12. Divorce ✨

Hey yrra's 🩷 ,

College is going well, and I'm feeling much happier now. I was a bit confused at first, but things are starting to fall into place.

I'm just missing my mom a lot today since it's her birthday. ❤️

I've just finished writing this chapter. Since I'm still getting used to the new routine, it's taking me a bit of time to adjust.

But don't worry, next Sunday's post will be on time!

Happy reading ✨

Raghav's pov

At 31, I find myself grappling with a profound sense of disorientation and regret. I've spent my life pursuing goals set by others, distant from the land and legacy that rightfully belong to me. My parents, in their pursuit of giving me the best education and discipline, sent me abroad. They envisioned a path for me far removed from the traditions and responsibilities of our homeland. Yet, in doing so, they overlooked a fundamental truth: I am not just any individual. I am an Indian by birth, and destined to be a king of Rajasthan. How could I possibly forget the kingdom, the land, and the country that shaped my identity? The disconnect I feel now is not merely geographical but deeply personal. My heart longs to reconnect with my heritage, to embrace the role that I was always meant to fulfill.

I understand now that my parents had their reasons for sending me away from my kingdom. They wanted to protect me from the burdens of leadership and the complexities of our empire. Yet, their choices left me feeling isolated and disconnected, left to navigate life on my own.

Then she entered my life, and her presence confused me deeply. Despite my anger and ego, despite my attempts to remain detached, there was something about her that drew me in. I am aware of my own selfishness in this, but when my eyes met hers, a surprising thought surfaced in my mind: *Maa sa*. She feels like family in a way I haven't experienced before. While my duties and responsibilities to the kingdom have always kept me distant from my parents, she somehow feels different. She feels like a piece of home that I didn't know I was missing.

She stands apart from everyone else I've known. There are moments when I crave her presence, wishing she were always by my side, filling the space that feels so empty without her. Yet, paradoxically, there are times when it feels like there's an unbridgeable distance between us, as if nothing truly connects us despite everything. The emotions she stirs in me are complex and conflicting, leaving me in a constant state of longing and uncertainty.

**Mana mujhse galti huyi hai,**

(Admittedly, I made a mistake,)

**magar mujhe ye ab achhi lagne lagi h.**

(but I've started to appreciate it now.)

**Uska bss hona hi kafi hai.**

(Her mere presence alone is enough.)

**Khyal karna nhi aata tha mujhe.**

(I didn't know how to care.)

**Vo aayi to sikha hai.**

(But she came and taught me.)

**Kisi ke sath bss chup baith khana,**

(Simply sitting quietly and eating with someone,)

**khane meh sukoon hai ye uske baad sikha hai.**

(I learned this peace in meals only after she arrived.)

**Mana majburi hai uski bhi.**

(I acknowledge her own constraints.)

**Magar ab to vo meri hai na.**

(But now she belongs to me, doesn't she?)

**Dar lag raha vo chhod na jaye.**

(I'm afraid she might leave.)

**Magr uski bhi to jindagi hai na...**

(But she has her own life too, doesn't she...)

**Mana pyaar nhi hai hai**

(I admit it's not love,)

**Magar sukoon to hai na...**

(but there is peace, isn't there...)

**Jante nhi hai**

(We don't know,)

**mgr bindani to hai na...**

(but she is my bride, after all...)

**Ye Jatana mushkil hai**

(It's hard to show)

**Ki vo kya hai mere liye**

(what she means to me,)

**Magar ab bss vo hi hai na...**

(but she is everything to me now...)

**Uska uhh laal libaz meh rahena**

(Her presence in that red attire)

**Uska uhh har aabhusan pahena**

(And every adornment she wears)

**Kuchh baat to hai na...**

(There must be something to it...)

I was lost in thought, adjusting my usual office outfit when Veer knocked on my chamber door. As the only person permitted to enter my private space, his knock was a familiar sound, one I had come to expect given the strict protocols of the palace. I was currently staying in a room adjacent to Rani Sa's, a decision made for reasons I kept to myself.

I granted Veer permission to enter, and he walked in carrying a tray of breakfast. The gesture was understood immediately-I appreciated the thoughtfulness. As I finished adjusting my outfit, I was grateful for the brief interruption, which allowed me to refocus and prepare for the day ahead.

"Aap jao, hum unhe nasta kara kar aate hai," I said, and Veer left to carry out the task. (You go; we'll bring her breakfast.) It had become a daily routine for me to have breakfast in my own room, which, despite being the largest in the palace, now seemed to be occupied by Rani Sa.

As I entered the room, I saw a lady nurse placing the breakfast tray near Rani Sa. An assistant was carefully arranging Rani Sa's jewelry into a box, while Rani Sa herself lay in bed, attempting to drift back to sleep. It was remarkable how she could sleep for hours on end. Even after waking, she'd often say, "Thodi der aur," (just a little longer) a phrase she repeated daily. Despite her insistence on more sleep, she looked endearing in her slumber.

Her sleeping figure resembles that of a panda-yes, I know it sounds odd, but it's true. (Okay, don't judge me; she really does.) What can I do? Her endearing appearance as she drifts off to sleep only adds to her charm.

Siya pov

It feels like I'm caught in a haze. I don't even remember where I put my phone that day; it just vanished. Despite the doctor's report confirming I'm fine, the nurses here make me feel like I'm one of the patients. It's disorienting, being surrounded by medical routines and detached from the normalcy of my everyday life. Everything feels off, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm just another case in their busy schedule.

It feels like I'll never forget what my brother did (Bhai ne jo kiya mai kbhi nhi bhulungi), nor what Mr. Unknown did (or... na hi Jo mr.unknown ne kiya). It's as if everyone comes into my life and makes decisions for me, treating me like a toy (Har koi aata hai meri jindagi ke faisle khud le jte hai). They cross boundaries whenever they want and pull away whenever they please (Jaise mai khilona hu, jb chaha had chhod diya jb chaha sath mod diya). I'm exhausted with this life (Mai thak chuki hu is jindagi se), wishing I hadn't ended up here that night (kas uss raat mai yaha na aayi hoti), and wishing instead that I could have just ended it that night (kash mai is raat mar....).

As the door creaked open, a female nurse stepped in, balancing a tray with practiced ease. I glanced at her briefly, knowing that Mr. Unknown would be arriving soon. Instinctively, I began to sit up in bed, my anticipation mounting.

Moments later, he entered, as he always did, clad in his signature black suit. It was a sharp, imposing outfit, perfectly tailored and always inky black. I often wondered how someone could wear the same color day in and day out, yet it seemed to suit him. His presence, as always, commanded attention and respect, his dark attire amplifying the aura of authority he effortlessly projected.

He approached slowly, his movements deliberate as he gently helped me wake up. His touch was different, almost otherworldly in its purity. Unlike others, it didn't send shivers of unease through me; instead, it felt disarmingly clean and untainted. I often wondered how it was possible for a man's touch to be so devoid of any negative undertones, as if his intentions were as transparent as his actions. For someone accustomed to reading hidden meanings in gestures, his touch was an enigma-uncomplicated, honest, and reassuring.

Once I was settled, he handed me a plate overflowing with salad. It was the same routine every day: he made me finish the entire plate while he watched. I couldn't help but think, "I'm not a child," as I glanced at the plate. To my surprise, he served himself the same salad and began eating, his presence unwavering. I found myself alternating between staring at the plate and watching him. Despite my attempts to avoid the routine, he remained as steadfast as a stubborn child, silently insistent on sticking by my side until the plate was empty.

As usual, he took his seat and began eating, his routine unwavering. For the first time, I decided to speak up between bites. My attempt at defiance came out somewhat awkwardly.

"Mr... humara matlab Hukum sa" (Mr... I mean, it's like an order), I said, trying to sound resolute while maintaining a nonchalant expression. The plate remained firmly in my hands, as if holding it was the only part of the routine I could control.

As I tried to continue speaking, he abruptly cut me off, saying, "Jo kehna chahein... vo keh sakti hai aap" (Whatever you want to say... you can say it). He continued his breakfast nonchalantly, his phone clutched in one hand, as if it were an extension of him. The casual way he said it, while engaging with his phone, made me feel like an afterthought. I couldn't help but think about how he casually mentioned marriage in the same breath. A sigh escaped me; it was overwhelming and confusing.

I responded, my voice tinged with uncertainty and fear. I could tell he noticed, as he quickly turned to face me, placing his phone beside me on the bed. His sudden shift in focus made my heart race, and I felt a bit of relief as i said, "Hume kuchh puchhna tha" (I needed to ask you something). The weight of his words lingered in the air, and I braced myself for what was to come.

As I watched him take a bite, his response, "ji puchhiye" (yes, please ask), came out softly, and I couldn't help but notice how different his demeanor was from the past week. His behavior left me struggling to find my next words. Despite the discomfort, I managed to continue, saying, "Agar aapke liye ye galti hai" (if this is a mistake for you), my voice trembling as I alluded to our marriage, "to chhod dijiye hume" (then leave us), "hum kuchh nahi mangege" (we will not ask for anything)... "hum-" (we-)

Before I could finish, he cut me off. His gaze was steady, his face impassive, as he looked directly into my eyes.

"Bhuli to galti bhi nahi jati... aap to chhodne ki baat kar rahi hai..." (Forgetting doesn't erase mistakes... you are talking about leaving...) he said with a final, enigmatic smile. That smile of his, a rare gem, seemed almost otherworldly, something I had rarely witnessed before.

His words and behavior left me more confused than ever. Everything about him was wrapped in layers of mystery. His actions, his words-they all seemed to point to a deeper, unspoken truth that I couldn't quite grasp. It felt as if I was trying to decipher a riddle where the clues were hidden or never existed in the first place. He was like a closed book with its keys lost, and the more I tried to understand him, the more elusive he became.

I couldn't control myself and blurted out, "Rishtey galtiyon se nahi bante..." (Relationships aren't built on mistakes...)

The moment the words left my mouth, his smile faded, swallowed by the shadow of my statement. My words had struck him deeply; his face became a mask of impassivity, and the warmth in his eyes disappeared.

With a chilling steadiness, he responded, "Hum Rajput hain, hume rishtey todne ki anumati nahi hai." (We are Rajputs; we are not allowed to break relationships.) His voice was devoid of emotion, and his gaze was piercing, as if each word was carefully measured and delivered with a sense of finality.

His eyes, now dark and intense, seemed capable of making anyone shiver. They held a depth that spoke of traditions and expectations, a reminder of the weight of his lineage. The mystery of him grew ever more profound, leaving me feeling as if I was standing on the edge of something both profound and terrifying.

SUkriya ji 😌

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