Page 32

Her words hung heavily in the air, trampling my heart.

My chest tightened as I watched her cheeks flush while tears streamed down her face.

Her eyelids swelled from all the crying.

I stared at her, trying to comprehend the emotions on her face.

I wanted to speak, to make her see what I was feeling, but my words would not come out.

“Nandani…”

I finally managed to say.

She blinked slowly, locking her gaze with mine.

I could see a vast ocean in her eyes, deep and filled with immense love and respect for me.

Yet her unwavering tone, a fierceness, a wildfire—burned on the horizon of that love, signalling that her decision was final.

There was no room for negotiation.

In that silence, I felt as if the sky, the ground, the world, and everything around me faded away, as if there was nothing but her and me, with no past, no future, no expectations, no consequences—only the now, only us, staring into each other’s souls.

A life without her seemed impossible.

If my past was the motive of my life, she was my home.

If my revenge was the mountain I had to climb, she was the base to which I would return once it was over.

If my goals were the purpose of my life, then she was death—certain and inevitable.

If my ambition was to kill her parents, then she was the water I would drink after the pursuit.

She was the solace I sought after achieving anything in my life.

And if I had never found that solace—the water to quench my thirst, the base of the mountain to rest, the silence, the relief to calm my mind, the home to return to—what would be the point of living? What would be the point of conquering that mountain? What would be the purpose of aiming that arrow, or of life itself without death? What would be the point of that motive, and what would be the point of becoming Rana Dev Singh if there was no Queen Nandani by his side?

She was everything.

And without her, nothing mattered.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I felt my heartbeat slow.

My voice trembled and became hoarse as I whispered, “Nandani, aap to humse humaare jeevan ke badle humaare jeene ki aas hi maang rahi hai, humse humaare jeene ka uddeshya maang rahin hai.

Aap to humse humaare mata-pita ko hi cchodne ko keh rahin hai,”

(Nandani, you are asking me for the hope of living in exchange for my life, the purpose of my life.

You are asking me to leave my parents behind.)

She lowered her gaze, and I noticed a few strands of her hair flowing in the wind.

Another tear fell from her eye, trailing down and finally resting on her collarbones.

She sobbed softly, lifting her eyes back to me.

“Humne to aapke liye pehle hi apne jeene ki asha cchoddi thi, .

Humne to pehle hi apne jeevan ka uddeshya, apne mata-pita ko aapke liye chod diya.

Jis din humne aapke kaksh mein paanv dhare, ye jaante hue ki aap humaare shatru ke putra hai, humne apne maasa aur baapusa ko daga de di,”

(I have already given up on my hope of survival for you, .

I have already left my life’s purpose, my parents, for you.

The day I stepped into your chamber, even though you’re the son of our enemy, I betrayed my parents.) She spoke through tears, her voice dripped with extreme sorrow.

I instantly turned my eyes south and took her shivering hands in mine.

With every drop of her tears and each word spoken, my heart felt as if it slowed down under the intense pressure of our reality.

I was at a loss for words, unsure of what I truly wanted or what to expect.

My mind couldn't make sense of everything happening around me.

“Humein maatra aap chaahiye, Nandani.

Keval aap; aur kuch nahi,”

(I just want you, Nandani.

Only you; nothing else.) I said, bringing her hand close to my lips and gently kissing the back of her hand.

I closed my eyes briefly, sinking into her touch and fragrance, letting her energy wash over all my doubts, and feeling a sense of peace inside my body.

“Hum to aap hi ke hain, ,”

(I am all yours, .) She said, and I opened my eyes to look at her.

“Bas aisa kuch na kariyega jo humein jeete ji maarde,”

(But don't do something that would make me a living corpse.) She whispered agonisingly.

I quickly shook my head and watched her close her eyes, allowing the tears to spill down her cheeks.

She gently rested her head against my chest as I wrapped my arms around her.

An instant wave of relaxation washed over me as I felt her warmth, melting away my inner turmoil.

I felt ecstatic as tears streamed down my cheeks.

Love had always been the feeling I despised most in my life.

It was the first thing I hated because it caused my mother so much suffering.

She had been content before she loved, and the irony was that love was neither happiness nor pain.

It was both the remedy and the wound itself.

It was the sword that tore her apart, yet she did not bleed, not a single drop. It is something that gradually kills you, piece by piece, yet somehow, you find salvation in the end.

I hated this love the most.

It makes us weak, distracts us, conquers us, changes us, and destroys us.

But if she was love, she was that weakness, that distraction, the conqueror, the change, the destroyer.

Then for me, love was beautiful, love was euphoric, love was peace, love was bliss, love was that shine in the night, love was that spark that tells you that you are alive, love was that fire, love was the flame that burns you.

Love was something that kept every bit of me together from falling apart, from destroying myself, from burning my soul.

And then I thought I finally understood what my mother must have felt when she fell in love with my father.

Recalling her, I realized how much she had sacrificed for him—the risks she took, the care she gave him.

But I wasn’t my father.

I wasn’t the man I had resented the most.

I couldn’t be the one who failed to answer her love with my own.

I could never be the one to hurt her the way my father had hurt my mother. Never.

I took a deep breath.

She was right—I had to make a choice.

I had to set things right.

Suddenly, she pulled away and looked at me.

Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes were wet, the redness blurring her gaze.

“Humein chalna chahiye.

Aap vishraam kijiye,”

(I should go now.

You take a rest.)

She moved to stand, but I quickly grasped her wrist.

The sound of her bangles and anklets shattered the silence, and she softly lowered her gaze to meet mine.

Our eyes locked, and a heavy silence lingered until I gathered the courage to speak.

“Ruk jaaiye, Nandani.

Humaare paas.

Ek raatri, keval hum dono, bina kisi asmanjas ke,”

(Stay, Nandani, with me, a night, just us, alone, without anything else.)

Tilting her head slightly, she quietly muttered, “Aap pachtaayenge kal yadi hum aaj ruk gaye to,”

(You will regret tomorrow if I’d stay tonight.)

I shook my head.

“Aapke saath har kshan mein trupti hai, pachtawa nahi,”

(Every moment with you is heaven for me, not regret).

I spoke lowly.

She inhaled deeply before sitting back before me.

She blinked in uncertainty, nipping at her lower lip.

I couldn't stop myself from freeing her lower lip with my thumb to prevent her from torturing it.

“Don't do that, it will bleed.”

She lifted her gaze to meet mine.

Slowly, she brought her finger to my cheek, gently caressing my tear-streaked face.

“Don't do that,”

she whispered.

“It bleeds my heart.”

My eyes held hers, tracing the moisture on her lashes.

Her pupils appeared darker and more prominent than before.

The moonlight cascading over her face made her look like a serene river flowing beneath a blanket of stars.

Unknowingly, my hand moved from her chin to her cheek, gently cupping her face.

I felt the subtle shift in her features as I touched her skin—the slight shiver, the change in warmth, the quickening of her heartbeat, the uneven breathing, and the parting of her lips.

Her eyes softened, drawing me deeper into her—her scent, her warmth, her embrace.

So deep that my mind ceased to think of anything else.

I watched her closely as the distance between our faces narrowed, her features drawing nearer and her eyes blinking softly.

The sound of our breathing gradually became audible, the sensation of her breath brushing against my face.

My fingers instinctively moved through her hair as her face tilted back, and mine dipped closer.

Her eyes closed, her breath quickening, her lips trembling, wet with anticipation.

Without thinking, I moved closer, my nose grazing the side of her cheek, inhaling her scent, feeling her surrender to the touch.

The sound of her breath grew louder, blocking every other noise.

The heat from our intimacy shut the wind blowing over my body, and her loud heartbeats made me lose track of my heart’s rhythm.

There was only a pull, an endless horizon, a clarity that felt like an empty grassland—no rushing, no winds, no chaos, no birds.

Just silence.

Peace.

Love.

And then a touch. The softness of her lips on mine, a euphoric wave of ecstasy sweeping over me. The kiss was slow, gentle, yet overwhelmingly intense—like the warmth of the sun, the softness of water, the peace of an empty field, and the calm of a dream.

Shunned breathing, pounding heartbeats, waves of sensations, and chills ran down my spine and moved up to my head, making me feel sparks in my mind and leaving an oozing brain.

I could feel the wetness, the warmth, the softness, the sweetness, the trembling of her lips under mine.

I felt a strong shiver from her, a soft moan and a slight pull when I couldn't stop myself from sucking her lips intensely, slowly driving it into a deeper place.

My lips moved against hers with passionate urgency, tasting and devouring her lips.

My lashes shut on their own, the warmth of her lips making me forget everything.

I felt lost in her.

My breathing hitched as she pulled her lips an inch away.

Our noses touched each other, breathing fanning over each other's faces.

Yet the mere separation killed me.

It felt as if someone pulled my heart out of my body, as if blood stopped flowing through my veins.

It was so different yet so familiar.

It was so killing yet so breathtaking.

Punishing yet rewarding.

My hand was wound around her nape, keeping her in place, not letting her go away, not even an inch, not even for a moment, and I leaned closer to her.

She inched backwards, trying to look into my eyes.

Her brows knitted together, and she looked straight into my eyes.

Her tender gaze was confused, yet committed.

My eyes often drifted back and forth between her eyes and her lips, wanting to touch them, taste them, claim them, but she kept trying to move away.

And I didn't even realise when her head sank into the pillow, and I found myself hovering over her.

Her pale skin glowed softly in the moonlight, while her silky hair shimmered brightly.

Her collarbones, jawline, and slender neck—everything about her was perfect and exquisite.

“,”

she called slowly, her voice feeling like a gentle breeze, a feathery touch.

“Hnnn-hnnn,”

I hummed, distracted by her.

She gulped, looking into my eyes with the same intensity.

She brought her hand close to my cheek, touching my cheek softly with her fingers.

A cold breeze suddenly hit, and she shivered lightly.

“Thand badh rahi hai,”

(It's getting colder.) She said, and I straightened myself, pulling the comforter up.

Covering both of us, I lay beside her, pushing my hand under her head, and she immediately scooted closer to me.

Placing her head over my chest, she wrapped her arm around my torso.

I gently touched her hair, which was spread aside, and saw her closing her eyes.

Leaning in a little, I kissed her hair.

I didn't know what I had to do.

On the one hand, she and her love were demanding an answer from me, and on the other, there were the memories of my mother and a list of people who deserved what my mother went through.

Justice was needed, but the price was love.

“Suniye,”

(Listen,) she said slowly, angling her face to look at me.

“Kahiye,”

(Tell me,) I asked.

She pursed her lips nervously for a moment, and then spoke, “Vivah ke baad humaari pehli holi hai.

Maasa ne sandesh bheja hai aur humein aamantrit kiya hai aapke saath.

Kanya ki pehli holi uske peehar mein manaayi jaati hai na.

To aap to aaenge nahi kyuki yaahaan ateethi aaye hue hain.

To hum vichaar kar rahe the, ki hum hokar aa jaayein akele. Pehle hi bata rahe hai kyuki aap krodhit ho jaate hai jab hum kahin akele jaane ka sochte hai to,”

(It's my first Holi after our wedding.

My mother sent a letter, inviting us both to celebrate.

Because the first Holi of a newly wedded girl is celebrated in her maternal home.

So, I was thinking of going alone, since you will not come due to the guests in the empire.

I’m telling you in advance because you get angry if I even think of going alone.) She finished and looked at me.

Her information twisted my gut firmly.

I didn't want her to go, leaving me alone even for a single day, nor did I want to go there.

I, at least, needed time.

Was she trying to leave me already? What if she were going there and never coming back?

“When will you come back?”

I asked instantly.

She shook her head lightly and replied in an admiring voice.

“Jab bhi aap hume lene aayenege,”

(Whenever you'll come to take me back.)

***