Maya hadn't slept in days.
Even when her body drifted into half-dream, her mind remained restless, afraid that closing her eyes would wake her somewhere else — in marble halls, in golden light, in a world that whispered her name like a prayer.
She'd stopped fighting the swaps. Stopped pretending she could predict them. But now… she dreaded them. Because she knew that soon, one of those worlds would demand more than she could give.
And when that moment came, she would break.
It was Aarav's fever that set it in motion.
He'd come home from school flushed and listless, the soccer ball forgotten in his bag. The thermometer blinked red — 103. She sat by his bed all night, sponging his forehead, humming lullabies she barely remembered.
Between ragged breaths, he murmured, "Don't go, Mama."
She brushed his hair back. "I won't. I promise."
But promises were thin things, fragile against the pull of the other world.
And when the morning came, so did the summons.
It began as a flicker, a shimmer in the edges of her vision. Then the pull — not violent this time, but patient, insistent. A soft hand on her chest, drawing her across the divide.
"No," she whispered, clutching the bedsheet. "Not now. Not today."
Aarav stirred, mumbling her name.
The world shuddered. The room dimmed. The pull became gravity.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood — and then she was gone.
The throne room blazed with sunlight.
Her advisors knelt, waiting. Her general's voice was urgent:"The capital is under siege. The gates are falling. You must lead us, Majesty."
Maya's heart slammed. She could still feel the sweat on Aarav's forehead, the tremor in his hand. She wanted to scream at them — I can't stay here! My son needs me!
But the walls shook with thunder. Smoke billowed through the windows.
The kingdom was burning.
And every eye in that room looked to her — the queen who had saved them before, the one who could not falter now.
"Your orders?" the general pleaded.
Maya stood frozen between worlds.Her hands trembled. Her voice cracked.
"Prepare the gates," she heard herself say. "I'll lead the defense."
The words echoed through the chamber — and through her soul.
The battle was chaos.
She moved through it like a storm, sword flashing, voice commanding. Soldiers rallied at her cry. Enemies fell before her.
For one wild, exultant hour, she was everything the crown promised her she could be — strong, certain, untouchable.
But then she saw it: a glimmer, a reflection, like sunlight breaking through smoke.
Aarav's face.
Not real, not there — but there enough.
His fevered eyes. His cracked whisper: Don't go, Mama.
Her sword slipped from her hand.
And with that single hesitation, the arrow found her.
When she gasped awake, she was back in her apartment, clutching her side. Her shirt was dry, but she swore she could feel the wound burning beneath her skin.
Aarav lay beside her, face pale, breath shallow. His fever had broken — but barely.
She reached for her phone. Her hand shook too hard to dial.
And for a moment, she thought about letting go. About slipping back into that other world, where her people called her savior, where her pain meant something.
But then Aarav stirred, whispering her name.
"Mama?"
That one word — small, fragile, real — pulled her back like gravity.
Maya collapsed beside him, tears spilling hot and silent.
She had chosen, she realized. Not by decree, not by speech. But by instinct. By love.
The kingdom would burn without her.
Her subjects would die calling her name.
And she would never see that sunrise again.
But here — here — her son still breathed.
And that, she decided, would have to be enough.
By morning, she was still awake, her face hollow with exhaustion. Aarav slept, color returning to his cheeks.
Maya stared at the rising sun through the window — the first dawn she'd seen in this world that didn't feel like a punishment.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure which world she meant it for.
The crown no longer pressed against her skull. The pull was gone.
But so was something else — a piece of her she knew she'd never get back.
Because even when she had chosen love, a part of her still missed the crown.
And that was the cruelest truth of all.