Some people cry when they lose everything.
She didn't.
She simply stopped feeling.
At the age of six...
she learned that silence hurts less than begging.
At ten...
she realized birthdays were only celebrated for children who were loved.
At fifteen...
she stopped expecting someone to ask whether she had eaten.
At eighteen...
she walked out of the house with one suitcase and never looked back.
At twenty-four...
she returned for the first time.
Not because she wanted to.
Because someone else's happiness had collapsed.
The bride had run away.
The guests were waiting.
The royal family had arrived.
The sacred fire was ready.
Everyone searched for a solution.
Their eyes landed on the girl they had forgotten existed.
"Aradhya..."
her grandmother said sweetly for the first time in years.
That was enough.
She knew they needed something.
She always knew.
No one had called her by her name unless they wanted to use her.
...
Miles away...
inside the royal palace...
Abhimaan Singh Rathore stood before the mirror.
His sherwani was perfect.
His expression wasn't.
Kings did not have the luxury of refusing responsibilities.
Neither did queens.
That evening...
under thousands of lights...
two strangers would promise forever.
Not because they loved each other.
Not because they wanted to.
But because destiny had written their names with the same ink long before either of them was born.
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