CHAPTER 24
Old Walls, New Truths
VIHAAN
It has been years since I last walked through these gates.
The villa stretches out before me, vast and timeless, its white stone walls kissed golden under the early evening light.
Even now, it looks the same as it did when I was a boy.
Summers here were different—less scorching than the merciless desert sun of Rajasthan.
The air here carries a softness, a calm, like the house itself was built to give us rest from the world.
Baapu-sa would bring us here every summer.
I can still hear the echoes of our laughter running down the long corridors, Sitara’s lehenga swishing as she chased after Bhai-sa and me, Veeraj forever sneaking away into the gardens, thinking no one would find him.
Childhood seems closer in this house, as if these walls remember me.
Now I am back. Older. Heavier with everything life has carved into me, and not alone.
Poorvi is upstairs, in the guest room we will share for the four days we are staying here.
I left her there to unpack, though I know she is probably too tense to even open her suitcase.
This place is new to her. My mother is new to her.
And though I want to make it easier, I know this meeting cannot be rushed. And I know she’s too tense.
I take a steady breath before walking down the familiar hallway toward Maa-sa’s quarters. Every step drags up memories—her voice calling me to lessons, her laughter at the terrace when the monsoon broke, the silence that grew later, colder.
The door opens before I knock. And there she is.
“Vihaan,” she breathes, a smile breaking across her face before I can say a word. She pulls me into her arms, and for a moment, I am ten years old again, burying my face in her shoulder.
I smile back, holding her tighter than I expected. “It’s been a while, Maa-sa.”
“It has,” she whispers, her arms firm around me. “Too long.”
When she finally lets go, her eyes roam my face as though she’s counting the years she missed, even when it’s only been a year.
She gestures for me to sit, and we settle onto the low couches by the window.
The staff arrive silently, placing down two cups of steaming tea on the carved wooden table between us.
For a while, there is only the quiet clink of porcelain and the soft whir of the ceiling fan. Then she speaks, her tone gentle but edged with curiosity. “I saw your marriage images.”
I hum, lifting the cup to my lips. Of course she did. The whole country did.
“I also heard,” she continues, her eyes flicking to mine, “that she’s an illegitimate princess?”
The words sting not because I care, but even I am tired of the label they have given to her. Still, I nod once, controlled. “I brought her here for you to meet her,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. I take a sip of tea before adding, “Please be kind to her. She… she means a lot to me.”
Her eyes soften, and a laugh escapes her—not mocking, but sad, tired. “I’ve learnt my lesson, Vihaan. You don’t have to worry.” She inhales deeply, her gaze drifting to the window as though something far away tugs at her. “I miss my children.”
The words land heavy between us.
“How is Devraj and…?” she asks suddenly, then pauses, as if the rest of the question is too fragile to voice. She sips her tea instead.
“They are both fine,” I answer, careful. “Doing good, actually.”
Her hand trembles faintly as she sets down her cup. “How’s Sitara? And Veeraj? Veeraj visited me two months ago.”
I nod slowly. “I know.”
“He told me you seem to like the girl,” she adds.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “She’s my wife, Maa-sa. Is it surprising that I like her?”
“No,” she admits softly. Then, her eyes sharpen with an old fire. “What is surprising is you not doing anything about how the Sisodiyas played you.”
Her words hang in the air, daring me to respond.
I hum, leaning back, letting the corner of my mouth lift. “That is surprising to me, too,” I say with a short laugh. “Because I am glad I got played.”
Her brows rise, but before she can ask, I look down at my tea, swirling the amber liquid slowly. “She’s wonderful, Maa-sa. Poorvi.”
I glance at her and continue before doubt can choke me.
“She is kind. Too kind, sometimes. She thinks of herself as a burden… as someone who is lower than everyone else. But she isn’t.
She’s strong in ways she doesn’t even see.
Bold, even when she’s trembling. She is beautiful—in and out.
And even in silence… I find comfort with her. ”
The words come easier the more I speak. My chest loosens, my shoulders drop.
“It’s rare for me,” I confess, lowering my voice.
“I have always run around since I was a child—always chasing something, proving something, fighting something. But with her… I want to stop. To sit beside her. To relax. To spend time with her. She’s starting to…
” I pause, the word heavy, raw. “…become important to me.”
When I finally look up, Maa-sa is smiling. Not the polite smiles she wore at court, not the guarded ones I grew used to—but a real smile, warm and soft.
“You look happy,” she says simply. “It makes me happy.”
I swallow hard, something burning in my chest. I smile back. “I’m glad.”
Her gaze drops to her lap, her fingers twisting together. “I wish I was different with Devraj,” she whispers. “I must have been out of my mind.”
“You were, Maa,” I reply, rising to my feet. I don’t soften the truth, because I know she wouldn’t want me to. “Apologize to him. Maybe then… maybe he’ll let you back in. He has always craved your love. So has Sitara. Give them that. They deserve it.”
Her eyes glisten, but she nods. Slowly, like each movement carries years of regret.
I place my cup back on the table and straighten. “I’ll go bring her to you now.”
Her smile wavers, fragile but hopeful. “Yes. Bring her.”
As I walk back through the hallways, I feel the shift inside me.
This house carries echoes of a boy who never felt settled, who never stopped running, running from what?
He didn’t know. But somewhere upstairs, in a room that smells faintly of lavender and vanilla, is the woman who makes me want to stop.