved one normal day."
He stood up.
Slowly.
Every movement is deliberate.
"She ate golgappas," Aviyansh added, almost smiling despite the tension. "Forced them to eat too."
For half a second—just half—a ghost of something warm crossed Shivansh's eyes.
Then it vanished.
"Call the channels," he said.
Aviyansh straightened. "Already on it."
"Tell them this—" Shivansh's voice hardened.
"Take down every photo. Every video. Every speculation. Or by sunset, they won't exist as a channel."
Aviyansh nodded. "Done."
"And retrieve the footage."
"Yes."
"And Aviyansh?" Shivansh looked up now.
"This isn't suppression. This is protection."
"I know."
A beat passed.
Then—
"We can't hide this forever," Aviyansh said carefully. "They've seen her. The public will keep asking."
Shivansh exhaled slowly.
"No," he said. "We won't hide her."
He walked toward the window, Jaipur blazing under the sun.
"It's time."
Aviyansh's brows lifted. "Time for…?"
"To tell the truth," Shivansh said quietly.
"All of it."
He turned.
"She's alive. She always was. And now—" his voice softened, just a fraction, "—she's my wife."
Aviyansh smiled, relief and disbelief mixing.
"So… official announcement?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When she's ready," Shivansh said firmly.
"Not before."
Aviyansh nodded. "I'll handle the legal side. Statements. Timelines."
"Good."
And just like that, Aviyansh left.
The door closed.
The cabin fell silent again.
But this time—
Shivansh broke.
He sank back into his chair.
The photos were replayed in his mind.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
The way she leaned toward Babisa instinctively—like five years never existed.
"She's back," he whispered to no one.
His chest tightened.
She had walked through hell alone.
Another country.
Another life.
Another name.
And still—
She forgave him.
Not because he deserved it.
But because she chose peace.
"I should've protected you better," he murmured.
His fingers brushed the screen again, stopping at one image—
Isha mid-laugh, golgappa in hand, cheeks puffed.
Alive.
Happy.
Free.
Tears burned his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.
"This time," he promised softly,
"I won't fail you."
Outside, Jaipur moved on.
Inside that glass cabin, a king sat humbled by love returned—
not demanded,
not forced,
but given.
The palace doors opened with familiar footsteps, and the quiet afternoon air shifted instantly.
Shivansh's mother and aunt, who were sitting beside Shivansh's grandmother in the living area, looked up almost together.
"Where did you three disappear to?" his mother asked first, eyes narrowing slightly—not angry, just curious. "And that too without us?"
Before anyone else could answer, Isha stepped forward, behind her was shivansh father and chote papa while holding multiple paper bags in both hands, her face glowing in a way that hadn't been seen in years.
"We went on a father-daughter day," she said brightly, almost bouncing on her feet. "And we enjoyed it a lot."
That earned silence.
A thick, stunned silence.
Shivansh's aunt blinked. "Father-daughter… day?"
His mother looked at her husband, then at her devar, then back at Isha. "Alone?"
Shivansh's father chuckled softly. "You all were busy with your work. NGOs, hospital rounds, so we thought—why not go somewhere?"
Chote Papa nodded. "It just… happened."
Isha didn't wait for more reactions. She was already excitedly pulling bags from Shivansh's father's hands.
"Look, Maa," she said, spreading them on the table. "See what all I bought!"
Shivansh's mother whisper to herself that,"Maa, she calls me maa. "
She picked up a set of bangles first, sliding them halfway onto her wrist so they chimed softly.
"These bangles—aren't they pretty? And see this," she lifted another packet, opening it carefully, "these are Kashmiri earrings. And these—" she held up a heavier pair, eyes shining, "oxide jhumkas. I'm in love with these. Absolute love."
She spoke fast, enthusiastically, like a child who couldn't decide what to show first.
Shivansh's mother watched her silently.
Not the jewellery.
Her.
The way she was smiling.
The way she was glowing.
The way her eyes were alive again.
Shivansh's father suddenly frowned slightly. "Aren't you tired?" he asked gently. "You're wearing such heavy clothes… and the dhoop outside is very strong. Aren't you feeling hot?"
Isha paused, then laughed softly. "Yeah… maybe a little. But I was too excited to show you all."
She gathered her bags again. "I'll go take a bath and change into something comfortable. Then we'll talk, okay?"
Shivansh's mother stood up immediately. "Yes. Go rest. We'll talk in the evening. You look tired."
Isha nodded, smiled at everyone, and turned toward the stairs, carrying her things carefully.
As soon as she disappeared, the atmosphere changed.
Shivansh's aunt exhaled. "She looks… happy."
Shivansh chote papa smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Very happy."
"And you know what?" Shivansh's father added, suddenly amused. "We also ate golgappa."
The room froze.
Shivansh's mother turned sharply. "You… ate what?"
"Golgappa," he repeated proudly. "That spicy water—very good. I never thought I'd eat street food, but honestly? It was amazing."
His aunt looked at grandmother. "Did he just say golgappa?"
Grandmother smiled faintly. "He did."
A pause followed.
Then Shivansh's mother said softly, "She came back last night… and this morning she's wearing sindoor… smiling… laughing."
Her voice lowered. "Whatever happened between them—it must be something good. Before, she looked broken. Today… she looks like herself."
Grandmother folded her hands slowly. "I don't want any evil eye on her. Tomorrow, we'll do havan."
Everyone nodded instantly.
"I'll arrange everything," Shivansh's mother said. "I'll call the priest."
Bade Papa hesitated. "At the temple today… people were staring at her. They were trying to understand—who she is."
Shivansh's mother's expression hardened protectively. "Then we should announce it."
Grandmother shook her head gently. "Not yet. She's just come back. She was broken once. We will not force her into anything again."
"Yes," Shivansh's mother agreed softly. "When she's ready… we'll tell the world."
Upstairs, Isha entered her room quietly.
She placed her bags on the bed, then paused, staring at them.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
Then she walked to the closet, carefully arranging the jewellery inside, one by one, almost reverently. After that, she went to the bathroom, took a long shower, letting the warm water wash away the heat, the exhaustion, the emotions.
She changed into something soft and comfortable.
When she returned, she sat on the edge of the bed, phone in her hand.
She thought of calling Shivansh.
Her thumb hovered over his name.
But then her eyes fell on the dupatta for her left on the bed.
She exhaled.
Later.
She lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling.
She didn't know why her chest felt full—not heavy, not painful—just… full.
So much has changed in such a short time.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in years, sleep didn't feel like an escape.
It felt like rest.
Isha woke up with peace and comfort, her breath uneven, her hair falling messily over her face.
She blinked once.
Twice.
Then her eyes fell on the clock beside the bed.
8:15 PM.
Her brows furrowed instantly.
"What—?" she whispered, sitting up straight. "Eight fifteen? How did I sleep this long?"
She rubbed her face with her palms, letting out a small breath, half guilty, half exhausted.
"I didn't even realize…" she murmured to herself, swinging her legs down from the bed. "But yeah… I was tired."
Not physically.
Emotionally.
So much had happened in such little time that her body probably just… shut down.
She stood up slowly, walking toward the washroom, glancing at her reflection in the mirror on the way.
Her hair was a mess.
Her eyes still carried sleep.
But somewhere beneath that—there was peace.
She freshened up properly, washing her face, tying her hair loosely, changing into something comfortable yet presentable. She didn't want to go downstairs looking like she had just woken up, especially not today.
After that, she walked to the balcony.
The palace looked calm under the evening sky. Lights glowing softly. Wind brushing against her skin.
And that's when it hit her.
She hadn't seen Shivansh the entire day.
Her fingers instinctively curled around her phone.
Where are you?
Why haven't you come back yet?
It's already dinner time…
She unlocked her phone, scrolling to his name.
"I'll just call him," she whispered. "Just once."
Her thumb hovered over the call button.
And then—
Her eyes lifted.
A familiar car entered through the main gate.
A familiar black car rolled in.
Then another.
Her heart skipped.
Then another.
Then another.
She leaned forward, squinting slightly.
And there he was.
Shivansh stepped out first.
Behind him—Ranveer.
And Aviyansh.
All three of them walked toward the palace, talking about something serious, their expressions composed, tired, yet focused.
Isha's breath caught.
"He's here…" she whispered, her lips curling into an uncontrollable smile.
The phone slipped from her hand onto the pocket of her bottom.
She didn't even realize when she started running.
Out of the room.
Down Shivansh's wing.
Through the long corridor.
Past the long hallway that is connected to the main staircase.
Her footsteps echoed as she ran, not caring about anything else, her heart pounding louder with every step.
She didn't use the lift.
She never even thought about it.
She took the stairs.
Two at a time.
By the time she reached the last staircase, her breath was uneven—but her eyes were shining.
Shivansh had just entered the living area, still talking to Ranveer, when—
"ANSHHHHH!!!"
His steps halted mid-sentence.
He turned.
And before he could even process—
Isha came running straight at him.
She jumped.
He reacted instantly, arms wrapping around her waist on the reflex, lifting her effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around him and her arms around his neck.
The force of her nearly knocked him back a step.
He caught her.
Strong arms around her waist.
Laughing, surprised, breathless.
"Isha—what—"
"Hey—!" he laughed in surprise.
But she was already laughing too.
Pure. Free. Happy.
He held her tightly and without even realizing it, started turning in slow circles, her laughter echoing through the entire hall.
"I missed you," she blurted out, burying her face in his shoulder.
He chuckled, breathless. "I was gone for one day, Isha."
"One day is enough," she said stubbornly. "Especially when I wake up and you're not there."
Ranveer and Aviyansh stopped walking.
Slowly.
Silently.
Their eyes widened.
And then—
They noticed the rest of the palace.
Every single family member had gathered in the living area.
Shivansh's parents.
Grandparents.
Chote maa and papa.
Everyone.
All of them are staring.
Completely stunned.
Because just two days ago—
She didn't want to stay.
And today—
She was screaming his name and jumping into his arms like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Shivansh stopped twirling.
He looked down at her.
She looked up at him.
Their faces were inches apart.
His arms firm around her waist.
Her hands around his neck.
Her legs are still locked around him.
For a moment—there was nothing else.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes dropping to her lips.
That's when—
Ahem.
AHEM.
A very loud, very deliberate throat-clearing.
Isha froze.
Her eyes shifted.
And then she saw them.
Everyone.
Watching.
Smiling.
Teasing.
Amused.
Trying not to laugh.
Trying very hard.
Her eyes widened.
Her face burned instantly.
"Oh my—" she whispered, instantly hiding her face in Shivansh's chest.
She tightened her arms around him, muttering, "Why is everyone looking at us like that? Why is everyone here," she mumbled. "Why didn't anyone warn me?"
Shivansh chuckled, low and amused. "Because this is far too entertaining."
He smirked.
And said loudly, deliberately—
"Because you screamed my name and jumped on me in front of the entire palace."
She hit his shoulder lightly. "Stop talking!"
He laughed softly and adjusted his hold, her body still pressed against his.
"Relax," he said teasingly. "They're family."
"I know!" she groaned. "That's the problem!"
Ranveer laughed openly now.
Aviyansh shook his head. "I told you something was different today."
Shivansh lowered his voice, his lips brushing her ear.
"Do you want me to put you down?"
She shook her head instantly. "No."
"Then stop hiding," he murmured.
She peeked out slightly, eyes meeting his grandmother's amused gaze, his mother's soft smile, and his father's relieved expression.
Everyone looked… happy.
She buried her face again..
Shivansh looked down at her. "You okay?"
She nodded, cheeks flushed. "Just… embarrassed."
He kissed her temple softly. "Don't be."
He chuckled. "Okay, okay. Don't look at us," he said loudly, addressing the room. "You're making her shy."
And with that—
He turned.
And started walking.
"To where exactly are you taking her?" his mother asked, amused.
Shivansh didn't stop. "Somewhere private."
"Dinner—" someone began.
"She'll eat later," he said calmly.
Isha tightened her arms around his neck, hiding her smile, her face warm against his shoulder.
As he climbed the stairs, she whispered, "You didn't even say hello."
Toward the stairs.
Toward his wing.
Still carrying her.
"Shivansh!" she whispered urgently. "Everyone is watching!"
"And everyone already watched," he replied calmly. "Now it's our turn."
She tightened her grip around his neck, hiding her smile against his shoulder as he climbed the stairs unbothered, confident, and possessive in the quietest way.
Behind them—
The family exchanged looks.
Soft laughter.
Relief.
Because whatever had broken before—
Was healing now.
And this time—
It wasn't forced.
It was real.
Shivansh didn't stop walking until the heavy wooden doors of his room shut behind them with a soft thud.
The world outside disappeared.
The palace, the family, the teasing smiles, the knowing looks—everything faded the moment he turned and pinned her gently against the door, his palm flat beside her head, his forehead resting against hers.
Isha's heart was racing—too fast, too loud.
She laughed nervously, her fingers still clutching his collar.
"Shivansh… what are you doing?" she whispered, breathless, her cheeks burning.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at her.
Really looked.
Like he was memorising her again—this version of her. Alive. Smiling. Laughing. In his arms.
"You ran," he said quietly.
She blinked. "What?"
"You ran to me," he repeated, voice low, intense. "From the balcony. Down the stairs. Like you were afraid I'd disappear again."
Her smile faltered.
"I was," she admitted softly. "For five years… you disappeared every night in my dreams."
That was it.
Something in him snapped—not violently, but deeply.
He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing the soft skin beneath her eyes.
"I'm here," he said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever."
She tried to joke, to lighten the heaviness sitting between them.
She poked his chest lightly.
"You know… you're still very boring."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Boring?"
"Yes," she nodded seriously, though her lips twitched. "All serious. All royal. No fun at all."
That exact moment—
That exact line—
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Is that so?" he murmured.
She didn't even get time to react.
In one swift movement, he lifted her effortlessly and crossed the living area of their room and placed her on the edge of the bed, stepping between her knees, his hands resting on either side.
"Then," he leaned in, voice brushing her ear,
"let me show you how boring I am."
Her breath hitched.
"Shivansh—" she started.
Too late.
He kissed her.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
It controlled fire—the kind that burns slowly but leaves nothing untouched.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her bangles clinking softly as she pulled him closer. She laughed into the kiss, shaking her head.
"This," she murmured against his lips, "is not boring."
He smiled against her mouth.
"Good. Because I've waited five years to hear that."
He rested his forehead against hers again, their breaths mingling.
Outside, the palace glowed under soft golden lights.
Inside, two souls who had once been torn apart were finding their way back—slowly, carefully, but undeniably.
And somewhere far away, the world was still speculating.
But in this room, in this moment—
There was only Isha
and Shivansh
and a love that refused to die.
"Isha…" he murmured, his forehead resting against hers, breath warm, uneven.
"You have no idea what you do to me."
Her eyes glistened. "Then don't stop," she said, voice trembling.
"Please."
That was all the permission he needed.
He kissed her.
Slowly. Deeply. Like he was afraid she might disappear if he rushed it. Like he was memorising her all over again—her warmth, her softness, the way she sighed when his thumb brushed her jaw.
Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, and for a moment the world outside that room simply ceased to exist.
No past.
No pain.
No unanswered questions.
Just them.
When he pulled back, barely an inch, he rested his forehead against her neck, breathing her in. His lips brushed her skin again—soft, lingering—just below her jaw.
Too lingering.
Too close.
Too intimate.
A quiet gasp left her lips, and she clutched his shoulders.
"Ansh—" she started.
He smiled against her skin. "Relax," he whispered.
"I've waited five years. I'm allowed one moment."
When he finally pulled away, there was a faint mark on her neck—nothing loud, nothing intentional—but noticeable.
Very noticeable.
She didn't realise it yet.
But the universe, as always, had a sense of timing.
Knock. Knock.
"I KNEW IT!" Aviyansh's voice echoed through the door.
"Bhai sa, if you don't come down right now, Bade maa is going to send a search party!"
Isha froze.
Shivansh chuckled.
"Go away," he said lazily. "We're busy."
"Busy doing WHAT?" Aviyansh shot back.
"And why is the door locked?"
Isha tried to step back, flustered, but Shivansh tightened his arm around her waist.
"Dinner," Aviyansh continued dramatically, "is getting cold. And also—everyone has already noticed that you two disappeared together."
There was a pause.
Then, in a much lower tone, Aviyansh added,
"And… Isha bhabhi sa… you might want to look in the mirror before coming down."
Her eyes widened.
"What?" she whispered.
Shivansh raised an eyebrow, pretending innocence. "What?"
She rushed to the mirror.
And then—
"Oh my GOD."
She turned slowly.
"Shivansh."
"Yes, jaana?"
"You did this."
He smiled unapologetically. "I warned you. You told me not to stop."
She covered her neck immediately. "They're going to TEASE me."
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair over the mark, fingers lingering.
"Let them tease," he said softly.
"They waited years to see you like this."
Downstairs, the moment they entered the living room, silence fell.
And then—
Shivansh's mother smiled. Slowly. Knowingly.
His aunt elbowed her husband. "Did you see that?"
Grandmother adjusted her glasses. "I saw more than enough."
Isha tried to hide behind Shivansh.
Too late.
"Beta," Shivansh's mother said sweetly, "why are you wearing your dupatta like that and that too on a night suit?"
Isha wanted the floor to swallow her.
Aviyansh grinned. "Should I congratulate Bhai sa or pretend I didn't see it?"
Shivansh, completely unfazed, pulled Isha closer.
"Dinner," he announced calmly, "is getting cold."
The family burst into laughter.
And Isha, despite her embarrassment, smiled.
Because for the first time in years—
She wasn't running.
She was home.
The entire table burst into laughter.
Isha hid her face in her palms.
"This is so embarrassing…"
Shivansh leaned close, his voice low, teasing.
"You ran to me in front of everyone. This is nothing."
She peeked at him through her fingers.
"This is your fault."
He smiled—slow, unapologetic.
"Say thank you."
She kicked his leg under the table.
Aviyansh noticed.
"Oho! Under-the-table romance bhi chal raha hai."
"AVIYANSH," Shivansh warned.
"What?" Aviyansh raised his hands. "I'm just appreciating bhabhi sa. "
That word.
Bhabhi sa.
Isha froze for half a second.
Shivansh's fingers tightened around her hand.
No one missed it.
Dinner continued with endless teasing.
"Shivansh," his uncle said casually, "Don't go to the office tomorrow, take Isha somewhere and enjoy. "
"And thoda sambhal ke," his aunt added, eyes twinkling. "Hickey collection nahi badhaani."
Isha groaned.
"I will never come down again."
"You will," Shivansh said calmly, serving her food himself. "You live here."
Her heart skipped.
Later, as dessert was served, Isha leaned back, sighing contentedly.
"This was… nice," she murmured.
Shivansh watched her—really watched her.
The way she smiled freely.
The way her eyes sparkled again.
She was healing.
That mattered more than anything.
They were about to get up when Isha suddenly spoke.
"Shivansh?"
"Yes?"
"Can we go out?"
The table went silent again.
"Out?" his mother asked.
Isha nodded, suddenly unsure.
"Just… a drive. Night breeze. I feel like breathing."
Shivansh stood instantly.
"I'll take her."
No hesitation.
No discussion.
Shivansh father smiled knowingly.
"Jaao. Take guards with you."
Aviyansh smirked.
"Romantic night drive. Jaipur roads. Wah."
"Aviyansh," Shivansh said flatly.
"I'm stopping. I'm stopping."
Isha grabbed her dupatta, heart light, excitement bubbling.
As they walked out, she whispered,
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For choosing me… every time."
Shivansh stopped.
Turned to her.
The corridor was quiet, lights dim.
"Isha," he said softly, "there was never another choice."
She looked up at him.
And for a moment, nothing else existed.
The car moved smoothly through Jaipur's quiet streets, city lights glowing like scattered stars. The windows were slightly open, cool air brushing against Isha's face.
She leaned her head against the seat, smiling.
"This feels like freedom," she whispered.
Shivansh glanced at her.
"You always were wild at heart."
She laughed softly.
"You were always too controlled."
He reached out, lacing his fingers with hers.
"Not with you."
She squeezed his hand.
Silence followed—not awkward, but comforting.
The kind that only comes when two souls finally find their way back.
"I thought I lost you," she said suddenly.
Shivansh's jaw tightened.
"I thought the same."
He slowed the car, pulling over near an empty stretch, city lights reflecting in the distance.
They turned to face each other.
"I'm here now," she said.
He leaned in, forehead resting against hers.
"So am I."
No rush.
No desperation.
Just a soft, lingering closeness—promises unspoken, but deeply understood.
And somewhere behind palace walls, a family smiled, knowing—
Their storm had finally found its calm.
The car moved smoothly through the quiet Jaipur roads, streetlights passing like glowing fireflies. The city was calmer at night, as if it knew it was meant to give them privacy.
Isha leaned her head against the window, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass.
"This feels… peaceful," she murmured.
Shivansh glanced at her, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near her knee.
"It's because you're here," he said simply.
She turned to him, smiling softly. "You say that like it's a fact."
"It is a fact," he replied without hesitation.
She laughed quietly, then suddenly her eyes lit up like a child's.
"I want ice cream."
He raised an eyebrow. "Ice cream. At this hour?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "Chocolate. Or maybe butterscotch. Or—wait—what if they have that kulfi thing?"
He sighed dramatically. "You are impossible."
"And yet," she leaned closer, whispering, "you're still going to stop the car."
He shook his head, lips twitching.
"You know me too well."
A few minutes later, the car stopped near a small, dimly lit ice cream cart. Shivansh stepped out, locking the car behind him.
"Don't move," he warned her. "I'll be back in two minutes."
She saluted him playfully. "Yes, Your Majesty."
He walked away, ordering ice cream, occasionally glancing back at where the car was parked.
And that's when mischief sparkled in Isha's eyes.
The moment he turned his back, she quietly stepped out of the car, tiptoeing toward a narrow lane beside the road. She hid behind a tree, suppressing her laughter.
Let's see how boring you really are, Shivansh, she thought teasingly.
Two minutes later, Shivansh returned—two ice creams in his hands.
"Isha?" he called lightly.
No response.
He looked inside the car.
Empty.
His smile vanished.
"Isha?" His voice was louder now.
He placed the ice creams on the car roof, scanning the surroundings.
"Isha, stop playing," he said, irritation creeping in. "Come out."
Silence.
His heartbeat quickened.
"Isha?" His voice cracked this time.
He started walking around, panic replacing irritation.
"Isha!" he shouted.
People nearby turned to look.
His breath grew unevenly. His chest felt tight.
Not again. Not again. Please not again.
"Isha!" His voice broke completely. "Please—this isn't funny!"
Memories flooded him—hospital corridors, white sheets, flat monitors, doctors' faces.
He ran, searching frantically.
"Isha!" His hands trembled. "Talk to me… please…"
His breathing became shallow, rapid. He bent forward, hands on his knees, gasping.
"I can't—" he whispered. "I can't lose you again…"
Tears blurred his vision.
That's when he heard it.
A soft voice.
"Shivansh…"
He froze.
"I'm here."
He turned sharply—and there she was.
Standing right in front of him.
Perfectly fine.
Smiling.
Before she could say another word, he pulled her into his arms with force, holding her so tightly she could feel his heart pounding wildly.
"Don't ever do that again!" he yelled, voice shaking. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?!"
She tried to speak, but he cut her off.
"I thought—" his voice broke. "I thought I lost you again…"
His forehead rested against her shoulder. His breath was uneven.
She realized it then.
This wasn't teasing.
This was trauma.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so sorry… I didn't know…"
He pulled back slightly, cupping her face, eyes red.
"You don't disappear," he said firmly. "Not from my sight. Not ever."
She nodded quickly, tears in her own eyes.
"I promise."
He exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Don't scare me like that," he whispered.
She kissed his cheek softly. "I won't. Never again."
He picked up the ice creams silently and handed one to her.
"vanilla," he said. "Your favorite."
She smiled weakly. "You remembered."
"I remember everything about you."
They sat on the car bonnet, quietly eating.
After a moment, she leaned into him.
"You cried," she said softly.
He didn't deny it.
"Only because loving you scares me," he replied. "Because losing you once almost destroyed me."
She held his hand tightly.
"I'm here," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."
He looked at her then—really looked.
And for the first time in years, his heart believed it.
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