CHAPTER 19
The Words I Wasn’t Meant to Hear
POORVI
I am still standing there, toes curling against the carpet, my heart fluttering like a nervous bird trapped inside its cage.
“Have a good day, Poorvi.”
His voice lingers in my ears, soft and warm, but it’s the ghost of his lips against my forehead that has me rooted to the spot.
A gentle press, fleeting yet powerful enough to undo me entirely.
My skin tingles where he kissed me, and I’m sure if I touched that spot right now, it would still be warm.
I should have said something back. Something.
Oh no. I didn’t even say have a good day too.
What kind of wife forgets the simplest reply?
He must think I’m foolish. Or maybe he didn’t notice.
But he notices everything, doesn’t he? The way my glasses slip, the way I fidget with my dupatta, the way I struggle to hide the tremor in my voice. Of course, he noticed.
I bury my face in my hands, groaning softly. I should definitely go tell him now. Right? Just a quick visit. A small smile. A quiet “have a good day.” That’s all.
Is that really all, Poorvi? I bite my lip. No, maybe not. Maybe I just want to see him once more before he leaves. Maybe I want to catch another smile, the one that’s only for me. Maybe I’m being selfish.
But he’s my husband. My husband. I have the right to see him if I want to. Don’t I?
I straighten, adjusting the dupatta of my lehenga nervously, and smile to myself. Yes. That’s all I’ll do. Wish him, smile, and come back. Nothing more.
The corridors are quieter than usual this morning, though my footsteps echo far louder than I want them to. I take my time walking toward the council chamber, the walls of the palace grand and intimidating, but somehow less frightening when I remind myself he is here, somewhere behind those doors.
The guards outside glance at me respectfully. My fingers hover above the wood, ready to knock, but the muffled voices from inside stop me.
“—they played you, Vihaan.”
My stomach twists. Played him?
“They gave you the wrong princess,” the voice continues, deep and authoritative. “And you didn’t even protest.”
My heart clenches painfully, my hand freezing mid-air.
Another voice—Vihaan’s. Calm, steady, familiar. “They are known for deceiving people, anyway. It doesn’t surprise me.”
The world tilts. I stumble back, pressing my palm against the cold stone wall.
The wrong princess.
That’s what they think of me. That’s what I am to them. A mistake. A deception. Something that was slipped into their hands in place of something better.
My throat burns, and I hug myself, trying to hold the pieces of me together.
I know. I know I was never supposed to be here. I was never the daughter paraded at gatherings, never the princess introduced with pride. I was always hidden, always reminded of what I wasn’t. Illegitimate. Unwanted. A shadow living in the corners while Koyal shined in the light.
But hearing it like this, in his voice… it cuts deeper than anything my family ever said.
They played you.
Wrong princess.
And his response—calm, dismissive. As though I were not even worth the effort of surprise.
My vision blurs. I push my glasses up with trembling fingers, blinking furiously. I shouldn’t cry here. Not where anyone could see. Not where someone could walk out and catch me pressed against the wall like some desperate, eavesdropping fool.
I turn quickly, my dupatta swishing as I walk away, each step heavier than the last.
Why did I come here in the first place? To smile at him? To wish him a good day? To cling to something as small as the memory of his lips on my forehead?
How foolish of me.
Inside my chest, something cracks quietly, the way glass does when it’s about to shatter.
He doesn’t want me. He never did. He just… accepted me. Because it was convenient. Because it was expected.
I quicken my steps, almost running now, until I’m back in the safety of our chambers. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I lean against it, clutching the fabric of my saree in tight fists.
The image of him—smiling, tender, calling me family, telling me I belonged—clashes violently with the words I just heard. Which one is real? Which one is Vihaan?
The one who presses a kiss to my forehead and makes me believe, for a fleeting second, that I matter? Or the one who shrugs and accepts that he was played, saddled with the wrong princess?
Maybe both are true. Maybe neither.
I sink onto the bed, curling into myself, my chest aching. I want to believe him. I want to believe that his kindness is real, that his words to me are not just politeness or duty. But doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping around me, whispering that I should know better.
After all, who would choose me when they could have had someone else?
I close my eyes tightly, biting back the sting of tears.
The spot on my forehead still feels warm. And I hate myself for wanting to hold onto it, even when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.