CHAPTER 10
Just Poorvi
POORVI
The night air is cool against my skin as we step out of the grand dining hall.
I still taste the faint spice of dinner lingering on my tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the awkward quiet stretching between us since we left the table.
The palace garden looks like something out of a dream under the night sky.
Soft yellow lamps line the stone pathways, and the fountain in the center glimmers like liquid glass.
It’s quiet except for the distant sound of crickets and the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath our steps.
Dinner ended a few minutes ago, and when Vihaan asked if I wanted to go for a small walk, I surprised myself by saying yes without hesitation.
Maybe because a part of me wants to know him beyond the royal title and the perfect smiles he flashes for cameras.
Or maybe because I don’t want to go back to that vast, silent room just yet.
We walk side by side, not too close, not too far.
The kind of distance that still allows the night breeze to slip between us.
My dupatta sways lightly with every step, and I keep adjusting it nervously, even though it’s perfectly pinned.
It’s strange how silence can feel both heavy and comforting at the same time.
“So…” I finally break it, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Tell me about yourself.”
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, almost amused. “About myself?”
“Yes,” I insist, turning to face him more fully. “I don’t know anything about you.”
He hums thoughtfully and rubs the back of his neck, like this is a bigger question than I realize. “Let me think…”
I wait, eyes fixed on him, curious.
“I love eating and reading,” he finally says, lips curling into a small smile.
I blink in surprise, my interest instantly piqued. “Reading?” The word escapes me louder than I intend, almost bouncing on my toes as excitement fills me.
His smile grows as he catches my reaction. “Yes. Reading.”
“What kind of books do you read?” I ask, leaning toward him like his answer might change the course of this night.
He chuckles softly. “I mostly read non-fiction.”
I stop dead in my tracks, staring at him like he just confessed a crime. “Non-fiction?”
“Yes,” he says slowly, watching my expression with evident amusement.
“I…” I frown dramatically, shaking my head. “I totally believe everyone has their own preferences but…” I sigh. “It still disappoints me.”
His brows shoot up, and he turns to face me fully, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “You seem… displeased.”
“I am,” I admit without shame, folding my arms across my chest.
He bursts out laughing, the sound warm and rich, echoing in the quiet night. “Alright then, tell me—what do you read, Your Highness?”
I narrow my eyes playfully at the teasing tone. “Mostly literary fiction, classics, thrillers… and sometimes romance.”
He nods in understanding, eyes gleaming like he’s filing away the information. “Give me recommendations. I’ll try something.”
I gasp dramatically, clutching my chest. “Will you?”
Before he can even respond, words tumble out of me. “Do you want to buddy-read a book with me?”
“Buddy read?” His brow furrows in confusion.
“Yes!” I exclaim, excitement making my voice louder than intended. “You know, like… we can read the same book together. In the same time frame. And then we can discuss it!”
He stares at me for a beat before smiling slowly, the kind of smile that starts in his eyes and takes its time reaching his lips. “Sure. We can do that.”
My heart does this ridiculous flip, and I beam at him. “I have always wanted to do it, but I didn’t have…” My voice falters. Anyone.
The word sticks in my throat, heavy and familiar, so I let it hang there, unfinished.
He doesn’t press, though. Just sighs softly, his gaze softening in a way that makes my chest ache. “What do you miss about your home?” he asks, voice quiet, careful.
Home. The word feels foreign. Heavy. It takes me a moment to answer because the truth is, I don’t even know what that means.
After a pause, I smile faintly and say, “Ah… I used to love gossiping with some of the maids. Janki-ji… she has seen me since I was a child. She was like a second mother to me.”
He hums in acknowledgment, his expression thoughtful. “Do you miss your mother?”
“Every day,” I reply instantly, my smile sad but steady. “She was the only one who never made me feel I was illegitimate… or unwanted.”
“You are not unwanted, Poorvi.” His words come quick, almost urgent, his voice so firm it takes me by surprise. For a moment, I believe him—truly believe him.
I swallow hard, then clear my throat and change the topic before the weight of it pulls me under. “Do you miss your parents?”
“Baapu-sa, yes,” he says, his tone dipping softer. “Maa-sa is still alive. She was… banished.”
I frown, startled. “Why?”
“She didn’t like Meher bhabhi-sa because she was a commoner. So she did things… things she shouldn’t have.”
I nod slowly, understanding the complicated threads of royal politics. “Do you think she would approve of me?”
His answer is instant, his smile easy and certain. “Absolutely. What’s there not to approve?”
“You know I am illegitimate and all,” I whisper, looking down at my feet.
He stops mid-step, and so do I, turning to face him. His eyes are sharp, serious now, as he says, “Can I say something?”
I nod hesitantly.
“This may sound harsh… but maybe you should not let people’s words affect you so much.
” His voice is calm, not unkind, but firm enough to make me listen.
“I know that’s all you’ve heard since you were a child.
But this is something that’s not your fault.
Neither can you change it. And we can’t shut people’s mouths either.
So stop letting them tell you who you are. ”
My throat tightens, my eyes stinging, but I force myself to hold his gaze as he steps closer.
“You are Poorvi. That’s all,” he continues, his voice gentler now. “Not an illegitimate child. Not Sisodiya’s hidden princess. You are just Poorvi. And you are strong. Beautiful. Kind.”
His smile is soft, almost tender, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from spilling. I nod slowly, afraid that if I speak, my voice will break.
“Just be you, Poorvi,” he says simply.
I nod again, this time with a little more strength, and we start walking again. But something shifts inside me—like a crack in a wall I didn’t know I’d built around my heart.
As we walk, I let my hand brush against his slightly, a silent thank you. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curl around mine, warm and steady, intertwining them like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I look down at our joined hands, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. When I glance up, he’s already looking at me, his gaze unreadable yet so calm it almost feels like an anchor in this storm of thoughts inside me.
Then, with his free hand, he reaches up and gently pushes my slipping spectacles back up the bridge of my nose. The gesture is so small, so intimate, it makes my breath hitch.
“Let’s go,” he whispers, voice deep and soft in the quiet night. “It’s too late.”
I nod, my heart thudding like a drum, and we walk back in silence. But it’s a different silence now—softer, like the air between us is learning how to breathe.