CHAPTER 43
Suitcase and flowers
MEHER
The suitcase looks wrong against the carved rosewood of my room.
Too modern, too out of place. Its zippered edges and black wheels do not belong here, among the silks, the gilded furniture, the pale marble floor.
It looks like something I dragged in from another life, the one I had before this palace, before him.
I smooth my palm over the fabric of my dupatta and look at it again. I should close it, lock it, shove it in a corner until the morning. Instead, I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at it like it’s mocking me.
How did I come to this?
I don’t want to go. God, every part of me doesn’t want to go. But Rajmata’s words from the temple coil in my head like snakes, hissing, reminding me of every chaos that’s followed since I became Meher Singh Shekhawat—the whispered scandals, the articles, the disapproving stares.
She was right. He’s been under fire since me. And if I love him—really love him—shouldn’t I let him breathe?
The door creaks before I can chase that thought any further.
“Meher?”
His voice is low, familiar, grounding. My heart lurches violently in my chest.
Raja-sa steps inside, his presence filling the space even though he does nothing but lean lightly against the doorframe at first. His gaze falls on the suitcase almost instantly. His brows draw together.
For a moment, silence.
Then, his voice, steady but threaded with something I can’t name. “Are you going somewhere?”
My throat tightens. I should lie. I should make this easy. I force myself to nod. “Yes.”
He crosses the room in those unhurried strides of his—the kind that are somehow both graceful and commanding. He stops near the edge of the bed, eyes flicking between my face and the suitcase. “Where?”
I swallow, fighting the urge to reach for his hand right now, to hold on like a child. Instead, I hear myself say, “I think I should meet my father once. It’s… been a long time.”
He doesn’t speak right away. He sits down next to me instead, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him. His hand reaches for mine without hesitation, his fingers enveloping mine as though they’ve belonged there forever.
A lump rises in my throat so suddenly it hurts.
“Do you really have to go?” he asks softly.
I nod, afraid if I open my mouth, everything will spill out—the truth, my fear, my love, my weakness.
“I will send two guards with you.”
“Maharaj—” The word slips out sharper than I intend, and he flinches almost imperceptibly. His eyes search mine, questioning, wounded. My chest aches.
I force my voice to steady. “I am going to meet my father.”
I look away quickly, unable to bear the pull of his gaze. If I do, I will lose myself in those dark, steady eyes. I will forget every reason, every plan, every lie. And if he stays here long enough, I will break completely.
Why is this so hard?
I want to tell you, Raja-sa. I want to tell you everything. That I’m not leaving you—not really. That I could never. That all I want is to stay, always, by your side. But I cannot. Not when staying might ruin you. Not when loving me could be your undoing.
“Meher.”
My name on his lips is a whisper, tender and weighted all at once. His hand tightens around mine.
“Have I done something to make you mad?” His voice is low, careful, like he’s walking barefoot over glass. “Are you angry with me?”
My head snaps up. The idea is so absurd, so heartbreakingly innocent, I almost laugh.
“No, Raja-sa,” I say quickly, a smile tugging at my lips despite everything. “No.”
I chuckle softly, though it comes out thinner than I’d like. “I’m just… a bit nervous to meet my father.”
He studies me with that quiet intensity of his, the kind that makes me feel like I’m made of glass and he can see everything—every crack, every trembling thought.
“Do you want me to accompany you?” he asks without a pause, without hesitation, as though rearranging his entire life for me is the most natural thing in the world.
For a second, I forget to breathe. I look at this man, this king. He who wakes before dawn, whose days are carved into strict schedules of meetings, decisions, responsibilities that could crush lesser men. And yet here he is, ready to toss it all aside at a single request.
My throat burns. I shake my head quickly. “No, Raja-sa. I will be fine.”
He nods once, though his frown lingers. Then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, soft and reverent. My eyes close instinctively, my breath catching at the tenderness of it.
“When are you planning to leave?” he murmurs.
“Tomorrow morning,” I lie, smooth as silk, though inside I hate myself for it.
“Okay,” he says quietly, pushing himself to his feet.
I stand too, as though tethered to him. My chest feels tight, like it’s caving in on itself.
The words are right there on my tongue: Don’t go.
Stay. Let me keep this one night, just one night more.
But I bite them back. It’s too much. If I let him stay, if I let myself crumble now, I won’t have the strength to leave tomorrow.
“I will be here to see you off, okay?” His voice is gentle, careful.
I nod mutely, my hands clenching at my sides.
Then, without warning, he leans down and kisses me.
Not on the forehead this time, not a fleeting brush.
His lips press against mine with a slow certainty, warm, unhurried, the kind of kiss that carries both promise and ache.
My heart leaps into my throat. I melt into it, my hands clutching at his kurta before I can stop myself.
When he pulls away, my breath is unsteady. His eyes hold mine, dark and searching, as though he wants to memorize me.
“Okay,” I whisper, barely audible.
He gives me one last look before turning toward the door. I watch him go, my entire body screaming at me to stop him. But I don’t. I can’t.
The moment the door shuts, I collapse onto the bed. The air rushes out of me in a broken sigh.
Why does my life never let me hold on to someone? Why does it always demand that I let go? Somewhere, somehow, I must have wronged fate itself to deserve this endless ache.
My eyes land on the suitcase again, mocking, silent.
Except it isn’t real. Not really. Tomorrow, when everyone thinks I’m leaving for my father’s house, I’ll be heading to Jaipur instead.
The suitcase is only for show. All I’ll take with me is a backpack and some cash.
The rest of this—all of this—stays behind.
I can’t stay in this city, because I know he would try to find me and I don’t want that.
I won’t allow myself to be found because I don’t want him to suffer anymore.
I will miss the children at school. Their laughter, their ridiculous questions, their little dances. I will miss the way their eyes lit up when they finally understood something I taught. I will miss their innocence.
I will miss Sitara, too. God, she has become such a friend. A real friend. The kind you don’t need to explain yourself to, the kind who just knows when to sit quietly by your side. I never thought I’d have that.
I will miss this palace, with all its grandeur and suffocating walls. Because within these walls, I found him.
And I will miss him. I will miss him most of all. The thought of it burns in my chest until I can barely breathe.
A soft knock jolts me from my spiral.
I wipe at my face quickly and force myself upright.
When I open the door, he’s there again. Raja-sa.
But this time, he isn’t empty-handed. He holds a bouquet of flowers, freshly cut, their fragrance already filling the hall around him. His expression is softer than I’ve ever seen it, a small smile touching his lips.
“Since I won’t be going with you,” he says gently, “but it’s still your father… regardless of the things he did. Give this to him on my behalf, Meher.”
My chest tightens painfully. I can only nod, afraid my voice will betray me.
He reaches forward, presses a lingering kiss to my forehead once more, and whispers, “Good night.”
Then he turns, walking down the corridor, tall and composed, the weight of his crown invisible but always there.
I stand in the doorway long after he disappears from sight. The flowers tremble in my hands. Finally, I lift them to my face. Their scent is sweet, overwhelming. And with it, the tears I’ve been holding back spill free, hot and unstoppable.
I clutch the bouquet to my chest and let myself cry.
Because tomorrow, I will leave.
And it feels like breaking myself in two.