CHAPTER 29
A Night of Laughter and warmth
POORVI
The palace feels different tonight. Less like the intimidating labyrinth of stone and silence I have grown used to, and more like… home. A strange thought, one I quickly brush aside. Home is not a place I’ve ever claimed easily.
Still, when Sitara bursts into my chambers with a bowl of popcorn in her hands and a mischievous grin on her lips, it is difficult not to smile.
“Movie night,” she announces as though it is the grandest decree. “You, me, and Meher bhabhi-sa. No excuses.”
Meher follows behind her, quieter, gentler, carrying blankets folded over her arm. “She’s been planning this all day,” she says, amused.
I blink, surprised. “A… movie night?”
“Yes,” Sitara insists, already pulling me toward the seating cushions she’s ordered spread out in the smaller lounge of the palace. “The projector is ready, snacks are ready, and you are definitely ready because you need this.”
I laugh a little under my breath, but something warm blooms in my chest. No one has ever thought I needed something before.
We settle down, the screen flickers to life, and soon the room is filled with the glow of moving pictures. Sitara sprawls between us like a queen herself, her hair a wild halo against the cushions, while Meher sits gracefully with her legs folded to the side, passing popcorn to the both of us.
The film plays, but our laughter is louder. Sitara makes running commentary, mocking the hero’s dramatic dialogues. Meher hides her face in the blanket when the heroine cries, whispering, “Why do they always make women weep like this?”
I find myself laughing until my stomach aches, until my eyes sting from smiling. For once, my chest doesn’t feel tight.
And then—
The door creaks open.
“Are you three plotting something dangerous without me?”
The deep voice makes me jolt. Sitara squeals, immediately sitting up. “Bhai-sa!”
Devraj Bhai-sa steps in, composed as always, though a rare hint of amusement tugs at his mouth. “You cannot steal my wife and not invite me,” he says, eyes sliding to Meher, who flushes faintly but smiles.
My own lips part in surprise. I’ve never seen this side of him—the warmth beneath the reservation, the man who steps into a room not as a king, but as a husband.
Before I can gather my thoughts, another voice joins, low and far too familiar. “And I cannot let Bhai-sa have all the fun.”
My head whips around.
Vihaan.
He slips in through the half-open door, that smile—polished, yet real—playing on his lips. “I saw Bhai-sa sneaking in. Thought I’d try it too.”
My heart stumbles in my chest. The memory of those words—the wrong princess—echoes, sharp and unyielding, and yet the sight of him standing here, tall and self-assured, makes my breath catch.
Sitara grins like a cat with cream. “Now this is better! But why leave Veeraj bhai-sa out? Wait.” She fishes her phone from the cushions and dials. “He’s going to complain if we don’t call him.”
“Oh no,” Devraj mutters under his breath.
Five minutes later, the door swings open again, and Veeraj Kunwar-sa strides in, his expression thunderous. “What emergency required me to leave my peace at this hour?”
“Movie night,” Sitara declares proudly.
He stares at her. “You called me for this?”
“Yes,” she says sweetly. “Don’t be grumpy. Sit down.”
“I am not grumpy.”
“You’re always grumpy,” Vihaan cuts in smoothly, leaning against the arm of a chair.
Veeraj Kunwar-sa shoots him a look, but Sitara giggles, tugging him toward the cushions. To my astonishment, he doesn’t resist much. He settles on the edge, his arms crossed, but he stays.
The room feels alive.
Sitara keeps the banter going, teasing both her brothers mercilessly. “Look at you, sneaking like children,” she says to bhai-sa and Vihaan. “Kings and princes, yet not brave enough to announce you wanted popcorn.”
Devraj shakes his head, reserved but indulgent. “If I announced it, Sitara, you’d have ordered me out.”
“Correct,” she chirps.
Meher chuckles softly. “She’s not wrong.”
The conversation flows like water. Jibes from Sitara, dry remarks from Veeraj Kunwar-sa, Vihaan countering with smooth wit, and Bhai-sa offering the occasional low reply that carries more weight in its silence than in words.
I sit quietly at first, watching, learning. It feels like stepping into the middle of a dance I don’t know the steps to. But gradually, the rhythm pulls me in. A teasing comment here, a laugh there, and suddenly, I am part of their circle.
And then—without warning—Vihaan’s arm brushes mine.
I freeze.
The film flickers on, but all I feel is the slow, deliberate warmth of his presence. His arm shifts, sliding lightly, almost carelessly, around my shoulders.
My first instinct is to move away. To remind myself of his words, of the wound still fresh inside me.
But I don’t.
Because for all the hurt that memory brings, the warmth of his touch is grounding, safe in a way I haven’t known in years. His scent—sandalwood, faint smoke from the earlier puja—wraps around me, and my eyes sting.
I stare at the screen without seeing it. Inside, I am torn. Between the ache of betrayal and the undeniable comfort of this moment. Between the voice in my head whispering wrong princess and the whisper in my heart insisting safe.
I don’t move.
Not even when Sitara leans forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Poorvi bhabi-sa, you’re very quiet,” she says suddenly. “Don’t let them drown you out. Trust me, they all need to be humbled.”
The others chuckle, but my lips only curve faintly. I don’t trust my voice right now.
Instead, I let myself lean—just slightly—into the warmth beside me.
For tonight, just tonight, maybe that is enough.