CHAPTER 3
The ceiling fan was noisy.
Yamini switched it off, but the heat rose almost immediately, thick and suffocating. With a sigh, she turned it back on and resigned herself to the squeaky noise while she applied for jobs in her tiny rented apartment.
She leaned back in the flimsy wooden chair and looked at her laptop resting on the folding table that doubled as a desk. The apartment was just enough for one person. There was a narrow bed against the wall, a folding table, and a small kitchenette that somehow made the space feel even smaller.
Pooja had insisted she stay with her until she saved enough money for a better place. But Yamini refused. Although her friend meant well, Yamini didn’t want to rely on anyone but herself. She had been doing so for the past five years.
Barely a few weeks after she had impulsively left home, she had realized that the man she married made a fun companion, but he was far from being reliable.
With a sigh, she pushed those thoughts away. No point in hashing the past.
She was just about to return to the job hunt when her phone rang.
Pooja.
With a small smile, she answered. “Good morning… or rather afternoon.”
“You’re famous,” Pooja announced.
Yamini groaned, leaning back carefully against the wobbly chair. “Please tell me you mean my photography is famous.”
“Oh yes,” Pooja said cheerfully. “You are completely irrelevant. Your photos, however? Chaos.”
Yamini let out a relieved breath. “What happened?”
“What didn’t happen?” Pooja replied. “The environmental group is thrilled. The minister’s office called twice. And—” she paused dramatically “—the gossip pages are on fire.”
“About…?”
“About him!” Pooja said excitedly.
Yamini didn’t need the name. She recalled the previous day’s event. The helicopter, the dark suit, the sunglasses, the way he stood out in the crowd like a king while being fawned over by the elite crowd.
“I sent you the links.”
Yamini pulled her phone away from her ear and opened the message thread that had three links.
All different publications. All with dramatic headlines.
ROYAL RUMOURS: IS MAHARAJA BHARAT SINGH JOGRA THE NEXT ROYAL TO brEAK TRADITION?
WHO IS THE WOMAN BESIDE THE STEEL KING? WILL RANI SUCHITRA APPROVE?
AFTER RAM KRISHNA DEVARA, BHARAT SINGH JOGRA? RANI SUCHITRA’S ROYAL FAMILY BUZZES WITH SPECULATION.
Yamini tapped the first one, and slowly a photo filled the screen.
Bharat Jogra stood tall, posture straight, sunglasses in place. Beside him stood Tina Mehta, the chief minister’s daughter, looking at him as though the sun rose because of him.
The news article speculated about their relationship and possible impending wedding.
“People are obsessed with Rani Suchitra Devi and her maharaja sons,” Pooja said. “Although Rani Suchitra provides glimpses of her philanthropic work and is seen socializing in the elite circles, the royal family’s private lives remain highly guarded from the media.”
Yamini was glad that Rani Suchitra kept a tight leash on the private lives of the royal family.
Or the scandal from five years ago would have been made public.
Taking a deep breath, Yamini scrolled through the comments. Most of them were about Rani Suchitra, but Yamini read the ones about Bharat and rolled her eyes.
More handsome than a movie star.
Intimidating.
Reserved.
Yamini almost laughed at the wildly misguided comment that called the Jogra maharaja "handsome Prince Charming".
Some of the comments stated that it would be a fairytale to marry the handsome Jogra maharaja and live in his large palace surrounded by the snowcapped mountains.
She nearly scoffed.
There was nothing charming about a man who could stand across from you and make you feel like you didn’t exist.
She knew whoever married him would live a lonely life with endless days filled with royal duties. There would be no laughter, conversation, or teasing.
But what did choosing a marriage with laughter, conversation, and teasing bring you?
The sudden thought burned in her mind.
Her gaze shifted to the suitcase in the corner. Inside were a few old dresses, fake jewelry she had bought after selling the originals, and a divorce certificate folded at the bottom.
Her ex-husband had been charming. Easy to talk to. Fun. But he had also cheated on her and emptied their joint account.
She had once thought running away from a privileged life was freedom. Now she knew better. Freedom was expensive. And rebuilding it would take time.
She needed stability. Savings. Something of her own.
One day, she told herself, she would open her own photography studio. A proper space. Good equipment. Work that didn’t depend on scrambling for the next assignment.
But for now, she needed money.
“By the way,” Pooja said, breaking through her thoughts, “I’ve got two new offers. A wedding in Jaipur and an exhibition in Mumbai.”
“That’s amazing. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Pooja said. “Which also means, you have two new assignments.”
Yamini smiled. “I guess I do.”
“Alright. I’ve got to go. A meeting with a client. I have a feeling they want to hire me because they think I might have access to Rani Suchitra’s Royal house.”
Yamini laughed. “Have fun.”
The call ended, and the room fell quiet again.
Yamini sat still for a moment.
Her thoughts raced. But they weren’t about the event or the cold maharaja or the chief minister’s daughter. She thought of people who mattered to her.
Before she lost her nerve, she picked up her phone again. There was one call she had been avoiding since she returned.
Her previous number had been blocked, but now she was calling from a new one.
Her thumb hovered briefly before she pressed the dial.
The phone rang three times before it was answered.
“Hello?” A familiar woman’s voice came through the speaker.
Hope flared instantly. “Ma.”
There was a pause. “Yamini?”
“Yes, Ma,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to check on you. How are you, Ma?”
Yamini heard a faint sniffle. “I’m fine. How are you managing?”
The concern in that simple question tightened her chest. “I’m okay, Ma,” she said, steadying her voice. “I’ve moved back to India.”
A stunned silence followed.
“I heard…” her mother said in a hesitant tone. “You’re divorced now. Your father told me a few weeks ago. I was worried.”
Yamini swallowed. “Yes, Ma. But don’t worry—”
A sharp sound cut her off. She heard her mother’s muffled protest before another voice came through.
“Yamini.” Her father’s voice was harsh and furious.
Yamini sucked in a breath. “Papa—”
“I already told you not to call us again,” he said sharply.
“I just wanted to speak to Ma—”
“You’ve done enough,” he cut in. “Because of you, our family name is ruined.”
The words hit harder than she expected.
“Papa, I didn’t mean to—”
“You humiliated us,” he said. “And you humiliated one of the most powerful royal families in the country.”
Her eyes burned. “Papa, I was young. I-I thought I was in love.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he replied coldly. “You’ll live with the consequences of your mistakes.”
“Please, Papa. I don’t want anything. I just want to talk to you and Ma. I’m still your daughter—”
“No,” he said flatly. “You are no longer our daughter. You made your choice five years ago. Stay away from us.”
The line went dead.
Yamini stood still, the phone pressed to her ear long after the call ended.
Slowly, she lowered it.
The fan rattled overhead. A horn blared somewhere outside.
Everything continued as if nothing had happened.
Mistake.
Disgrace.
Consequences.
The words echoed in her mind cruelly.
She had survived a broken marriage, empty accounts, and starting over from nothing.
But the cold silence from her family was shattering. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Before another tear could form, she wiped her face and straightened her back.
“No,” she said firmly under her breath. “I will not break.”
Taking a deep breath, Yamini steadied herself.
She loved her family. But their love was conditional. She knew there was no point in crying over that fact.
She turned back to her laptop. The screen was crowded with open tabs of photography agencies, editorial houses, conservation NGOs, and travel magazines. She moved from one application to the next with quiet focus, attaching her portfolio, adjusting cover letters, and sending them out one by one.
Her hand paused when a new email appeared.
The sender was familiar. A well-reputed international agency. They wanted her to return to her previous work.
For a moment, she just stared at the screen.
A part of her was tempted. That life had been stable. Predictable and safe.
She had come back to India for her family. Now, she wasn’t sure what she had come back to.
Her phone rang again, cutting through her morbid thoughts.
Hope flared instantly as she recalled how her mother called her when her father wasn’t around.
Yamini answered quickly. “Hello—”
“Yamini!” Pooja’s voice burst through. “You are not going to believe this!”
Yamini felt her hope fade.
Taking another deep breath, she leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess,” she said lightly. “More gossip about the maharaja?”
Pooja laughed. “No, silly. This is about you.”
Yamini straightened. “About me?”
“Yes! You’ve received an offer for a PR environmental project. Massive, high-visibility, with international stakeholders. Clean-energy messaging, sustainability, rebranding, and everything.”
Yamini frowned slightly. “PR?” She had expected another event.
“Yes, they want documentary-style photography,” Pooja continued. “Not staged nonsense. Real visuals. Ground impact. You’d be perfect. And—” Pooja lowered her voice dramatically. “—they’re paying very well.”
Pooja named the amount.
Yamini went still.
“What?” she asked, feeling stunned.
Pooja repeated it, slower this time.
Yamini stared at the cracked wall across from her. The amount wasn’t just good, it was absurd. It would cover her rent for months. A studio. Equipment upgrades. A fresh start.
“That’s…” Yamini swallowed. “That can’t be real.”
“It is,” Pooja said. “And they specifically asked for someone discreet, talented, and not attached to any media house or publication. The project starts next week and will extend up to six months or more. And they are ready to send you the contract tomorrow to sign!”
Yamini continued to stare at the wall. The number ran through her mind again.
She could afford a better place. Rent a photography studio, buy equipment, and gain stability.
A future.
“What about the wedding events you recently got?” she asked.
“I’ll handle those with my usual team,” Pooja said immediately. “You are not missing this.”
Yamini exhaled slowly.
This wasn’t just a job. It was a chance.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll take it.”
Pooja whooped. “I’ll confirm with them. Expect a call soon.”
The line disconnected.
The apartment fell quiet again.
The ache from her father’s words remained. But beneath it, something else began to take shape again. Hope.
She would take the project. She would rebuild.
This wasn’t just work. It was a way forward.
A fresh start.