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Avya

[24 hours later]

Sky.

Blue.

Midnight blue.

Since I was a kid, I wasn't much fascinated by the sky as much as I was with the stars. But at this very moment, I couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer beauty of the blanket that held those gems, small, blinking, tiny.

Without the darkness surrounding it, what are the stars?

Nothing.

The hands that hold the stars like the body holds a soul.

What is a soul without a body? A wandering essence.

What is a body without a soul? A dead skeleton.

I closed my eyes, the harsh cold of the air conditioner soothing my mind. I was starting to like this cold. It was sharp, biting.

I guess after longing for the warmth, you have to settle for the traces of cold those hopes leave behind.

But you know what sucks?

Knowing what warmth felt like once?

Tasting hope and never tasting it ever again?

Knowing what love was, the absolute unconditional kind, and suddenly being on the opposite side, stranded, lonely, hated.

Hated.

Hated by all.

Shh, Avya, get it all together.

Not that I feel anything about it right now. It's like the switch has been shut off somehow.

All I'm feeling now was nothing.
Just the cold.

As if on cue, a warm presence occupied the seat beside me, and my breath hitched.

And my stupid body, which wasn't getting the motto when it came to this man, went haywire whenever he was in the vicinity.

For fuck's sake, Avya.

It's those weird sensations, I'm telling you.

And when I tried to calm down by breathing in, his cologne was just waiting to fuck my brain more.

That's it. What was he doing sitting beside me? And from how my body is reacting, he was closer than what's considered normal by our standards. I can tell that even with my eyes closed.

I didn't open my eyes one bit. Nah, I'm not taking that risk.

His eyes were the most attractive part. Seeing into them straight, calling for disaster.

I continued pretending to be asleep.

And as if that wasn't enough, I felt something on my body. Like someone was putting something over me.

A soft, cozy, warm blanket?

Huh?

"You know," I finally broke the tense silence. It was just us on this side of the jet. Special compartments for each, so the others were on the other side, each in their own.

"I like cold," I said, eyes still shut, voice so soft that if it had been someone else, I would have doubted they'd hear it. But with him, I was sure he did.

It's something I've noticed about him. He's keen to details, voices, body language. Tuned to others.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice deep but just as gentle, somehow matching the frequency of mine, soft, silent. Like he knew what the moment wanted.

I could almost imagine the smirk on his face.

I just know deep down it's a dream.

But I like this dream.

It was calmer than reality.

Better.

I like this. Him.

"Hmm hmm," I murmured, snuggling into the blanket.

"Or you like to think you like cold," he said quietly. "But in reality, you longed for warmth for so long that when it no longer was present, you embraced the cold. When you can't hug the warmth, you kiss the cold."

"And what if I like kissing the cold?"

"Guess we have something in common then."

It was a dream.

I just know it was.

I snuggled closer to the warmth.

But how comforting a dream it was.

And it was the first time since the accident, since the day that changed everything, I had a dream.

Not a nightmare.

A dream.

And oh, how peaceful of a dream it was.

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"We'll be landing in an hour, ma'am. Anything for your service?" the air hostess asked.

I looked outside the jet.

The sun was just rising.

It was a beauty to witness such a moment. Above the clouds, closer to it than ever.

I didn't reply to anything. Just stared at her.

She was waiting for my reply, but on getting none, she looked a bit disappointed and was about to turn around.

That was rude, Avya.

"No," I answered, hoping at least it didn't come off rude. "Thank you," I added.

"You are welcome, ma'am. At your service, give a call whenever you need help."

Then she walked over to ask him, the man I had been avoiding looking at for the past half an hour now.

But my traitor eyes? Fuckers.

He was sitting directly opposite me and in a completely opposite column. Diagonally the farthest he could be in the sitting area.

Deliberate, I bet.

She asked him the same question she did with me, and I saw him politely decline.

He looked so poised, sitting all high and mighty.

Was that a newspaper in his hand?

Don't tell me he reads the newspaper in this era.

And was that a laptop on his desk too?

Man was multitasking. No wonder.

And the very next second, as if he sensed my eyes on him, he looked up from his work—
—catching me staring.
Raising an eyebrow.

Now, any other woman or man caught in this situation would resort to looking somewhere else, eyes immediately darting away, blushing at getting caught.

Me?

I raised an eyebrow too, silently asking, challenging, him to say a word.

Reminding me of the conversation we had approximately twenty-four hours ago.

"The fuck you mean you are crown prince?" I exclaimed, eyes narrowed, voice sharp enough to cut air as Hridhaan calmly informed his family that he needed a moment alone with me, to explain certain things.

"Language, Avya," he said, and of course, that would be his first concern.

"Explain every single thing to me," I demanded, folding my arms across my chest, daring him to lie. Again.

"Right now, we don't have the time. We have a flight in the next few hours and we'll have to go now." His voice held the calm-before-a-storm edge. "There's too much happening at the moment and too little time to act on it. I will explain everything when we have the time. Alone."

"I don't believe you," I snapped, not missing the way his jaw clenched at that. "Neither do I believe your grandfather or any nonsensical string of sentences he just uttered in the hallways before."

He looked at me like I had told a joke. A bad one. His eyes glinting with an unreadable intensity, his jaw ticking like I was the one out of line.

Excuse me, I should be the one pissed. They were dragging me into their royal soap opera without even a decent trailer or spoiler.

"Just walk with me through this, okay?" he said finally. "I promise you, twenty-four hours more and I'll answer every single question you have."

I didn't like that tone one bit. He wasn't reprimanding me, no, it was the opposite. That voice held control, sure, but also... almost softness. As if I were the problem he was desperate not to lose.

"And for the love of god," he added, eyes locking onto mine, "keep that pretty defiant mouth shut."

And he was back again.

...

And so I did. Kept my pretty mouth shut.

And just for the sake of it, I made damn sure not a single word left my mouth.

Not when his grandfather started lecturing us in the jet, seated in that lavish private cabin. Not when he launched into a monologue about the Rajvansh legacy, the grandeur of royalty, their impeccable reputations, or their family history so rich it could drown you in gold and guilt.

"She's a good one, Hridhaan. She listened through everything without a single word of annoyance. I don't think it'll be difficult," his grandfather remarked. The smug approval in his voice made my teeth grit.

"Avya Rawal, was it?" Abhimanyu Singh Rajvansh turned to me. "I judged you by surnames. Pardon my prejudices, it's rooted in some old beliefs of mine."

To that, Hridhaan's grandmother, Taranya, chuckled, soft but sharp, like a blade sliding through silk.

"You have anything to say, Taranya?" Abhimanyu asked, clearly irritated.

"Nothing. Go on," she replied smoothly, the smile still dancing on her lips. I couldn't help but wonder why. A woman like her didn't do things without purpose. A mere lifted brow from her likely carried a message only a select few could decode.

"As I was saying," Abhimanyu continued, "due to my personal grudges and prejudices with your surname, I was wary of you. But needless to say, if you are going to follow what we tell you to, nothing will be difficult, okay?"

He told me off like I was some schoolgirl about to be molded into a dutiful royal puppet.

I didn't reply. Instead, I turned my gaze to Hridhaan, sitting opposite me again, just like earlier. The same poker face. Same unreadable mask.

Body language says everything.

A person silenced by choice and one silenced by situation? Worlds apart. And better yet? The silence of a rebel? It reeks—like invisible electricity in the room, pricking skin and setting every instinct on edge.

Everyone expected me to answer.

I didn't.

"Are we clear?" Abhimanyu Singh Rajvansh added again clearly losing his patience.

Thirty seconds passed.

Silence.

A minute.

Still nothing.

Two minutes.

The weight of silence grew heavier. I didn't flinch.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the exact moment when Abhimanyu Singh Rajvansh realized how DIFFICULT it was going to be.

I don't know what kind of prejudice he had against my surname, but if I was living up to those expectations, I hoped I was exceeding them.

"Hridhaan," Abhimanyu snapped, like calling my husband would suddenly make me obey. Cute.

I looked at Hridhaan again. And oh, the déjà vu hit hard.

Same situation. Same table. Same distance.

"Eyes. On. Me." he had said before.

So I sat back, straight and calm, and stared. Unblinking. On. Him.

Is this enough, Your Highness?

I didn't say it out loud. I didn't need to.
His eyes narrowed. He could read it in mine. His jaw clenched in response, restrained frustration flickering beneath the surface.

Unlike last time, I didn't look away.
Because this time?

I had nothing to be guilty of.

"She won't speak," Hridhaan finally said, still looking right at me. "I told her not to and she's taking it too seriously."

His grandfather studied us both for a moment. Eyes shifting between us like he was scanning data on a war screen. His gaze was piercing, a strategist in a courtroom, a ruler weighing outcomes. He didn't just observe people. He tracked connections.

"Alright then," he muttered, displeased. "This explanation holds no value."

He stood, straightened his coat.

"And Hridhaan, don't bring your wife in front of me until she learns how to respect the crown."

And just like that, he turned and walked away, muttering something under his breath.

"Unroyal bloods disrespecting the crown."

I didn't move. Didn't react. Didn't blink.

And since that moment?

I haven't said a single word to Hridhaan.
Not one.

He said twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours it is.

After that?

He better be ready for the storm.

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The flight finally ended.

And we got down.

And let me introduce you to my co-passengers.

First up, His Highness of course .The man descended the jet in all his glory, like he was strutting down a goddamn runway. Spine straight, face unreadable, looking every bit the royal he was born to be. Ready to conquer the day, or at least whatever royal mess awaited him.

Then came my two ex-best friends, Samaira and Vrit, who looked like they wanted to talk to me, but didn't dare break the flimsy olive branch they were holding out to each other. So instead, they stayed stuck in a loop of awkward glances and short, hollow conversations.

And then there was the most favorite pair in the world, note the sarcasm, as if one grandma wasn't enough, now there were two, Grandpa Rajvansh had joined the crew. Hurray. Not.

Next was the winner of the "Best Dad in the World" award, dripping with sarcasm, Abhinav Rajvansh, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere in the world than here.

Standing beside him was another eminent personality I had come to dislike. Kriti Abhinav Rajvansh. Graceful, composed, and cold. She had her kind moments, I'll admit, but never with me. Clinging to her side was her daughter, Myra, eyes wide with the kind of curiosity only kids are allowed to have.

And last, but definitely not least, Mythila Rajvansh.

Mother of three sons. Wife of a coward. Daughter-in-law to a legacy that robbed her of herself. She had the kind of silence that made you want to stop and listen.

Arhaan stayed back at the hospital, refusing to leave Riddhiya's side until she woke up. Not even his grandfather could convince him otherwise.

And something about that changed things. Something about the way he stayed, stubborn and unwavering, it cracked my certainty. Maybe... maybe not all of them were bad.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the warm and fuzzy introduction to my lovely co-passengers.

And the crazy hadn't even started yet.

The shitshow was just beginning.

The moment we stepped onto solid ground, the guards bowed in perfect unison.

"Your Highness."

They lined up like soldiers in a movie scene, shoulders squared, black coats gleaming, eyes wide with shock and awe. Half of them looked surprised, the other half stunned.

And then—

"YOUR HIGHNESSSS!!! YOUR HIGHNESS HAS RETURNED! ALL HAIL THE CROWN PRINCE!"

A voice cut through the air like thunder, shrill with disbelief and overflowing with emotion.

We all turned, instantly.

A man came sprinting toward us, tears streaking down his face like he was witnessing a miracle in real time.

It happened in slow motion.

He dropped to his knees, clutching Hridhaan's legs like a long-lost devotee finally reunited with his god.

I almost jumped out of my place.

I looked at Vrit and Samaira, whose jaws were practically on the tarmac. Then the three of us turned, eyes locking on Hridhaan, who stood, unsurprisingly, like a statue. Though this time, his expression had twitched ever so slightly, mild embarrassment flickering before it melted into barely concealed irritation.

"YOUR HIGHNESS," the man cried again, voice wobbling. "I WAITED FOR YOU FOR SO LONG. I KEPT SENDING LETTERS, SO MANY LETTERS! BUT ALAS NONE WERE ANSWERED. AND NOW... YOU'VE COME BACK."

Was this a fan moment? Or a classic Bollywood-style emotional confession?

Either way, I was living for Hridhaan's twitching expressions. At least now he looked mildly human.

The guards pulled the man away, apologizing under their breath as he continued to cry and bless Hridhaan's ankles.

How he even breached that tight security was beyond me.

I glanced at Vrit and Samaira, who were both visibly holding back laughter. At least someone found it funny. Unlike the rest of my royal co-passengers, whose expressions ranged from scandalized to personally offended.

Fun crowd.

Next came the line of royal cars, sleek, black, and cinematic.

Everything here looked... regal. Cinematic. Unreal.

I had never been to this city before. It was nestled somewhere close to Jaipur, but it felt like a place that beat with its own heart.

One by one, we all got into separate vehicles.

My car was quiet. Smooth. The AC was crisp, and the faint scent of sandalwood mixed with something floral lingered in the air. I rolled the window down just enough to take in the view.

And holy hell.

This place was beautiful.

Bustling markets draped in color, temple domes catching sunlight like gold, arched doorways with ancient carvings, this city was a living, breathing painting.

People moved with purpose, yet the streets felt unhurried, like tradition had time-traveled into the present and refused to be rushed.

I stared out the window, completely struck.

Architecture that whispered secrets from another century. Courtyards wide enough to host armies. Hills that stood tall like sentinels of untold stories.

And in the car beside me, him.

Hridhaan.

Glancing occasionally in my direction, smug as hell. Like he could feel the awe on my face. Like he was proud.

Of course he was proud.

The city practically screamed his royal name.

We drove for what felt like minutes... and centuries.

And then,

We reached.

The palace.

And let me tell you something.

I. Was. Not. Ready.

The palace loomed into view like something out of a forgotten epic.

It wasn't just big, it was monumental.

Set across sprawling acres of perfectly trimmed gardens and cobbled courtyards, the estate felt less like a home and more like a kingdom. It rose from the earth in layers, domes and terraces, latticed balconies that stretched wide, and sandstone pillars carved with ancient precision. Arched entrances whispered of heritage, while jharokhas overlooked the land like watchful eyes.

This was history carved in stone. Culture woven into architecture. Power built into walls.

A thousand stories lived here, some told, some hidden behind the veil of time.

Red and gold flags danced in the warm wind. Guards in dark black uniforms stood lined up along the path, their posture impeccable. Even silence here felt orchestrated, like a rhythm maintained by generations of discipline.

The palace didn't just speak of wealth, it screamed legacy.

A kingdom once ruled. A lineage still remembered.

"They are royals," I whispered to myself, this time not in disbelief, but in confirmation.

It all suddenly aligned.

"They're here. They're here!"

The whispers broke through my thoughts. I turned, snapping out of my daze only to realize that we had reached the grand staircase leading to the palace veranda.

Eyes were on us. So many eyes.

Servants in uniform lined the walls. Maids in simple cotton sarees stood holding brass thalis of flowers. Everyone here worked for the family, directly or indirectly. And yet, not a single person moved. Every gaze was fixed on one man.

The man beside me.

Hridhaan.

"I am Hridhaan Abhinav Rajvansh," his voice echoed in my memory, "grandson of Abhimanyu Singh Rajvansh. Royal by blood. Heir to the crown."

And just thinking of that gave me goosebumps.

He wasn't just someone's grandson. He was a legacy breathing in front of me.

"Baba..."

A soft, feminine voice broke through the moment as we reached the top steps.

A woman, graceful and poised, stepped forward. Late 30s maybe. Draped in a traditional saree with minimal jewelry, she bent to take Abhimanyu Singh Rajvansh's blessings. He raised his hand and touched her head, pulling her into a gentle hug, full of affection.

"I brought them home, Princess," Abhimanyu said softly.

"You did," she whispered, eyes welling with tears.

Wait. He had a daughter?

I looked around. Everyone seemed shaken, most of all, Hridhaan's grandmother. She stood still, wiping the corner of her nose with the edge of her handkerchief, silently observing.

And then, the woman turned to Hridhaan.

And I saw her face clearly.

Strong features. Poised frame. A regal kind of beauty. There was power in her stance and elegance in the way she carried herself. The kind of woman who made you want to stand straighter in her presence.

"You're home, Hri," she whispered, eyes glassy. She didn't wait for permission. She pulled him into a hug.

Hri? interesting.

He stiffened. I noticed it immediately. He wasn't a hugger, at all. But he didn't pull away. And that spoke volumes.

There was love there. Deep, lived-in love. A bond that looked like it had weathered years, maybe decades.

"There, there, Bua. No crying." Hridhaan tried to calm her down, voice gentle but awkward.

My heart squeezed a little.

Whatever they had, it was beautiful. Unfiltered.

"And how dare you get married without telling your favourite Bua?" she smacked his chest playfully, still holding on to the moment.

And then... her eyes landed on me.

Oh no.

Yup. That's it.

I'm starting to believe that everything that has happened in my life until now had a purpose. It was destiny fucking with my fate.

Because how else could you explain this?

She looked at me like she was trying to solve a puzzle she hadn't seen in years. Her eyes widened slowly. Mouth parted. Emotions flickered in her expressions one after another, shock, surprise, recognition, nostalgia.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

"Dr. Avya?" she whispered, as if saying it aloud made it more real. "Is that... is that really you, Dr. Avya?" Her voice was firmer now. Smiling. Grinning.

My breath caught in my throat.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

It had been a long time since someone had addressed me like that. Not Avya Rawal. Not Mrs. Singhania, now Rajvansh .

Just Dr. Avya.

I let myself feel it. Just for a second. Let it wrap around me like a name I missed wearing.

"Yes, Nayantara ma'am," I said finally. And this time, this time, I smiled.

Genuinely.

For the first time in what felt like eons.

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So, hello everyone! After a long, long time 💕

First of all, write your reviews on the chapter-->

I might've given you a heart attack with that ten-minute delay??

We starting small, bit by bit 🌌✨

 So, how's the excitement building for the upcoming book?

Book 1 was a blast, it's now at 690k+ views, I'm crying and starting book 2 is such a emotional moment for me. I just know deep down book 2 is going to be even more fun, less depressing (not), emotionally wrecking and more hot than book 1

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