Yash POV

Yash watched Diya’s retreating figure until she disappeared behind the courtyard arch. Her dupatta still swayed faintly in the early morning breeze, and the faint scent of her shampoo lingered in the air. He leaned back against the bench, exhaling slowly.

"Strange… itna sukoon mujhe kitne saalon baad mila hai."
The truth was, he hadn’t slept this peacefully in years. Not since he took over the entire business empire after his father’s partial retirement. Every night had been a battlefield of meetings, strategies, and paperwork. Sleep had become a luxury, not a necessity.

But last night, with his head in her lap, his mind had gone quiet for the first time. No deals. No boardrooms. No deadlines. Just the faint rhythm of her heartbeat and the warmth of her hand in his hair.

He smiled faintly to himself, but it faded quickly when his phone buzzed on the bench. It was a message from Shivansh:
"Bhai, aap garden mein ho na? Jaldi aa jao… koi aapka intezaar kar raha hai."

Yash frowned. Shivansh’s message was never straightforward; it could mean anything from a casual visitor to a full-blown prank.

Still, he pushed himself up, brushed off his kurta, and headed toward the main palace. 

As Yash moved into the guest hall, he was shocked to see Ashrit Rai—the renowned spy, top hacker, and tech company owner—standing in his palace. His eyes turned cold as they rested on him.

Before Yash could speak, Vikrant stepped forward and said,
“Sir, Mr. Ashrit is here to share some details about the current investigation. I believe you should hear him out.”

Yash’s gaze lingered on Ashrit for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a curt nod and replied,
“Please make Mr. Ashrit comfortable in my study room. I’ll join you after freshening up.”

With that, he turned on his heels and took a few steps away before suddenly pausing. Tilting his head slightly, his voice cut through the air, sharp and cold:
“I hope, Mr. Rai, that my time will not be wasted.”

Then, without another glance, Yash walked away.

Ashrit, however, remained unfazed by Yash’s chilling demeanor. A faint smirk played on his lips as he followed Vikrant toward the study.

Vikrant, who stood in between like a seasoned mediator, cleared his throat softly. “This way, Mr. Rai.Sir  will meet you shortly.”

Ashrit inclined his head politely, but his smile was sly, as if he knew more than he should. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of wasting his time.” His voice was smooth, dipped in confidence that carried an undertone of challenge.

They began walking toward the study room. The palace corridors glowed with the morning light streaming in from arched windows, but between the polished pillars and echoes of boots on marble, the atmosphere grew heavier. Vikrant could feel it—this wasn’t an ordinary meeting. Ashrit Rai wasn’t an ordinary visitor.

The study room itself was a fortress within a fortress. Heavy doors opened to reveal walls lined with old books, rare maps, and meticulously kept files. A polished desk, carved with intricate designs of Meherangarh’s history, stood proudly near the window where sunlight filtered in like golden ribbons.

Ashrit walked in leisurely, his hands in his pockets, scanning the space like a predator testing the air. “A fine collection,” he remarked, pausing briefly at a shelf of antique manuscripts. “Your king has taste.”

Vikrant, trained to maintain neutrality, simply motioned toward a leather chair. “Please, have a seat. Sir  will not take long.”

Ashrit sank into the chair as if it was his own, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and calculation. “I have to say, Mr. Vikrant… I’ve met many rulers, businessmen, and so-called leaders. But your Yash Singh Chauhan…”—his lips curved again—“…he carries the kind of cold fire that can either build an empire or burn it down.”

Vikrant stiffened but remained silent. He had learned long ago that engaging too much with men like Ashrit only gave them more ground.

Ashrit leaned back lazily, his smirk never leaving. “But then, that’s what makes this interesting. I didn’t come here to flatter him. I came here because there’s something bigger at play.”

Vikrant’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he still held his silence. His duty was simple—wait until his king arrived.

And then—

The heavy doors opened once again.

Yash entered, freshened, clad in a crisp dark kurta that carried the weight of his presence more than any one could. His hair was combed back, his expression cool, unreadable. Every step he took toward the desk made the room colder, tighter, as though the air itself was cautious not to disturb him.

Ashrit rose to his feet, his smirk widening.

For a few seconds, neither man spoke. Only their eyes met—Yash’s gaze sharp, like a blade honed to perfection, and Ashrit’s like a chess player who’d just set his board.

Finally, Yash broke the silence. “Mr. Rai.” His voice was calm, dangerously calm. “You said you bring details of the investigation.”

Ashrit’s smirk shifted into a half-smile, his tone smooth, unhurried. “I do, Mr Singh Chauhan. But what I bring you is more than information. It’s a warning… and an opportunity.”

Yash’s jaw tightened. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Ashrit to continue.

And in that moment, the air between them thickened—not of hostility, but of two powerful men recognizing each other as equals in their own fields. One ruled with dominance and command, the other with knowledge and shadows.

The game had just begun.

Author POV

Ruchika was walking through the corridor with her Cup of unfinished Tea, humming softly to herself, when she almost bumped into someone near the library passage.

Her eyes lifted, and for a moment her breath caught.

Standing there was Ashrit Rai. Not the name she knew, not the reputation of being a hacker, not the aura of a powerful man—but just him, in that quiet second. His sharp eyes softened when they fell on her, as if he wasn’t expecting to meet anyone here.

For a moment, silence spoke louder than words.

“Uh… I’m sorry,” Ruchika said quickly, stepping aside, clutching her bowl to her chest.

Ashrit tilted his head slightly, his smirk replaced by a gentleness he himself didn’t realize he carried. “No… I should be the one saying sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, a shy one, the kind that lights up eyes more than faces. She looked down nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You like Tea at Morning?” he asked suddenly, the question escaping before he could stop himself.

Ruchika blinked, a little startled, but then laughed softly. “It’s my comfort food… better than any royal dish.”

Something in her innocence struck him deeper than he expected. He had seen power, he had seen cunning minds, he had seen the world bend through codes and technology… but he had never seen something this pure.

Ruchika, still clutching her bowl, glanced at him again. “Do you… want some?” She offered it, half serious, half playful.

Ashrit actually chuckled. A low, warm sound. “No one has offered me something so real in a long time.”

Their eyes met again. This time, it lingered. Not too long, not enough to be noticed by anyone else—but enough to leave a spark, enough to say something their lips hadn’t spoken.

For Ruchika, it felt like a strange warmth, as though this stranger had brushed past the walls she didn’t know she had built.
For Ashrit, it was an unexpected tug at his heart, something he hadn’t calculated, hadn’t planned.

“Maybe… I’ll take you up on that offer someday,” he finally said, stepping back with a faint smile.

Ruchika nodded, still smiling to herself as he walked away. She didn’t know why her heart was racing.
And Ashrit… well, he didn’t know why he was thinking about the girl with Tea instead of the codes and files waiting in the study.

But something had started that Day. Something unspoken, yet deeper than emotions.

Unfazed by the coming turns, Diya was completely drained, sitting with a sore neck and backache. She kept blabbering to herself, “Kya Mata Rani… iss prank ne toh meri kamar hi tod di. Ab kya karu main? Haaye meri kamar… na hi gardan seedhi ho rahi hai, na kamar. Diya beta, lagta hai budhappa aa gaya.”

She pouted dramatically, pressing her hand to her back, pretending to be an old lady.

Just then, Ruchika entered, cheerful as always.
“Diya Dii, ready ho gayi? Chaliye, breakfast kar lete hain,” she chirped.

Diya turned her face away with a fake glare. “Ruchi… don’t talk to me! How can You be with that langoor? He pranked me so badly, and you were with him in this prank too. It’s just not fair!”

Ruchika immediately felt guilty. Her smile faded as she looked at Diya’s exaggerated sulking face. She stepped closer and softly said, “I’m sorry, Dii. I wasn’t going to do it… but Shivansh bhaiya bribed me, and I couldn’t say no.”

Her voice grew small as she added, “I’m really sorry, Diya Dii. Please maaf kar dijiye.”

To melt her even faster, she caught her own ears with both hands, making the cutest puppy face, eyes wide with guilt.

Diya turned her face away dramatically, “Mujhe tumse baat hi nahi karni… tum bhi uss langoor ke saath mili hui thi. Haan, Diya ko tang karna sabka favourite timepass hai na!” She held her neck and made an exaggerated groan, “Aah meri gardan! Mata Rani mujhe abhi utha lo, warna yeh prank waale log mujhe maar hi dalenge.”

Ruchika, with her puppy face, slowly sat beside her on the bed. She caught her ears tightly, “Diyaa dii… please maaf kar do. Sach mein meri galti nahi thi… Shivansh bhaiya ne mujhe chocolate ki bribe di thi. Aur mai na… chocolate ke saamne hamesha haar jaati hoon. Please di, don’t be angry.”

Diya peeked at her from the corner of her eye, trying hard not to smile. “Accha! Matlab ek chocolate ki wajah se meri izzat daav pe lag gayi? Wah Ruchi, wah… tumhari loyalty ka kya kehna.”

Ruchika leaned forward instantly, resting her head on Diya’s lap, still holding her ears. “Diya di… aap meri sabse best dost ho, meri di ho, meri secret keeper bhi. Agar aap mujhse gussa ho gayi na… toh mera din kharaab ho jaata hai. Please forgive me na.”

Diya’s fake anger started melting. She looked down at Ruchika’s innocent face and the way she blinked rapidly to look extra cute. She finally sighed and softly flicked her forehead.

“Aree pagli… itni guilty mat feel kar. Tum meri chhoti si bacchi ho… tumse zyada pyaara aur kaun hai mera.”

Hearing this, Ruchika instantly hugged her tight, wrapping her arms around Diya’s waist. “Love you Diya dii… you’re the best!”

Diya patted her head, smiling finally, “Love you too, bacche. Ab chalo, breakfast karte hain… warna Shivansh phir koi naya prank soch lega aur phir dono ki band bajegi.”

At this, Ruchika’s eyes widened in fear. “Nahi, nahi! Bas, ab mujhe Shivansh bhaiya ke saath nahi rehna. Kal ke prank ke baad mujhe unse allergy ho gayi hai.”

Both burst into laughter, holding onto each other. The bond between them was too pure—full of silly fights, innocent anger, and quick forgiveness.

The morning was already filled with chaos. Diya rubbed her back, making a dramatic face.

“Ruchi, you don’t even know… because of that bandar I had to sleep outside the whole night! And now I have such a bad backache… uff,” she whined, stretching her arms.

Ruchika almost dropped the spoon in her hand. “What? Dii, what the hell are you telling me? You actually believed that stupid joke of his? You are so naïve sometimes!”

Diya pouted. “Haan toh? He told me seriously! And you know na, how innocent I am… how was I supposed to guess?”

Ruchika crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “But how did you even spend the whole night alone?”

Diya’s cheeks warmed as she looked away. “Main wahan se isliye bhaag gayi because Yash bhaiya came. You know him, na… his one glare was enough to make me run! Hnn… aur unki bhi kya galti hai? Bnaya bhi toh yahi Shivji ne… koi aur choice dete kya mujhe? Ab bhai tou dilnke ache hai but thore darawne hai” Ruchika blabbered all in one breath, not even realizing half of it came out loud.

Ruchika frowned, confused. “Did you say something, Dii?”Are you hearing.

Diya immediately shook her head. “Nahi… kuch nahi.” She quickly changed the topic, her eyes sparkling mischievously. A plan was already cooking in her mind.

She leaned closer, whispering dramatically, “Ruchi… now it’s time to set fire to that langoor ki poonch. Revenge mode ON!”

Her evil smirk widened, and she let out a loud, wicked laugh—“Muaahahaha!”—that made Ruchika almost choke on her tea.

“Dii! Stop it! You’re scaring me now,” Ruchika said, glaring at her. “And please don’t look at me like that. I’m not helping you in any of this. Aap dono kuch bhi karte ho, and I always get stuck in between. So NO, Dii. Don’t even try to drag me in this mess!”

Diya sighed dramatically, clutching her chest like a heroine from an old Bollywood movie. “Haye, kitni zalim behen hai tu! Aaj tak ek bhi prank mai madad nahi ki… dhokebaaz!”

But Ruchika stood her ground, shaking her head. “No Dii means no. I don’t want Yash bhaiya or Shivansh bhaiya glaring at me later. Bass.”

Diya turned away, lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Fine. If not you, then I’ll plan this masterpiece alone… langoor ki poonch mein aag lagane ka waqt aa gaya hai.”

With that, she tossed her hair dramatically and strutted towards the breakfast table, still smirking.

Ruchika could only sigh, muttering under her breath, “Ab dekhna, Dii ka plan phir se ulti side jaayega…” but a small laugh escaped her lips too.

It was sharp 8 a.m., a time as perfect as Yash himself. Like always, everyone had gathered at the long breakfast table — plates neatly set, fresh flowers in a vase, the smell of parathas and toast floating in the air. Everyone except our lovely Shivansh, who, as usual, was late.

Diya adjusted her dupatta, her lips curving into an evil smirk. “Langoor ke puch mein aag lagane ka waqt aa gaya hai…” she thought, suppressing a laugh. Ruchi sat beside her, already nervous, knowing Diya was planning something.

“Dii, please,” Ruchi whispered in warning, “don’t drag me in this. You know, I always get caught.”

“Shhh,” Diya pressed her finger to her lips dramatically. “Bas dekhna, maza aayega.”

Just then, footsteps echoed in the corridor, and in walked Shivansh, half-asleep, his hair a mess, yawning like he owned the world.
“Good morning, royal fam,” he said lazily, pulling out a chair, completely unaware of the trap.

The moment he sat, a loud “thaaadd!” echoed — the chair’s leg had been loosened, and Shivansh fell straight on the floor, his arms flailing.
“Oooyeee maa!” he yelped, rubbing his back. “Kaun hai jisne mujhe toota hua chair diya? Yeh Kiski harkat  hai?”

Ruchi instantly covered her mouth to hide her laughter, while Diya burst out laughing openly. “Aree wah, chote Raja ki rajgaddi hi hil gayi!”Ooops Sorry tut gae!

“Chipkaliiii!” Shivansh pointed an accusing finger, glaring at her. “Mujhe pata tha, yeh tera hi kaam hai. Main itna bhola sa hoon, aur tu mujhe hamesha satati hai.”

Everyone chuckled, but Shivansh’s dramatic tone made it funnier.

Meanwhile, Yash sat at the head of the table, sipping his black coffee, face as stern as ever. But Diya caught the subtle upward curve of his lips. He didn’t say a word, yet his eyes flickered with silent approval. The way he glanced at Diya for half a second was enough — he was enjoying her little mischief, even if he would never admit it.

“Bas ab toh revenge leke rahunga,” Shivansh groaned, dragging himself back to the chair carefully this time. “Aur is baar, Ruchi bhi bach nahi payegi. Tum dono ek team ho, mujhe pata hai.”

Ruchi widened her eyes. “What? N-no! Main toh—”

But before she could defend herself, Diya slipped an extra buttered paratha on Shivansh’s plate and winked at Ruchi. “Chup rehnedo Ruchi. Isse revenge lene do. Waise bhi langoor ko paratha khane ke baad neend aati hai. Tab tak hum kuch naya sochenge.”

Everyone laughed again, while Yash’s gaze lingered a second longer on Diya — calm, unreadable, but silently supportive.

After the breakfast Diya was roaming in the corridor of palace her anklets made a faint sound as she strolled through the corridor, her fingers brushing along the cool marble pillars. She had always admired the grandeur of the palace—its delicate paintings, its royal silence—but today, her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Yeh sab… kitna alag hai…” she whispered to herself, lost in the beauty around her.

Just then, she bumped into a strong frame. Before she could stumble, a firm hand gripped her waist, steadying her in place. Her eyes widened, her heart skipped a beat, and before she could blink, a low husky voice touched her ears—

“Sambhal kar, Rani sa… aapko hamari baahon mein girna hai tou btaa dijie. Agar yahi chahti ho toh boliye, main aapko apni baahon mein rakhne ke liye tayyar ho.”

Her breath hitched. Diya’s eyes lifted slowly, locking into the familiar stormy gaze of Yash. He stood so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath, the intensity of his eyes piercing straight into her soul.

For a moment, the world stopped.

Diya’s lips parted, words fumbling, but finally she managed—
“Aap… aap kya bol rahe hain? Humne aapko dekha hi nahi… aap achanak se… aa gaye.”

Yash smirked—his signature smirk that always carried both arrogance and charm. He stepped a little closer, his hand leaving her waist but his presence refusing to move away.

“Main kabhi ‘achanak’ nahi aata, Diya. Jahan tum ho, wahan mujhe rehna hi padta hai.”

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. She quickly lowered her gaze, trying to compose herself.
“Woh… main bas… stroll le rahi thi. Sab busy the toh… hmm…” she muttered nervously.

Yash raised a brow, silently following her steps now. The corridor felt even longer, more intimate, with his heavy silence filling it. They stopped near a potrait.His gaze never left her face, and after a while, he spoke in a voice that sent shivers down her spine—

“Hmm… yeh dekhiye, Maharani sa.” He pointed towards a portrait of a beautiful queen from the royal lineage, her face painted with unmatched grace. “Woh… puri duniya ke liye epitome of beauty thi. Lekin meri nazar mein…” His eyes shifted from the painting and fell on her.
“…maine aaj tak aapse zyada khoobsurat aur graceful kisi ko nahi dekha.”

Diya froze. Her cheeks burned crimson. Her breath turned shallow. She wanted to deny it, to protest, but the intensity in his tone left her speechless. His words weren’t playful—they carried truth, a weight that pressed into her heart.

She quickly turned her gaze back to the painting, whispering softly, almost to herself—
“Aap… hamesha aise kyun bolte hain, jaise sab kuch pehle se tay hai…”

Yash leaned slightly closer, his voice dangerously calm,
“Kyuki, Rani sa… tum meri ho. Hamesha se thi. Aur hamesha rahogi.”

Diya’s breath caught. She couldn’t move, couldn’t answer. The silence between them grew louder than words.

Suddenly, Diya’s eyes fell upon a large portrait framed in gold, hanging proudly in the center of the wall. She paused, her gaze softening. It was a painting of a woman draped in a deep crimson saree, her poise unmatched, her eyes radiating strength yet carrying a softness that made one bow in respect. Her jewelry was minimal, her grace unmatched—it wasn’t beauty that struck Diya, but the aura of dignity, kindness, and silent power that seemed to breathe through the canvas itself.

Diya whispered unconsciously, “Ye MahaRani sa hain na…?”

Yash, who had been watching her, came closer, his eyes dark yet softened as he looked at the portrait. His lips curved into the faintest smile, touched with something deeper—longing, pride, and an unspoken reverence.

“Rani Radhika Singh Chauhan,” he said slowly, his voice lower than usual. “Meri maa… Meherangarh ki asli rani sa. Rajya ke dil mein rehne wali ek aisi aurat, jo sirf ek rani nahi thi… balki ek misaal thi.”

Diya’s eyes widened. She looked at the painting again, then at Yash. “Aapki maa…” Her tone was soft, almost apologetic, as if she had stepped into a part of him too personal.

Yash nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on the portrait. “Unki khoobsurti ke liye poora rajya unhe yaad karta tha… par unki rooh aur bhi khoobsurat thi. Socialist thi, logon ke liye ladti thi, palace ke bahar ki duniya ko apna banati thi. Ek Rani jo sabke dilon mein rehti thi.”

Diya couldn’t help but smile faintly. The woman in the portrait did look like someone who could carry both crown and compassion with equal ease. “Unke chehre mein… ek alag hi shaan hai. Jaise… wo sirf rani nahi, ek maa bhi thi… ek rehnuma bhi thi.”

Yash’s eyes flickered toward her—just for a moment, and Diya felt the weight of that look.

He said in a husky, almost protective voice, “Aur unhi ka ek hissa tum mein bhi hai, Diya.”unhone hi tumhe mere lie chuna hai.

Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked, stunned. “Kya…?”

Yash stepped just a little closer, his voice laced with a quiet conviction. “Tumhari masoomiyat, tumhari shiddat, tumhari nazar… sab mujhe unki yaad dilati hai. Maa sa duniya ke liye ek misaal thi… aur tum…” He paused, his smirk appearing, but softer this time. “…tum meri misaal banne wali ho.”

Diya’s breath caught. She looked away quickly, clutching the edge of her dupatta, trying to ignore the storm his words always left behind.

But inside, her heart whispered what her lips refused to say—why did every word of Yash make her feel she was being claimed… silently, powerfully… like destiny itself had already chosen her place in his world?

Diya’s eyes again fell on the large portrait framed at the center of the wall. A woman, draped in a crimson saree, sat on an intricately carved wooden throne. Her eyes, lined with kohl, were deep pools of wisdom, yet tender in their expression. Her lips curved in the faintest smile—not cold, not distant, but strong. She looked like someone who could make the world bow without raising her voice.

Mrs. Radhika Singh Chauhan.
The former queen. The woman the world still remembered as “Rani Sa.”

Diya stopped in her tracks, unable to pull her gaze away. Her heart softened as if the painting itself was speaking to her, telling her tales of love, of sacrifice, of quiet battles fought behind palace doors.

“She’s beautiful…” Diya whispered under her breath.

“She was more than beautiful,” came a low voice from behind her.

Diya turned and found Yash standing a step away. His deep eyes weren’t on her but fixed on the portrait, as though he could still see his mother walking the corridors.

“She was power wrapped in grace,” he continued, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. “People said she could silence a courtroom with one glance. And yet, when she sat with a farmer’s wife in the courtyard, she made her feel like an equal.”

There was pride in his tone, but also something softer—an ache, a memory that still clung to his soul.

Diya looked at him quietly. Yash rarely spoke so openly. He was always composed, controlled, his words measured. But now… this wasn’t the royal heir speaking. This was a son.

“She must have been loved by everyone,” Diya said softly.

Yash nodded, finally shifting his gaze toward her. “Loved… and remembered. Even now, people come to the palace gates just to leave flowers below her statue. Sometimes I think…” he paused, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, “sometimes I think she left too much of herself in this mahal. Every corner breathes her.”

Diya followed his words with her eyes, tracing the archways, the frescoes, the gold-embroidered curtains that swayed gently with the wind. She could almost imagine Rani Radhika walking here, her anklets ringing softly against marble floors, her presence commanding without effort.

“She looks…” Diya hesitated, her voice barely above a murmur, “…like someone you could never say no to.”

That pulled a faint smile from Yash. His lips curved, but his eyes still held something deeper, darker. “No one said no to her. Not because they feared her… but because they didn’t want to disappoint her. That was her strength.”

Diya glanced again at the portrait, then back at him. Something stirred in her chest. Was that what Yash wanted from her too? Not fear… but surrender. Not obedience… but a place in his world where resistance simply melted away.

Her heart whispered what her lips refused to say—why did every word of Yash make her feel she was being claimed… silently, powerfully… like destiny itself had already chosen her place in his world?

They began walking slowly, side by side, through the corridor. The hush of the palace wrapped around them. Yash’s hand brushed lightly against hers once, as if by accident, but Diya felt the spark travel straight to her heart.

“You know,” Yash said after a pause, his tone gentler now, “my mother had this habit. Every morning, before breakfast, she would walk through this corridor. She said the paintings told her stories—stories of the women who came before her, queens and princesses who carried this legacy. She used to say… ‘When you walk through history, you don’t walk alone. You carry it with you.’”

Diya’s throat tightened unexpectedly. She tried to smile, but her eyes betrayed her, shimmering with something she couldn’t name. “That’s… beautiful.”

“She believed a queen was not the one who wore the crown,” Yash continued, his eyes locked on her now, “but the one who carried her people in her heart. She could sit in a royal court and still know the names of every maid who worked here. She could attend political meetings with ministers, and still make time to write letters to women in nearby villages, helping them study, fight for their rights, earn respect.”

His words painted an image that grew larger than the portrait. Diya could almost see Rani Radhika moving through the palace—her saree trailing softly, her presence warm, her gaze commanding.

“She sounds like someone I would have wanted to meet,” Diya whispered.

For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Yash’s voice lowered, almost as if he was confessing something he hadn’t spoken aloud in years.

“She would have loved you.”Infact she loved you when you were born On that day, she chose you to be her daughter-in-law.

Diya’s breath caught. She turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”

Yash’s gaze was steady, unshaken. “My mother… she believed in strength that was quiet. In kindness that wasn’t weakness. In fire that didn’t burn but lit the way. She would have seen all of that in you, Diya.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her heart hammered against her ribs. No one had ever spoken of her like that—like she was something more than just a girl studying medicine, more than a daughter, more than the fears she carried inside her.

And yet, when Yash said it, she almost believed it.

“I… I don’t think I’m that strong,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

Yash leaned a little closer, his tone dropping so low it was almost a vow. “That’s because you still don’t see yourself the way I see you.”She saw you.

The corridor suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. Diya took a step back, her fingers brushing against the cold marble wall. She turned her face away, not trusting her voice, not trusting herself.

But Yash didn’t push. He only let the silence stretch, his gaze never leaving her.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Every time I walk through here, I feel her with me. Guiding me. Watching me. And tonight… for the first time, I feel she’s not just watching me.”

Diya froze, her breath caught in her chest. Slowly, she turned to him.

Yash’s eyes held hers, deep and unreadable. “She’s watching us.”

The words sank into her like a weight and a warmth all at once. She looked at the portrait again, at those kohl-lined eyes and faint smile. For a second, it truly felt as if Rani Radhika was alive in this corridor, watching them with quiet approval, with a knowing gaze that went deeper than time itself.

Diya swallowed hard, her heart racing. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t.

Yash didn’t ask her to. He simply stepped a little closer, his presence surrounding her, powerful yet calm. And though his hand never touched hers, though his lips never spoke another word, Diya felt it—
That claim. That silent promise.
That destiny had already written her place in his world.

And for the first time… she didn’t know if she wanted to run away from it.