Chapter 13 Borrowed Warmth
Borrowed Warmth
SITARA
I’m still adjusting to the idea that this place—this palace that smells faintly of incense, old wood, and something warm I can’t name—is supposed to be mine now.
Not owned. Not ruled. Just… held.
I sit in the small sitting area adjoining my room, knees tucked under me, fingers wrapped around a cup of chai that Yagini insisted I drink before I did anything else.
The morning light filters in through tall windows, softer here than it was back home, almost kind.
Everything feels quieter, slower, like the palace itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Yagini says suddenly, plopping down beside me with the kind of careless confidence only younger sisters have.
I blink at her. “Am I that obvious?”
She grins. “Painfully.”
Before I can retort, the door opens and Rajmata steps in. She’s dressed simply today—no heavy jewellery, no stiff formality—just a light saree and that composed, steady presence that makes you feel like things will be okay even if they’re not.
“Sitara,” she says warmly, and my spine straightens on instinct. Old habits. She notices. Of course she does.
“Rajmata,” I whisper.
“Relax,” she adds gently. “And… call me Maa.”
The word lands somewhere deep in my chest, heavy and strange.
Maa.
I’ve said that word my entire life, but never like this. Never without bracing myself for disappointment. Never without calculating my tone, my posture, my timing.
I swallow. “Maa,” I repeat, softly, testing it like fragile glass.
Her smile widens—not triumphant, not possessive—just… pleased. Like she’s been waiting for that moment, but would’ve accepted it whenever I was ready. Something inside me tightens.
It’s only been a few days. A few days, and she already feels warmer than my own mother ever did.
The thought makes guilt prick at my skin, sharp and uncomfortable. My mother isn’t a monster. She has her issues—deep ones—but she’s trying now. She sends gifts. Calls occasionally. Asks how I’m doing in that careful, distant way people do when they don’t know how to bridge the gap they created.
But the look of disappointment… that never really left her face. Not when I was growing up. Not when I struggled. Not even when I tried my hardest.
She never hugged me when I was at my lowest. Not once.
She wasn’t there for me when I needed her, when I wanted her to tell me that I was okay the way I was and that no matter what people said, I wasn’t weak or ugly or…
unwanted. But instead of holding me, she became one of the reasons why I started hating myself.
I’d even started despising Veeraj and Vihaan bhai-sa because she always had a soft spot for them; while she’d been a good mother to them, she’d always point out flaws in me and Devraj bhai-sa.
I know now thatit isn’t my fault. Years of therapy taught me that. I was a child. Her inability to show warmth, to protect instead of criticize, was never on me. And if she wants reconciliation, it will take more than gifts wrapped in guilt and silence.
“You okay?” Yagini asks, nudging my knee with hers.
I realize my grip on the cup has tightened. I loosen my fingers, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just… adjusting.”
Maa nods, like she understands exactly what I’m not saying. “You don’t have to become anything overnight,” she says. “This house will move at your pace.”
My throat burns.
Yagini claps her hands suddenly. “And just so you know,” she adds dramatically, “I will always support you over my overprotective, annoying, very-perfect brother.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “You say that now.”
“Oh no,” she says solemnly. “I’ve been waiting years to take sides against him.”
I laugh—properly laugh—for the first time since yesterday, and the sound feels unfamiliar but good, like stretching a muscle I forgot I had.
For a fleeting second, my mind drifts to Ayush’s family. The stiff smiles. The measuring glances. The constant reminder that I was never quite right. I shove the thought away. I don’t want to think about him. Not today. Maybe not ever.
The phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at the screen. Bhai-sa.
My heart stutters.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, already standing.
Yagini waves me off. “Take your time.”
The moment I pick up, the screen fills with the chubby, beautiful face of my niece, Aadhya, her cheeks round and her hair sticking up in places.
“Awwww,” slips out of me before I can stop it. Long. Unapologetic.
She giggles, reaching toward the screen. “Bui bui!”
“She’s been asking about you since last night,” Meher bhabhi-sa’s voice comes from behind the camera as she takes the phone gently from Aadhya’s hands.
I regret not talking to her before leaving, but I knew if I did, I would never step out of that house; she’s just my absolute favorite human on this planet.
I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “I can’t help it if I’m a cool bua.”
She smiles fondly, then tilts the camera, and suddenly Bhai-sa is there.
He looks tired. The kind of tired that settles into the eyes and doesn’t leave.
“How are you?” he asks immediately.
“I’m fine, Bhai-sa,” I say, too quickly.
His brow furrows. “You don’t look fine.”
I shake my head, lips trembling despite my best efforts. “I am. I just… miss you guys.”
His face softens, and I watch him gulp, hard, like he’s holding something back. It makes my chest ache. “Hey,” I say softly. “It’s okay. I’ll visit soon.”
He nods, then abruptly hands the phone back to Bhabhi-sa. “He’s just not used to not having you around,” she explains gently.
Tears prick my eyes. I know neither am I.
I lost Baapu-sa early. Maa-sa was never really around for me emotionally.
Bhai-sa has always been my constant. My protector.
My anchor. He always sat with me when Maa-sa scolded me for looking the wrong way or being stuck on my tablet instead of socializing with the other princesses.
He didn’t utter a word, but he always showed me that no matter how I looked or how socially awkward I was, he was still there for me.
In his own grumpy way, he always soothed me.
So, seeing him like this hurts in ways I don’t have words for.
“Give him a hug from me,” I sniffle.
She nods, eyes shining. “Everyone misses you, Sitara. I truly hope you find happiness there.”
I see Aadhya waddling around in the background, babbling, and it makes me laugh through my tears.
“We’ll call tonight?” she asks.
I nod. “Definitely.”
The call ends.
I sit there for a moment longer, staring at my reflection on the dark screen. Then the tears finally spill, hot and unstoppable, as I bury my face in my hands.