26. VELOCITY OF LONELINESS
DIYA
My phone starts vibrating against the marble vanity, and the moment Papa flashes across the screen, my chest tightens.
For one stupid second, I let myself hope. Maybe he's calling to ask if I'm settling in. Maybe he wants to know if I'm okay. Maybe—the thought dies before it can even take shape. I am just being sentimental. I sigh before answering the call.
I pick up the call and step out onto the quiet balcony overlooking the palace gardens.
"Diya." His voice is as cold and formal as ever.
"I watched the interview yesterday. Your little story about the pillar seems to have satisfied the media, but that's not why I'm calling."
I grip the phone a little tighter. "You are a Goyal representing the family in the Shekhawat palace now. Don't get too comfortable. Don't let that loud mouth of yours create problems, and don't embarrass the Shekhawats with your childish behavior."
I shut my eyes. "They've done us a huge favor by accepting you despite your . . . limitations. Behave yourself. Do what they expect of you. Don't ruin this alliance."
The call disconnects. Just like that.
No ‘How are you?’ No ‘Are you settling in?’ No ‘Take care.’
Nothing. He could have just sent a voice note of this monologue. I roll my eyes and slowly lower my phone and stare at the perfectly trimmed gardens below.
It shouldn't hurt anymore.
It really shouldn't.
I've lived with this for twenty years. Since they adopted me.
I should get used to it. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself I'd built walls around my heart thick enough that his words couldn't reach me anymore.
Turns out . . . They still do.
I rest my hands against the balcony railing and let out a slow breath.
Sometimes I wonder what I did so wrong. When I was younger, I tried so hard to make them proud.
I wore full sleeves even during summer because they said people stared too much at my skin.
I learned to stay quiet during family dinners because Papa said I spoke too much.
I stopped asking for hugs because Maa never hugged back anyway.
I spent years shrinking myself, hoping one day they'd look at me with even a little pride.
They never did. Even breakfasts with Veeraj's family felt . . . surreal. It should make me happy. Instead, it leaves a hollow ache inside me.
Watching people tease each other. Watching them laugh together. Watching someone ask if you've eaten without expecting something in return . . . It feels so normal for them.
So foreign to me. I never realize how much I crave a family until I actually see one.
And now . . . now I can't stop thinking about it. The silence around me suddenly feels too loud. The balcony door slides open behind me. I quickly wipe at the corner of my eyes before turning around.
Veeraj walks into the room, completely unaware of the emotional mess standing on the balcony. He tosses his keys onto the dresser before unbuttoning his formal shirt. Underneath is a dark grey T-shirt. He reaches into the wardrobe and pulls out his leather riding jacket.
Bike ride.
Of course.
Normally I wouldn't care.
But the thought of spending the rest of the evening alone inside this enormous palace with nothing except my own thoughts suddenly feels unbearable. A strange panic settles in my stomach.
I'm lonely.
God, I hate admitting that.
Even to myself.
And I'd rather swallow glass than admit it to him. "Where are you going?" I ask as I step back into the room, crossing my arms.
He slips into his jacket. "Out." He reaches for his helmet. "For a ride."
"I'm coming." I don't even give myself time to think before walking toward the wardrobe for my denim jacket.
He steps sideways, blocking my path.
His brows pull together. "No."
I look up at him. "No?"
"I ride alone." His voice stays calm. "It's late." He picks up his keys. "And I don't feel like being an unpaid chauffeur for one of your dramatic speeches tonight."
I roll my eyes. "Oh please, don't flatter yourself, Your Highness."
I purposely look somewhere around his shoulder instead of directly into his eyes. "I'm not coming because your company is fascinating."
He waits. I clear my throat dramatically. "The ventilation in this palace is absolutely terrible tonight."
His eyebrow rises. "I've decided I'm feeling . . . mildly claustrophobic."
He says nothing. "If I stay in this room another hour, I'll probably die from lack of oxygen." Still nothing. "And then your precious board will have to explain why their brand-new princess passed away because nobody opened a window."
His face remains unreadable. "So really . . . " I shrug. "This is more of a medical emergency than a social outing."
Silence.
He simply looks at me. Really looks. His eyes linger on my face a second longer than usual. On the tightness in my jaw. On the way I'm gripping my jacket far too tightly.
For one terrifying moment, I wonder if he can see straight through every ridiculous excuse I've just made. If he can somehow tell that my father has managed to ruin my entire day with one phone call.
His expression doesn't change. He lets out a slow sigh. The kind that sounds deeply tired. "Fine."
The word comes out like he's agreeing under protest.
"But if you complain about your hair . . . " He picks up his helmet. " . . . or my speed . . . " He opens the bedroom door. " . . . I'm leaving you on the side of the highway."
"I never complain," I say with complete confidence.
He gives me a look. A long one. Neither of us believes that statement.
Still as I hurry after him down the hallway, something inside my chest eases.
The loneliness doesn't disappear. Not completely. But with every step away from that room . . . And with him walking quietly beside me . . . The weight pressing against my lungs becomes just a little easier to breathe through.