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Samarth strode up the winding way through Ava’s garden. The sun was mild and the morning was chirping happily around her bougainvillea and Brahmi’s lavenders. He reached the closed door, the noises from inside the house already rivalling the happy chirps outside.

Samarth bent down, placed the two big packages on the doorstep, slipped the two luxe envelopes under the door, rang the bell, then turned and began to stride away.

The security guard gave him a look but refrained from asking or stopping him.

He must have received new orders from Ava or maybe he had made the connection.

“Samarth?” Ava called out. He turned, his mouth splitting into an automatic grin at the sight of her in her shorts and spaghetti with a woollen robe over it.

It was always shorts and spaghetti with her.

Her hair was messily tied up in a half-ponytail, eyes small as they always were early in the morning.

“What is this?” She opened one envelope and pulled out the handwritten card.

He had channeled all his two-and-a-half sessions of calligraphy from school and worked it out.

Her eyes narrowed, reading down the bigger card.

The one he had written for her. He had the words rote-learned after practising and writing and re-writing to get the curves right.

Avantika Kumari Raje of Gwalior & Brahmi Kumari Solanki of Nawanagar,

Rawal Samarth Sinh Solanki requests the pleasure of your company for a night of magic, mischief, and memories, at a private Bal des Débutantes to celebrate a young princess ’ first waltz with the stars, and her mother ’ s triumphant return to the throne of his world.

Date: Tonight

Venue: A surprise

Dress code:

- For Brahmi: Packaged herewith.

- For Ava: Packaged in the bigger box.

Notes:

- No glass slippers required.

- Sneaking out after midnight is allowed — but only if you take me with you.

- Kisses may be demanded as payment for past debts. (Interest rates apply.)

Yours — hopelessly, stubbornly, unequivocally,

Samarth

“What is all this?” Ava’s voice rose.

“Shhh,” he stepped towards her. “Is she awake?”

“No.”

“I heard her voice.”

“She had woken up then went back to sleep.”

“Why did she wake up?”

Ava rolled her eyes — “To check that her white coat was still in her closet. She dreamed it was left in the store.”

Samarth chuckled.

“Did she sleep in it?”

“I had to physically pry it away. What is all this? It’s Monday, I have work.”

“After 6.”

“I have calls.”

She was lying.

“Ava, please,” he bent his head and bent his knees to come to her eye level. “Please. We can postpone it until after your work. But please.”

“What is in this second envelope?”

She opened the flap that he had sealed with a dummy wax seal and pulled out another handmade card. This one written in gold calligraphy as opposed to her black one, with little butterflies and stars drawn in the background.

“Butterflies and stars don’t stay together,” she pointed. “One is day, the other is night.”

“I drew them, at least appreciate the fact that you can make out they are butterflies and stars.”

She snorted, her eyes running down his invite.

To the Spirited Mademoiselle Brahmi,

You are cordially (and most enthusiastically) invited to a private Bal des Débutantes for a secret night of magic, mischief, and maybe a little dancing. There will be music, lights, and a few surprises tucked away for a certain brave little horse-rider I know.

Date: Tonight

Venue: A surprise

Dress Code:

- Packaged herewith.

- Accompanied by your biggest smile.

Important Notes:

- Ponies sadly not allowed on the dance floor (but requests may be considered).

- Eclair bribes are acceptable currency.

- Spontaneous twirling is encouraged.

- No bedtime curfews tonight (Mama ’ s permission pending).

P.S.

If you see a certain very tall man looking nervous with the flowers — that's just me. I ’ m hoping you ’ ll save one dance for me.

Yours in great admiration (and a little awe),

Sam

“Samarth…” her eyes touched his and they were, for the first time since he had met her again, softened.

Softened and scared and hopeful and ready to run.

He stepped up and cupped her cheek before she could.

Her smooth, warm, pretty cheek that felt new in the curve of his palm now.

And yet the same as he stroked his thumb over the line of her jaw.

He eyed the open doorway of her house and gently pulled the door shut, locking them away from a pair of prying eyes if she woke up again.

“What have I been doing? Letting you come so close to her…” she ranted to herself. “What have I been thinking?”

“Ava…”

She held the cards up as if they were made of fire — “This cute stuff… it all ends badly. Please go and don’t come back, just go while you are forgettable, Samarth…”

“I will not.”

“Leave, please, leave…”

“No.”

Her eyeballs began to waver, the brown rings wide around her dark irises.

“Samarth, what if you have to leave again?”

“I will not.”

She looked away — “I can’t bring myself to trust you with her. I haven’t even talked to Mummy, Papa or Kresha…”

“Look at me,” he brought her face back. She refused to meet his eyes.

He cupped her other cheek and nudged her face up as his bent to reach within kissing distance.

Their noses touched, so did their eyes. Her breaths heaved and touched his face, her wariness tightening her facial muscles.

He circled his thumbs on her jaw, lowering his voice.

“I sacrificed all of myself. You became a part of me and without thinking I sacrificed you too. It. Ends. Here. I am not going to leave you or Brahmi. Ever. You can push me away and tell me to return to Nawanagar and come back only for visits and I will buy the land opposite yours and build a house there and live there. Not to stalk you but to be here. For all the good days and especially the bad days. You are mine, Brahmi is mine and it’s time I took care of you two.

You don’t want romance and soft things? Fair enough.

I’m going to give you love. I gave it to you once, and it’s only been growing and evolving inside me ever since I withheld it from you.

I am going to give it and keep giving it until you accept it.

I missed one penalty shot, Ava. That’s it.

Now you can keep harping on about it and I will happily listen to it all my life.

But I am not missing another one. This chukker is mine and there is nothing that will stand in my way. Not even you.”

He tipped her face and kissed her forehead.

“Be ready by 7, both of you.”

————————————————————

Samarth adjusted the bouquets in his hand for the third time and took a deep breath.

It wasn’t the flowers' fault.

It was his hands.

Sweaty. Trembling. Like an absolute rookie.

The garden crunched faintly under his boots as he walked the familiar gravel path. The sun was ready to set, leaving the garden in that magical purple hour, fireflies buzzing, birds singing their goodnight song.

He tugged at his suit lapel. Tonight he wore a traditional evening tailcoat — pure black wool, cut sharp to his frame, the long tails sweeping behind him like a silent pledge.

A crisp white shirt underneath, with a stiff winged collar.

A white bow tie, hand-tied, slightly uneven because he had been shaking all evening.

Black trousers with a silk stripe down the side.

No royal insignia, no family crests, no embellishments.

Just him.

Stripped of titles. Carrying only what mattered.

In his left hand he carried two bouquets — one, a modest bunch of fuchsia bougainvillea without their thorns, bound with a silk ribbon the colour of his helmet.

The florist had believed him insane when he had ordered this specific arrangement, but delivered above and beyond his expectations.

His second order had been a reckless, riotous spray of lavenders — wild and beautiful, tied together with a pure white silk ribbon for the child who had called him Chevalier and smashed open his world with a smile.

He hesitated at the base of her porch, boot tapping an uneven mossy stone.

The house glowed from the inside, two pretty figures moving around looking like a frenzy of last-minute prep. That gave him the confidence.

He swallowed. Shifted the bouquets to his right arm. Ran a hand through his hair. And rang the bell.

“He’s herrrrrrrre!!!” A shrill excited cry made him squint.

“Slow, slow, a princess acts with poise,” Ava rebuked quietly.

“Like this?”

Samarth wanted to see what ‘like this’ was.

“Yes, now open the door.”

Samarth braced himself as the door was thrown open. Nothing poised in that. But the princess that greeted him on the other side was the prettiest little sight he had ever seen.

“Hello,” he breathed, getting down on one knee as she came hopping to him in her long white dress and tiny heels, her hands out to him for balance. He caught them in time and gathered her to his chest. “You look like the brightest star born in princess form.”

Her mouth split into a preening grin. She tried to push the wisps of hair away from her face and into her updo that he guessed Ava had spent a good few hours over. The tugging would bring it all down. So he took the lock of hair and gently pushed it behind her ear.

“What’s the surprise?! And is there really dancing? A ball dance? I don’t know how! I tried to see a YouTube vlog but Roma and Diana didn’t have a ball-dancing vlog…”

“Who are Roma and Diana?”

“The YouTube children’s channel she gets to watch for half an hour a day.”

His eyes whirled up and there she was — the nebula that had given birth to his star. His mouth dropped open. The powder pink ball gown was stunning. He didn’t understand fabric and cuts. But it looked a whole lot better than it had on the mannequin. And he had bought it because it looked the best.