Chapter Things that hurt
Things that hurt
SITARA
Evenings in this palace are deceptively gentle.
The light softens first—slanting gold through carved windows, settling lazily on marble floors like it belongs there. Then the noise follows suit. Doors close with less urgency, footsteps slow, voices lower. It’s as if the entire place exhales together, shedding the stiffness of the day.
I sit with Maa and Yagini in the smaller sitting area, legs tucked beneath me, hands wrapped around a porcelain cup that’s gone lukewarm without me noticing.
Yagini is talking—animated as always—about a debate she had in class today, something about a professor who refuses to accept any opinion that doesn’t mirror his own.
Maa listens with half a smile, occasionally interjecting with a dry comment that makes Yagini roll her eyes dramatically.
I watch them, quiet.
It still surprises me how easy it feels to be here. How little I feel like I’m performing.
A soft knock interrupts us, and two staff members enter, each carrying a plate. Chocolate pastries. Rich, glossy, unapologetically indulgent. The kind that smells like it doesn’t care about guilt or calories or restraint.
My stomach tightens before I can stop it.
They place one plate in front of Maa, one in front of Yagini.
I wait.
Seconds pass. No third plate.
Maa glances around, brows drawing together slightly. “Where’s Sitara’s?”
One of the staff members bows politely. “Rani-sa’s maid informed us that she wouldn’t be eating dessert today.”
Something inside me dips. Not sharply. Not enough to hurt outright. Just enough to notice. I never said anything of that sort to Maya, so why would she? But it doesn’t feel right to bring it up, so I decide to stay quiet.
“Oh,” I say quickly, before anyone else can react. I smile, light and easy, like this is nothing. “It’s fine.”
Yagini’s head snaps toward me. “No, it’s not.” She frowns, already halfway out of her seat. “Why wouldn’t you eat? This is from a bakery in Ranakpur—the one with the seventy-year-old chocolatier who refuses to sell outside the state.” She turns to the staff. “This is that one, right?”
“Yes, Rajkumari sa.”
She looks back at me, eyes narrowed. “You’re eating.”
I laugh weakly. “Yagini—”
“Nope, I specifically ordered it because it’s a crime that you have been here for two months and still haven’t had it. So,” she slides her plate toward me, “non-negotiable.”
Maa watches the exchange quietly, her gaze thoughtful but not unkind.
I hesitate.
This shouldn’t be hard. It’s just cake. I’m not allergic. I’m not being punished. No one is watching me with judgment in their eyes. No one has said anything unkind. And yet—The reluctance sits heavy in my chest.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
I take a small bite. The pastry melts on my tongue, rich and perfect, and for a brief moment, I let myself enjoy it. Really enjoy it.
Yagini beams. “See? Happiness.”
I smile back, hoping it reaches my eyes.
It doesn’t. Later, after dinner and my evening walk through the inner gardens, I return to my room.
The door is ajar.
My stomach drops instantly.
Maya is inside.
She’s smoothing the bedsheets with practiced movements, her back to me. The lamp is on, casting a warm glow that feels suddenly intrusive. She turns when she hears me, lips curving into a smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes.
“Rani-sa,” she says pleasantly.
I try to return the smile.
It doesn’t come.
“I thought,” she continues lightly, tucking a corner of the blanket just so, “you decided to lose weight after last time.”
The words land softly. Too softly.
I blink. “What?”
She chuckles, as if embarrassed on my behalf. “It’s okay. I get it. It must be hard to control your desires for food.” She tilts her head, considering me. “After all, some people are just… made to eat.”
The sentence hangs in the air. She laughs—quick, airy—and steps past me toward the door. “Good night, Rani-sa.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click. I stand there long after she’s gone. The room feels different now. Smaller. Tighter. Like the walls have leaned in just enough to listen.
I exhale slowly and sit on the edge of the bed.
I know what she’s doing. I know that. She’s trying to get into my head. So why is it working?
I press my palms against my thighs, grounding myself.
No one here has treated me differently because of my body.
Not once. Dhruv has never looked at me with anything but warmth—steady, unwavering.
And yet—Maya has known him since childhood.
She’s been here longer than I have. She knows this palace, its people, its unspoken rules.
What if she’s right?
What if kindness is just that—kindness?
My phone buzzes on the bedside table, startling me out of the spiral.
Vihaan bhai-sa.
I answer before I can think too much. “Hello?”
“Sitara,” he says immediately, relief threading his voice. “You alive over there?”
I laugh, the sound breaking something tight in my chest. “Barely.”
Poorvi’s voice filters in from the background. “What do you mean barely, is someone not treating you well? Also, hi, Sitara.”
“Hi,” I say softly.
“How was your day?” Vihaan asks.
I glance around the room—the flowers, the soft light, the life I’m still learning how to occupy. “It was… fine.”
There’s a pause.
“You sure,” he says gently.
My throat tightens.
“I’m okay,” I repeat, this time more to myself than to him. “I promise.”
Poorvi hums knowingly. “Just remember,” she says, “you can always talk to us.”
I close my eyes. “I know,” I whisper. I shift the conversation to Poorvi’s clinic because I can’t think of anything else.
She talks about how things are going great and people are coming more in terms with therapy, and that she has a mental health awareness seminar soon.
Vihaan bhai-sa interjects with his ‘my wife is too busy for me’ comments, which make me laugh at how desperately in love he is. I love that for my brother.
After half an hour, the call ends. I sit there for a long time, staring at nothing in particular.
I remind myself of what Dhruv made me do this morning.
Three good things.
My eyes look pretty in sunlight.
My cheeks are naturally rosy.
I like my nose.
It doesn’t erase the sting. But it steadies me, and somehow that’s helpful. For now.