The sun was high in the Jaipur sky, casting golden rays upon the intricate carvings of the palace walls. The sandstone reflected the warmth of the day, making the fort appear as if it were glowing from within. I always found solace in these palaces. The quiet corridors, the towering domes, the whispers of history etched into every stone—all of it gave me a sense of peace that I never found anywhere else.
Being a Rajkumar (crown prince) was never easy. I was born into a lineage of responsibility, one that came with its own set of burdens. Everywhere I went, people looked at me not as Veer, but as their future Maharaja. I was their prince, the one they expected to carry forward the family legacy in business and politics. But I never wanted that life. My heart had always been in medicine. The idea of healing, of making a tangible difference in someone's life, was more appealing than sitting in a boardroom discussing numbers. Despite my family's disapproval, I had chosen to pursue medicine at Jaipur Medical College.
My father never said it directly, but I knew he was disappointed. To him, business was in our blood, and deviating from it was akin to betraying our heritage. My mother, on the other hand, had once understood me. When I was a child, she would take me to this very palace, walking through its grand halls, telling me stories of love, loss, and valor. Those were the days I cherished the most. But ever since she was crowned the Queen, our relationship had changed. She became more involved in charities, state events, and lavish parties. I didn't blame her; she had her own responsibilities. But it meant that the distance between us grew, and now, it felt like she hardly had time for me anymore.
I was lost in these thoughts, standing by a carved jharokha, looking at the horizon, when I heard something that pulled me out of my reverie—a laugh. A bright, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the ancient corridors. It wasn't just any laugh. It had a melody to it, a kind of joy that was infectious.
Turning instinctively, I saw her.
She was walking ahead of a large group—her family, I assumed. Her smile was radiant, her eyes filled with curiosity as she looked around at the palace. She wasn't just looking; she was admiring, absorbing every detail, as if trying to commit it to memory. The way she moved, the way she turned to respond to someone, everything about her seemed effortless, natural, pure.
Then, someone called her name.
"Aaradhya!"
She turned, and our eyes met.
For a moment, everything around me faded. The world stood still. I had never believed in things like fate or destiny, but in that instant, I felt something shift within me. It was like an unspoken pull, a connection that neither of us understood but both of us felt.
I had been around women all my life—some seeking my attention because of my status, others genuinely interested. But never had I felt something this strong, this unsettling, just by looking into someone's eyes. It was a feeling of familiarity, as if I had known her forever, and yet, I knew nothing about her.
Without realizing it, I started following her.
She stopped near a puppet show, her eyes lighting up with excitement. The puppeteers were narrating a traditional Rajasthani folktale, their movements synchronized perfectly. I noticed how Aaradhya lingered there, wanting to stay longer, but her family was moving ahead. With a reluctant sigh, she turned to leave. I felt a strange disappointment watching her go.
At the exit of the palace, a group of local musicians was playing the tanpura. Aaradhya stopped again, completely entranced by the music. Her eyes never left the musician's hands, as if she was absorbing every note.
I made a quick decision. Stepping forward, I pulled out my wallet and handed the musician a few notes. "Play a little longer," I requested softly. He nodded, understanding.
The music continued, and for a few more minutes, Aaradhya stayed, unknowingly fulfilling a wish I had granted for her. The way she closed her eyes briefly, taking in the melody, made something stir in my chest.
I knew I had to leave. I had no reason to follow her any further, and yet, I found myself getting on my bike, trailing behind their car. I wasn't even sure why I was doing it. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was something more.
The car pulled up in front of a hotel, and I watched as Aaradhya and her family entered the building.
I stayed outside for an hour, staring at the entrance, wondering what the hell was happening to me.
It was unlike me to be this impulsive. I had always been logical, rational. And yet, here I was, outside a stranger's hotel, feeling like my entire world had just shifted on its axis.
My phone buzzed. It was Dadi-sa.
"Veer beta, where are you?" her voice was warm, but firm.
"I'm on my way home, Dadi-sa," I said, running a hand through my hair.
"Your father wants you at the meeting this evening. Don't be late."
A sigh escaped me. Another meeting. Another forced attempt to push me into the business world.
"I'll be there," I promised, though my mind was far from business matters.
As I rode back to the palace, the only thing I could think about was Aaradhya. The way her eyes had met mine. The way her laughter had echoed through the palace walls. The way she seemed untouched by the weight of expectations that suffocated me every day.
I didn't know if I would see her again, but a part of me hoped I would. Because for the first time in a long time, I felt something different. Something real.
And I wasn't ready to let that go.
As I reached the palace, the weight of my responsibilities came crashing down once again. The guards saluted me, the staff hurriedly stood in attention. Everyone treated me like royalty, but no one truly saw me. I was Veer, the crown prince, not Veer, the man who just had his first taste of something inexplicable.
Inside the meeting hall, my father sat at the head of the long table, surrounded by influential businessmen. The air was thick with discussions of profits, investments, and market shares. It was a world I had been forced into, but one I never truly belonged to.
My father's sharp gaze met mine. "You're late," he said, his voice laced with disapproval.
"I got caught up at the fort," I replied, taking my seat.
He didn't press further, but I could tell he wasn't pleased. I tried to focus, tried to engage in the discussion, but my mind kept drifting back to the girl with the mesmerizing eyes and the laughter that had momentarily filled my empty world.
Aaradhya.
Would I see her again? Or was she just a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of my life?
Either way, she had left an imprint on my soul. And I had a feeling this was only the beginning.