IS HE IN HIS RIGHT MIND?
ANAMIKA
By half past eleven, the entire kitchen knows my name. The message arrives through one of the footmen, spoken in the calm, practiced tone reserved for palace instructions. "Hukum wants to see Anamika Srivastava in his study."
The knife stills in my hand. For one suspended second, even the kitchen seems quieter.
Then I feel it. Every single pair of eyes turns toward me. Some curious. Some sympathetic. Some openly alarmed, as though they've already decided I've accidentally committed some unforgivable mistake on only my second day.
Exactly what I had been trying to avoid.
Attention.
I lower the knife onto the chopping board before anyone notices my fingers trembling. Beside me, Radha gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," she murmurs with an encouraging smile.
It feels absurdly similar to the way teachers used to pat students before difficult exams. I smile back because I don't trust myself to speak.
By the time I untie my apron and step out of the kitchen, my heart has already raced several corridors ahead of me. The walk to his study feels impossibly long. Every corridor gives my mind another opportunity to imagine disaster.
Maybe he wants answers. Maybe yesterday left as many questions in his mind as it did in mine. Maybe he simply wants to know why the girl who once disappeared to chase impossible dreams is suddenly serving coffee inside his palace.
Or perhaps . . . Perhaps this has nothing to do with yesterday at all. Maybe I broke some palace rule without realizing. Maybe I addressed someone incorrectly. Maybe staff aren't supposed to leave before being dismissed.
Maybe—No. Don't spiral.
Breathe.
Another possibility slips in anyway. Perhaps he's going to ask me to leave.
Not cruelly, because he doesn’t have that in him, even after so many years I could tell. Maybe . . . politely. The sort of gentle conversation powerful people have when they're trying not to make someone feel small.
It'll be better for everyone, Anamika.
Given our history . . . perhaps another workplace would be more appropriate.
The thought settles heavily inside my stomach. By the time I stop outside the familiar wooden doors, my palms are damp enough that I discreetly wipe them against my apron.
I knock. Almost immediately, his voice reaches me.
"Come in."
I push the door open.
He's standing by the window. Not behind his desk this time. The afternoon sun spills through the glass behind him, wrapping the room in warm amber light while leaving half his face hidden in shadow.
For a moment . . . I simply look at him. He used to wear every emotion on his face.
Annoyance.
Embarrassment.
Excitement.
Jealousy.
Everything.
Now . . . Nothing.
Years have carved restraint into him so completely that I wonder if this is what his parents always wanted. A king who never lets anyone see what he's feeling. The thought makes my chest ache unexpectedly.
I quietly close the door behind me. My hands instinctively clasp together in front of me. Staff posture. The exact posture Maa stood in for years. Eyes lowered. Back straight. Waiting.
Silence stretches between us. It isn't awkward. It's heavy.
As though both of us are searching for a place to begin and finding too many unfinished conversations instead.
He sighs before he speaks. "You . . . " His voice is quieter than I expected. Almost rough. "You didn't even think of coming to see me." He pauses. "After you come back."
I swallow. My throat suddenly feels too tight. "It would've been inappropriate . . . " The word catches. " . . . sir."
His eyes close. Not dramatically. Just briefly. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhales. "Please." His voice softens. "Don't call me that."
Something inside me shifts painfully. He opens his eyes again. And for the first time since yesterday . . . I let myself really look at him. The familiar boy is still there. Hidden beneath sharper features.
Broader shoulders. Years of responsibility.
The easy smile he once wore so effortlessly has become rare now, replaced by a quiet composure that somehow makes him even harder to read.
Life hasn't hardened him. It's simply . . . made him carry more.
"How are you?" He whispers. Such an ordinary question. Such an impossible one.
How do I answer that? Do I tell him about Mumbai?
About surviving instead of living? About hospital corridors.
Unpaid rent. Endless job applications. The loneliness of becoming a mother when everyone else quietly walked away.
About losing Maa. About learning that grief doesn't stop simply because your child needs dinner. About . . . Sara’s father? A thousand truths crowd my throat.
Only one escapes.
"I'm okay." I lower my gaze. "How are you?"
His answer comes without hesitation. "I missed you."
I blink. Certain that I heard him wrong. My eyes lift to his automatically. He's watching me with that same quiet honesty that always made lying impossible. A sad smile touches his lips. "That surprising?"
"No." The word slips out before I think. Then I laugh awkwardly. "You still don't think before speaking."
A tiny smile appears. "I hardly speak anymore." His eyes never leave mine. "I just don't like pretending." A beat passes as his eyes travel between mine, "Especially with you."
My chest tightens. The room suddenly feels too warm. I look away first. "Why . . . why did you call me here?"
Something changes in his expression. The softness remains. But beneath it . . .Resolve. "I need your help."
I frown. "My help?"
He nods once. "The council has been after me for years." He holds my gaze before looking away, outside towards the sky, "They want me married."
I stare. Still trying to understand where this conversation is heading. He takes one slow step closer. Not enough to invade my space. Just enough that I can feel the weight of his attention. "I need a wife."
My heart skips.
Then stumbles.
I force a nervous laugh. "I'm . . . not sure how I can help with that."
He doesn't smile. He simply looks at me. "Marry me."
Everything inside me stops. The room doesn't spin. It simply ceases to make sense. For one long moment, I hear every word individually.
Marry.
Me.
None of them fit together. I realise I'm standing only after I've already taken a step backwards. "I . . . " Nothing comes out. "I can't." The words finally arrive in a whisper. "I'm sorry."
He rises slowly from where he'd been leaning against the desk. Unlike me . . . He looks perfectly calm.
"Why me?" I ask.
The question leaves before I can stop it. He answers immediately. "Because you know me."
A laugh escapes me. "So much has changed." I shake my head. "I'm not that girl anymore."
"I know."
"I'm not the annoying little shadow who followed you everywhere."
His brows draw together instantly. "You were never annoying." His voice is firm. "I have never thought that of you. Not once." The certainty in his tone almost hurts. I force myself to keep talking before I lose courage.
"I have a daughter." I wait for a surprise.
Judgment.
Questions.
Anything.
None of it comes. His expression doesn't change. Not even slightly. Only his eyes soften. "She's my whole world." My voice grows steadier. "I need this job."
"I need stability."
"I can't risk . . . "
"You think I'd ever see her as a problem?" His interruption is quiet. But unwavering.
I stare. "I don't want to burden—"
"Anamika." The way he says my name makes me stop speaking altogether. "You . . . " His jaw tightens. " . . . or anyone who comes with you . . . " His voice drops. " . . . can never be a burden to me."
Silence settles between us.
The words linger. Too sincere to dismiss. Too dangerous to believe.
"Sara." Her name escapes before I can stop it.
His entire face softens. "I know." A tiny smile appears on his beautiful face. "I read your HR file yesterday." He lets out the smallest laugh. "She looks adorable."
My own lips betray me. "She is," A fond smile slips through despite everything. "Except when she's being stubborn."
"So . . . " His eyes brighten slightly. "She takes after her mother.
" A laugh escapes both of us at almost the same time.
Just for one fleeting second . . . The years disappear.
It's only us again. Two old friends laughing over something ridiculously ordinary.
The feeling vanishes almost immediately.
I straighten. "No." I shake my head. "Whatever this is . . . I can't. You could marry anyone."
"I don't want anyone." His answer is immediate.
It silences me completely.
"Why?"
The question hangs between us. He doesn't answer right away.
Instead . . . He looks past me. Toward nothing. A tired smile touches his lips. "I'm still . . . " He exhales softly. " . . . the same lonely man you took pity on."
My heart aches. "I never pitied you." His eyes return to mine. The smile this time is gentler.
"You knew me." He pauses. "You still do." He gulps and inhales deeply, "I've never . . . " He searches briefly for the right words. " . . . opened myself up to another person the way I did with you."
A long silence follows.
"Daisy." The nickname breaks something inside me.
I can almost smell fresh flowers. Hear children's laughter. See tiny hands stuffing daisies into everyone's pockets because I couldn't bear the thought of anyone feeling left out.
Only he had ever looked at those flowers .
. . and looked at me differently because of them.
"For old times' sake." His voice is quiet now.
"Help me." His eyebrows furrow, only a bit, "I promise you .
. . " His eyes don't leave mine. "I'll take care of Sara.
No matter what." He tilts his head slightly, the determination making his eyes shine, "You know I will. "
And that's the problem.
I do know.
I know exactly the kind of man standing in front of me. If he gives his word . . . He'll keep it. Not for weeks. Not for months.
For life.
The certainty terrifies me more than uncertainty ever could. I feel my resistance begin to crack. Just around the edges. The man I've loved for longer than I can remember is asking me to marry him. Every forgotten dream I buried years ago suddenly stirs beneath the surface.
For one dangerous moment . . . I want to say yes. So badly that it frightens me. But that girl boarded a train years ago. The woman standing here carries responsibilities instead of dreams. She carries grief. Fear. Secrets. A daughter whose future will always matter more than her own heart.
I take a slow breath. "I can't say yes." My voice surprises me with how steady it sounds. "Not unless my daughter says yes first."
I meet his eyes. "She comes before everything." His eyes are still so stunning, I always felt like I was looking into a bottomless cup of dark roasted coffee, they possess a gravitational pull that feels both safe and endlessly captivating, "Whatever this is . . . It has to begin with her."