The Forgotten Princess :

She had everything—except the one thing that mattered love.

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It was evening, and the air had turned light — as if the sky itself had exhaled a long-held breath. A gentle breeze moved like a whispered secret against the skin, soft and fleeting. There was a stillness in the atmosphere, not silent but sacred, as though time had chosen to slow for a while, allowing the last golden sighs of sunlight to rest upon the earth. Everything felt quieter, slower... like the world had slipped into something more intimate, more tender.

The park, however, brimmed with life. Laughter echoed in bursts, mingling with the rhythmic crunch of footsteps on gravel and the playful rustling of leaves that danced overhead like an unseen orchestra. Parents sat on benches or leaned against fences, caught in easy conversations while their children ran wild — tumbling through the grass, shrieking with joy. Elderly couples wandered hand in hand, their movements unhurried, savoring the magic of the evening air like their own cherished ritual.

Amid this ordinary hum of life, something quietly extraordinary unfolded.

A little girl, no older than five, skipped beside her father, a melodic giggle tumbling from her lips. Her smile wasn’t just sweet — it was arresting. Pure. Luminous. The kind of smile that made time stumble. People passing by would glance at her and forget what they were saying mid-sentence. Even the sun seemed to pause, casting its softest light around her, as though nature itself wanted to bask in the joy she radiated. She twirled without care, her little hands wrapped around her father’s fingers, her frock fluttering like petals caught in a breeze. And her father — he wasn’t merely playing along; he was in awe. His eyes crinkled with the kind of joy only a father understands. He looked at her like she was a miracle he got to keep for a while.

A woman slowed her pace unknowingly, drawn into a smile. Two teenage boys mid-conversation fell silent, their words caught between awe and wonder. Even the old couple glanced at each other, eyes gleaming with a quiet knowing — that they had seen many forms of beauty in their lifetime, but this? This was light itself.

No one dared compliment her aloud, though. Because everyone in the city knew who she was — the future princess of Jodhpur. And with pride in their hearts, they thought to themselves: What a gift she will be to the throne… such grace, such radiance.

Above her, the sky dimmed into a softer blue, almost on purpose, so that her smile — that innocent, heart-stealing smile — could shine brighter than anything else in sight.

“Papa… pakdo hume!” she shouted, her tiny fingers slipping from his hand as she ran ahead on wobbly little feet. Her giggles rang through the park like wind chimes stirred by joy, turning every head that heard them. Her father couldn’t help but smile — the kind of soft, proud smile only a father can wear — as he watched her run, knowing full well she couldn’t go far.

Still, he chased her. Not too fast, just enough to let her believe she was winning. It was a game only the two of them understood. His playful grin mirrored her delight, and for a moment, the world was reduced to that one shared laughter, that one innocent race.

“Bacha… dheere dheere daudo… gir jaogi… phir chot lag jaayegi na…” he called out with gentle concern. He had just noticed a small stone hidden beneath the grass, directly in her path. Panic sparked in his chest as he rushed forward — but he was a second too late.

“Ahhh… mummaaa…” her tiny voice broke into a cry as she stumbled and fell onto the grass, clutching her scraped knee, tears welling in her eyes.

Gasps rippled through the people nearby — not because a child had fallen, but because the King of Jodhpur, a man who had never bowed before anyone, was now down on the ground, gathering his daughter into his lap with trembling hands and a worried heart.

“I told you, sweetheart, not to run so fast… but you never listen to me,” he murmured, brushing the dirt gently from her hands. He reached out and wiped a tear from her eyes, those same eyes that now stared up at him with a watery pout.

“Why are you scolding me, Baba? I didn’t do anything wrong,” she replied, her voice small and full of protest, cheeks puffed in fake anger.

Her father chuckled softly, trying not to smile too much. “Oh ho… then whose fault is it, princess?”

With a deep, exaggerated sigh and narrowed eyes, she pointed a tiny accusing finger at the ground. “This ground! It has fault. And that stone too! So don’t be mad at me, Baba…”

He tried, really tried, not to laugh — but her innocence was too much. A laugh escaped him, and that was it. Her glare deepened, fiery and adorably fierce.

“Don’t laugh! I didn’t tell a joke!” she snapped, turning away with a dramatic pout, nose in the air, arms crossed.

“Okay okay… Nishi is angry,” he said, pretending to walk away. “Then I’ll eat the ice cream. Nishi won’t get any because she’s upset with her Baba.”

She whipped around instantly, panic replacing her pout. “Baba! Okay, Nishi is not angry! Wait for Nishi!”

Her father stopped, hiding a grin as he turned and knelt down just in time for her to run into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly, holding her close as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Nishi can’t stay angry with her Baba… so don’t be sad, okay?” she whispered sweetly, cupping his face with both hands. Her touch was soft, sincere — the kind of gesture that said everything without needing a word. She hugged him tighter, pressing her face into the curve of his neck where she felt safest.

“Accha ji, badmaash,” he said with a grin, playfully tickling her tummy. “You’re only saying such sweet things because you want your ice cream. I know the truth! Otherwise Nishi Raichand isn’t one to forgive this quickly.”

“Ha… hahaha… haha! Stop it, Baba!” she squealed in laughter, wriggling in his arms. “It’s because I’m Tanishi Raichand, okay? Don’t you forget that!”

“Oh ho, how can I forget, Your Highness,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’ll never forget.”
It’s 4:30 a.m., and the world still lingers in sleep, wrapped in a soft hush, as though it hasn’t yet remembered to wake. I stand on the balcony barefoot, a shawl loosely thrown around my shoulders, its fabric brushing against my skin like a fading memory. The cold tiles beneath my feet send a quiet shiver up my spine — not of discomfort, but of awareness. It’s not the kind of awakening brought by alarms or routine, but the kind that rises from the soul — a silent agreement between my breath and the stillness.

Above me, the sky is an indigo canvas just beginning to blush — that sacred moment where night and dawn blend into each other like secret lovers parting before daylight. In the distance, a rooster crows — not urgently, but like an old friend gently reminding me that the new day has arrived.

The cup in my hands radiates warmth, seeping slowly into my palms like a tiny sun. A ribbon of steam curls upward, catching the pale morning light. The first breeze of dawn brushes across my face, lifting a strand of hair across my cheek. I don’t tuck it behind my ear — not yet. It feels like nature is reaching out, touching me with reverence. From where I stand, rooftops slumber in quiet peace, trees sway in slow meditation, and somewhere, a temple bell chimes once — clear and pure, like a single truth spoken into the universe.

In that moment, I’m not making plans or solving problems. I’m not carrying burdens or pretending to smile. I’m simply being — just a woman, standing at the edge of morning, letting the world exhale around her.

But I wasn’t really watching the sky. My gaze… was caught in the threads of a memory stitched deep within me.

My hands were curled around a cup of tea I hadn’t yet sipped — held not for its warmth, but for the comfort it brought. And even now, I could feel it — the warmth of my father’s hand, holding mine when I was little. The way he used to lift me up so I could reach for stars that weren’t really there, but in his eyes, they always were. That same balcony had once been our kingdom. I would sit beside him, cross-legged and wide-eyed, as he spoke about life like it was an adventure filled with laughter and lessons — never just chores and expectations.

Now, that balcony felt too quiet. Too hollow.

The city below was still asleep, but inside me, old echoes had begun to stir. I could hear his laughter — that rare, beautiful sound. His tired but patient voice helping me solve math problems I never understood. The hush he would whisper into my hair whenever I cried. That hush… that was the thing I missed the most.

Years had passed since he last reached out like that. Since he stopped looking at me — really looking — like I mattered. Somewhere along the way, he forgot me. Not in memory, but in presence. He made me feel like I had become invisible — like the daughter he once held like a star was now just a shadow in the corner of his world.

A soft breeze slid across my cheek again. I didn’t realize it was wet until I felt the single tear that had slipped down — quiet, uninvited. I didn’t wipe it. Some silences are too sacred to break.

I’m 24 now. And somewhere along the journey, my world — my everything — changed. I learned how to smile without meaning it. How to keep walking without really arriving. But that morning, I let myself feel again. Not for closure. Not even for peace. Just for a thread — a thread that still tied me, however faintly, to the man who once made life feel like magic……And now made it feel like a memory I couldn’t escape.

"Why did you change so much, Baba?"   My voice cracked as I whispered into the silence.

"You used to look at me like I was your whole world… and now, you can’t even meet my eyes. You once showered me with love and pride… and now, it’s like I’m invisible to you. What did I do so wrong? What is my sin? Is it just that I became someone you can no longer bear to see? I’m tired, Dada… so tired of breaking a little more every single day. I’m shattering inside — piece by piece, quietly, painfully. But I’m still here. Still breathing through all of this… only because of one thing: hope. Hope that one day, you’ll come back to me — not in body, but in heart. That you’ll look at me again like you used to. That you’ll love me again. That you’ll hold me the way you did when I was your little girl. That warmth… that pride… I’m still waiting for it.And until that day comes — I’ll keep living. I’ll keep fighting. Because this hope inside me… it refuses to die."

I said it aloud, even though no one was there to hear me. Maybe I wasn’t speaking to be heard. Maybe I just needed to say it — for myself. Because sometimes, the only one left to console you… is you.

I don’t even know what I did to deserve this silence — this distance. Everyone around me has stopped talking to me, stopped seeing me. I feel like a piece of art people once admired — now left behind in some dusty corridor. Beautiful, maybe… but untouched. Unwanted.

They still call me the Princess of Jodhpur — but only on paper. Not in their hearts. Not even in their eyes. And the truth is… I don’t long for their recognition. I just want the love that once was mine. The love that vanished ten years ago — when I was fifteen.

That day… was the worst day of my life.

The thought struck me so sharply, I stumbled into my bathroom without even realizing it. I reached for the tap, glancing at the mirror — and froze. What I saw wasn’t just my reflection… it was my past staring back. The pain. The rejection. It all clung to me like a second skin.

My breath hitched. My throat closed. I was drowning in memories, and I couldn’t breathe.

Without thinking, I turned on the shower and stepped under the stream of cold water — letting it crash down on me like a storm. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just stood there for nearly twenty-five minutes, letting the water hide the tears I could no longer hold back.

Eventually, I stepped out. My body had calmed, but my soul still trembled.

I entered my wardrobe in silence, choosing my outfit mechanically. A deep red anarkali suit with delicate golden embroidery. A matching golden dupatta. Small jhumkas. A stroke of kajal. Anklets that whispered when I moved. I didn’t bother with makeup — what was the point of showing a face no one wanted to see?

And besides… I didn’t want to see it either.

It took me nearly twenty minutes to reach the main hall. That’s how enormous this palace is. But my room? It's in a forgotten corner of the first floor. So distant, it feels like I was tucked away on purpose — hidden. Set aside.

As soon as I reached the hall, I walked toward the small prayer space. Folding my hands, I whispered a quiet prayer — not for myself, but for strength. For grace. For something to go right, even just once.

“Ghani Khamma, Dadi sa,” I said softly, my face still half-covered.

I bent down to touch her feet, but she didn’t look at me. Her blessing came with words, not with touch.

“Sada sukhiyo rahe, Rajkumari.”  Then she turned away, returning to whatever royal duties occupied her.

She was the Maharani of Jodhpur. And I… was just the princess who lived in the palace, yet somehow, didn’t belong.

Suddenly, my eyes landed on them — my parents.

There they were… sitting in their usual place, smiles stretched wide, hearts open — for her. My little sister. My chest tightened as I watched them shower her with love, laughter, the warmth I’d been aching for. The very love that once belonged to me, but now lived only in memories.

And just like that, I felt it — a tear slipping down my cheek. Uninvited, but not unfamiliar. I quickly wiped it away before walking toward them, holding onto the tiniest thread of hope, like I still mattered.

I bent down, silently touching their feet — a ritual of respect that had once earned me blessings, smiles, arms pulling me into an embrace.

Now… nothing.

No glance. No reaction. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

It shattered something inside me… but I didn’t let it show. Not anymore. It had become routine — a heartbreak I’d trained myself to carry with poise.

Without their response, I turned and sat down quietly at the breakfast table, trying not to let the emptiness in their silence echo too loudly inside me.

But it didn’t last.

"Rajkumari, how many times must we remind you?" Maa sa's voice cut through the air like a blade — cold, sharp, and emotionless. She didn’t even look at me.

"This seat is not for you. You’re not meant to be seen here. Get up. Go sit in that shadowed corner where you belong — away from everyone’s eyes. Now."

Her words didn’t just bruise… they fractured. My heart cracked in places I didn’t even know still held hope. But I held myself together, forced my legs to stand — even though they trembled beneath me.

I turned around to leave, but then I heard him.

My father's voice.

"Didn’t we already make ourselves clear?" His tone was heavy, like a verdict that needed no appeal.

"We don’t want to see your face. We didn’t raise you to shame this family. This face… it’s a disgrace to us now. Cover it — hide it like it never existed. Don’t make us repeat ourselves again. You are the shame of this family."

My breath caught.

My face? A disgrace?

The same face he once kissed goodnight…
The same face he lifted to the stars…
Now, it was something he wanted erased.
As if I never existed.

As if I was a mistake they regretted making.
I wanted to scream. To collapse.

But I stood still — frozen, silent — as if his words had turned me to stone.
My chest ached, but I didn’t break.
Not in front of them.
Inside, though… something collapsed. Quietly.

A small, delicate part of me that had survived so much — finally crumbled under the weight of their rejection.

All I had ever wanted… was to be seen.
Not as shame.
Not as flaw.
Just as their daughter.
Just once —With love in their eyes.
I turned away, head lowered, and walked slowly toward the corner where I was always told to sit — the shadowed seat meant for someone unseen, unacknowledged. I sat down quietly, the plate of breakfast in front of me untouched.

I had no appetite.
No desire to eat.
Not after everything Baba had just said.
But I forced myself.
Not because I wanted to. But because I knew she would be upset if I didn’t.

Vanya.

she always got angry when I skipped meals.

So I picked up my spoon and started eating, every bite a struggle. Baba’s words still echoed in my ears like a curse that wouldn’t fade. It felt like the food lost all taste, like I was chewing on silence and swallowing pain.

After somehow finishing my breakfast, I rose and made my way out of the palace. I had already graduated, but I was pursuing higher studies in jewelry design — something that gave me joy, something that belonged only to me. I also worked part-time, not just to support myself but to break the chains of dependence. I didn’t want anything from them — not their money, not their pity.

I stepped toward the main entrance, longing for a breath of air that didn’t reek of judgment.

But just then, his voice stopped me.

“Where are you going?” Bhaisa’s tone was cold, emotionless — like he was speaking to a stranger, not his own sister.

“Wherever you're going, be back before 6:00 p.m. What happened before... shouldn't happen again.”

His words hit like ice.

I swallowed hard.

So that’s all I am now… a risk. A problem to be managed.

“Going to university, Bhaisa,” I replied softly. “I’ll come back soon.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I didn’t have the energy to face him. I just wanted to escape — even if for a few hours — and breathe like I wasn’t made of cracks.

As I stepped outside, my driver was already waiting. I slid into the back seat, and without a word, we drove off — away from the palace, away from their stares, toward the only place that still felt like home.

Vanya's house.

We were in the same university, though she studied law while I pursued design. But her home... her home was peace.

The car stopped in front of her beautiful house — one with warmth in its walls, not just history. I stepped out and walked in, my steps lighter than they’d been all morning.

As soon as I entered, I heard Vanya’s voice ringing through the hall.

“Mom! Where did you put my things? I told you not to touch them! I’m getting late!”

She sounded slightly frustrated, the way she always did when she was in a hurry and couldn’t find her stuff.

Aunty’s voice followed in a matching tone.

“They’re right there! You only know how to shout. If you actually looked properly—”

They both paused when they noticed me standing at the doorway.

“Beta… come here, sit. I’ve made both of your favorite dishes. Eat first.”

Aunty’s voice wrapped around me like warmth on a cold day. She didn’t wait for a reply. She simply turned and walked back into the kitchen, her love already stirring in the pots and pans.

She loved me like her own. Always had.

As I sat down, trying to collect myself, Vanya walked over, her brows furrowed with concern. Her worry wasn’t loud — it never needed to be. She had always known when something wasn’t right. I never had to say much. She just… knew.

“What happened?” she asked gently, sitting beside me. “Something’s wrong at the house, isn’t it?”

Before I could even answer, she added — voice low but sharp with protectiveness, “Don’t worry… I’m here. Just wait for two years. Then you’ll be free — legally free.”

Then, her jaw tightened. “What did they say this time?” she asked, teeth gritted, trying to mask the fury bubbling underneath.

Even when she was angry, she looked beautiful. There was a fierce grace in her — like a storm dressed in silk.

She cared for me more than anyone else. Her… and a few others who still held my broken pieces gently. And so, I told her everything — every word, every glance, every silence that had turned into wounds. Because if I didn’t… she’d know something was wrong anyway. And it would hurt her more to be kept in the dark.

Her expression changed as she listened. She didn’t interrupt. She just… absorbed it all. Then, suddenly, she reached out and gripped my hand tightly — eyes wide with disbelief, swimming with both pain and protectiveness.

“How?” she breathed. “How could he say that to you? What kind of heart speaks like that to his own daughter?”

Her voice was low but sharp with emotion. “No. Don’t you dare let those words settle in you. Don’t let them shape who you are. They’re not truths. You hear me?”

She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with meaning:

“They are not.”

Then she paused, and when she spoke again, her voice turned softer — but a fire burned beneath her every word.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “I see poetry. In your eyes… in your silence… in the way you wear pain like it’s a part of your jewelry. You carry yourself like a woman made of both scars and stardust.”

She swallowed, steadying her breath.

“Your face… your face holds stories, softness, grace. It holds the kind of quiet strength that makes people stop and look twice — not because of how you look, but because of what you make them feel. There’s a light in you, Nishi… and no veil, no cruel words, no rejection can ever hide it.”

Her voice trembled, but her gaze stayed strong. She was hurting for me — I could see it. She was holding back her own tears while trying to hold me together.

She was my anchor in this storm.

“You are the kind of beautiful that isn’t learned — it’s born,” she said softly, her voice a quiet balm over my trembling heart. “It’s in your soul, in your kindness, in every scar you’ve turned into strength. So don’t ever… ever let anyone — not even him — make you doubt your worth. Because to me? You’re more than beautiful. You’re sacred.”

As those words settled in, she gently brushed a tear from my cheek, even as her own eyes shimmered with emotion. Her fingers found my chin, tilting my face up so I couldn’t hide behind my lowered gaze. Her touch was so gentle — like she was afraid I’d break if she held me any other way. And then, she wrapped her arms around me in a hug that didn’t ask for permission — it just held me, fiercely and completely.

When she pulled back, she placed a soft kiss on my forehead — as if sealing her words into my skin, not allowing even a trace of their cruelty to sink into my soul.

“I know…” I whispered, my voice quiet but steady. “I know why you’re saying all this… You don’t want me to feel insecure. And I… I know that. Don’t worry. As long as you’re here, I’ll be fine. Always.”

Because she would never lie to me. In her eyes, I was never anything less than worthy.

She smiled — that bright, loving smile that always made my chest ache with gratitude.

“Ohhh… I’m not saying it just to console you,” she said, her voice light but certain. “You just wait and see. One day, my words will come true. Someone will fall so madly, so deeply in love with you — not because of what the world sees, but because of what only you hold.”

She leaned closer, her eyes dancing with warmth and conviction. “And do you know what else? He won’t just love your smile or your silence… He’ll lose himself in your eyes. Because your eyes… they carry something rare. Something that can bring peace, or madness, or magic — all in a single glance. Your eyes hold power, my love. The kind that doesn’t ask to be seen — it makes people feel.”

Her words wrapped around me like a soft promise, and despite everything, I found myself giggling quietly — a real one, the kind that felt like it belonged to the old me.

Just then, aunty returned, carrying bowls and plates, her smile as warm as the food she placed before us.

“Come now, both of you. Sit. I’ve made all your favorites,” she said, gently ushering us to the dining table.

“I… won’t eat much,” I murmured. “I already had breakfast.”

Though the truth was — I barely touched it. The hunger had been hollowed out by the morning’s ache.

But Vanya gave me that look — the one that left no room for protest — and she made sure I ate everything. She always did.

Once we finished, we grabbed our bags and left for university. The day passed in a blur of lectures and books, but when the final bell rang, we found each other outside the university café, like we always did.

The moment we sat down, we placed our orders — something simple, warm, comforting. As we waited, I caught her looking at me, still watching over me like the sister I never had.

And for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could still change — that one day, I could belong to someone’s world the way she belonged to mine.
“Babe…” Lavanya said, her eyes lighting up with a sudden spark of excitement,

“After a few days, we’ve got holidays, right? So I was thinking… let’s go to Ajmer for a bit. Spend some time with bua sa. It’ll give you a break — some peace. We can explore the place too, breathe in something different. It’s been so long since we last went. I’ll come along and meet bua as well… and since we’ve got time off from work, why not go?”

She said it like a dream — like she was already there in her mind, planning what they'd do, which alleys they'd wander, which cafés they’d laugh in. And honestly… it wasn’t a bad idea.

It made me think of the only place that still felt a little like home — his home. bua sa and Fhufa sa, the only two people in my family who still looked at me with warmth. They loved me like their own. And every time I went there, Lavanya came too — always by my side.

I nodded softly, agreeing, and we parted ways for our part-time jobs.

Lavanya went to the law firm she worked at — learning under a senior advocate with dreams burning bright in her eyes. I headed to the small design company where I assisted a local jewelry designer. It wasn’t grand or glamorous, but it made me feel something rare: comfortable.

They didn’t know who I was. Not a princess. Not a Raichand. Just me. That was the reason I chose to stay. That anonymity… that normalcy… was precious.

By the time the workday ended, it was 5 PM — and I had exactly one hour of freedom before returning to my golden cage. Lavanya called and asked me to meet her in the park nearby, and I didn’t think twice.

When I reached, I saw her sitting on a bench, laughing and talking to a group of little children who were playing tag in the grass. Their giggles floated through the air like wind chimes, carefree and golden. I smiled without realizing it, then walked over and sat down beside her.

Without saying anything, I gently rested my head on her shoulder. And like instinct, like breath, she began to softly caress my hair.

“My life…” I whispered, my voice barely louder than the breeze,

“It used to be like those children — light, carefree, full of laughter. But look at me now… where did that girl go? Why did everything have to change? And why… why only for me? Did I really deserve this? Am I really that bad…?”
The words weren’t rehearsed. I wasn’t even thinking. They just slipped out — soft, cracked, carrying the ache I’d kept tucked deep inside for so long. And in between one heartbeat and the next, my voice began to tremble. I didn’t even notice when a single tear slipped down my cheek — silent, aching, real.

Lavanya didn’t say anything at first.

She just looked at me — truly looked at me — with those calm, understanding eyes that didn’t judge or pity, but simply… held. As if she had hands made of silence that knew how to cradle someone else's pain without smothering it.

And then she spoke. Softly, gently. Like sunrise after a night that had forgotten to end.

“You don’t have to carry all of this alone. You’re not wrong. You’re not broken. You’re just… tired. And that’s okay. And no matter how dark it’s been — you’re still here. You still feel. That’s not weakness… that’s strength.”

Lavanya’s voice was a soft murmur, but its warmth wrapped around my heart like a blanket I didn’t know I needed. Simple words — yet they landed like a quiet miracle.

For the first time in what felt like forever… I breathed. Not shallowly. Not because I had to. But because I could.

That’s what she does to me. Just by being near, she makes the chaos quieter. She finds the parts of me even I’ve lost — and holds them without judgment, without fear.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. I just sat there, beside her — not healed, not whole, but somehow… lighter.

And sometimes, that’s all you need. Not someone to fix you, but someone who chooses to stay. To sit with you in your ache and make it feel just a little less heavy.

After a while, she stood up, grinning like a child who had a plan.

“Come on,” she said, tugging my hand. “We’re going shopping.”

She dragged me — literally — to a line of small stalls nearby. Laughter bubbled out of us as we darted between colorful displays, fingers grazing over bangles, earrings, jhumkas that sparkled in the fading sunlight. She bargained with wild drama, and I laughed like I hadn’t in days — carefree, even if just for a fleeting moment.

We bought matching earrings. She made me try on a payal. I twirled just to hear it jingle.

And for a little while, I wasn’t the forgotten princess. I wasn’t the girl hiding her face, stitching her heart back together with invisible thread. I was just… me. A girl with her best friend, trying to collect pieces of joy from street stalls and laughter.

But joy is always brief in my world.

Soon after, we got into our separate cars. She waved at me with a smile that promised tomorrow. I returned to the palace.

And with every mile we covered, the light inside me dimmed — bit by bit — replaced by a familiar weight. That nervousness crept in… the one that always coils in my chest when I know I’m about to step back into that house. That house where anything could become a weapon — even silence. Especially silence.

They always find new ways to make me feel small. Invisible. Unworthy.

As my car rolled to a stop at the palace gate, I took a deep breath and stepped out. For a moment, the hall was empty.

No eyes on me. No whispers. No commands. Just quiet.

And I let myself feel the smallest flicker of relief.

But I should’ve known better.

Because in this house, peace is never a promise. It’s bait.

Not thinking too much, I made my way upstairs and entered my room. My safe corner. I walked straight into the bathroom to wash off the day — to rinse the dust of the world off my skin and maybe silence the ache, if only for a while.

But the moment I stepped out of the washroom, still towel-drying my hair… I froze.

There it was.

A voice. Loud. Sharp. Echoing through the corridor outside my room.

Shouting.

Coming closer.

And just like that, the illusion of peace shattered — replaced by the storm I never quite escape.

"TANISHI… WHERE ARE YOU? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS…?"

The sound of Baba’s voice crashed through the hallway like thunder. My heart jumped. I flung open the door—and there they were.

Baba.

Chacha sa.

And… Vriksha.

All three stood outside my room, fury burning in their eyes—especially Baba’s. His face, always so distant in recent years, now twisted in rage. I blinked in confusion, searching their expressions for a clue. What happened? What had I done?

Before I could ask anything, my voice trembling, I whispered, “W-What happened, Chacha sa…”

But I couldn’t even finish my sentence.

His hand shot out, gripping my arm tightly—so tightly that pain bloomed instantly under his fingers.

“Aah… you’re hurting me…” I gasped, trying to pull away. But he didn’t loosen his hold. His fingers only dug in deeper, like he wanted to leave a bruise. Like he wanted me to feel it—truly feel it.

His eyes met mine, burning—not just with anger, but with something worse, Disgust.

“HURTING YOU?” he roared, so loud that the corridor seemed to shudder with his voice.

“AFTER WHAT YOU’VE DONE, YOU DARE TO ASK ME THAT? HUH?! AFTER SHAMING THIS FAMILY—AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO YOUR OWN SISTER—YOU STAND HERE AND ASK WHAT HAPPENED?!”

My lips parted but no sound came. I couldn’t understand. I didn’t even know what they were talking about. My mind raced. What did I do?

He shook me once, hard enough to rattle my breath.

“How low did you have to fall, Tanishi?” he spat, his entire frame trembling now. “Jealousy… was it that cruel? Was her smile that unbearable? Was her happiness that painful for you to watch?”
I stood frozen—my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else. His words pierced me like knives.

Jealousy?

Happiness?

Sister?

My father stepped forward, his face just inches from mine now. His voice dropped to a whisper—low, broken, and yet sharper than any scream.

“You’ve destroyed our name. Broken our honor. You—my daughter—have become the very shame we used to protect.”

I flinched. Not from his nearness… but from the words.

"You—my daughter—"

As if even that bond was now a burden to him. As if calling me his daughter stained his lips. I looked at Vriksha, standing behind them. Her eyes were wide, glistening with tears, but she said nothing. Nothing at all.

And that silence?

That silence hurt the most.

“Tell me… was it because she was loved? Because she was chosen? Or…” His voice sharpened—no longer a question, but an accusation.
“…or is there some darkness in you I never saw until today?”

Tears blurred my eyes. I opened my mouth—shaking, desperate—to speak. To explain, But he didn’t give me the chance.

Didn’t want to give me the chance.

“You’re a princess—RAICHAND BLOOD! We trusted you with this name, this legacy! And this… this is what you’ve become?”

And then… he shoved me, Not just with his hands—He shoved every ounce of love, trust, and memory we’d ever shared… away from me.

I stumbled backward. My body hit the cold, unyielding marble with a thud that echoed through the hallway.

My knees scraped against the floor. Pain flared. But worse was the weight in my chest—

the shame.
The heartbreak.
The humiliation.
He didn’t even flinch.
Didn’t reach for me.
Didn’t pause.

Instead… he turned his face away. As if just the sight of me was unbearable.

“I never thought......I never thought you would become this.”  he said, voice trembling—but not with grief. With disgust.

It broke something in me.

“Would you really stoop so low… to steal your own sister’s jewellery?” he continued, his voice rising with every word. “And not just any piece—but our family heirloom? Something sacred, passed down through generations… You didn’t just break trust, Tanishi, You desecrated it.”

My lips parted, blood on my tongue, heart in my throat. I wanted to shout—

“I didn’t do it!..I would never!....Please believe me!”

But they weren’t listening.

They never really were.

Before I could even stand, he pushed me again—this time with his words, with the full force of his rage.

I hit the floor harder. My palms scraped, my knees bled. The cold marble stung, but the pain inside me…

That was louder.

It screamed.

Because this wasn’t just a fall.

It was the moment I realized…

I no longer had a place in my own home.
I was not a daughter.
Not a sister.
Not a princess.

I was… a stain they wanted erased.

“B-B-But… I did nothing… Baba sa, Chacha sa… for once—just once—believe me!”

I crawled forward, trembling, clutching my father’s feet with the desperation of a child who had only ever asked for one thing—his faith. But he pulled his leg away as if my touch had burned him, Stepped back, Like I was unclean.

His silence…It screamed louder than any slap ever could, and then—he again stepped in.

Hir voice? Cold. Smug. Calculated.
“JUST HER… always her things go missing, right?”

I froze. Confused. Shaking, I didn’t understand, What were they talking about? What thing? What theft?

I hadn’t taken anything. I had no reason to, But no one saw the truth in my tears, No one even tried.

Then she said it—sweetly cruel, like poison dipped in sugar:
“Wait, Baba sa… Let me prove it. She won’t confess on her own.”

And before I could breathe, she was in my room—ripping it apart, Tossing my books.
My sketches.
My memories.
My clothes.
My life.

Scattering them across the floor like trash, like none of it mattered, Each object hit the ground like a blade.

Not because of what she was doing—But because they were watching her do it. Silently, Allowing it, Judging me in their silence like I was already guilty.

Not one voice stopped her, Not one hand pulled her back, Not one person defended me.

I sat on the floor—shattered. Arms wrapped around my knees, Blood dried on my hands, Tears fresh in my eyes,

My heart? Torn into pieces.

And all I could do was watch…As everything I had ever called mine was thrown around like garbage.

The only thing louder than the mess was the silence of those I loved, The silence of my own family, Their silence was betrayal.

Thirty minutes.
Thirty soul-wrenching minutes of being stripped down to nothing.
Then finally—like it was all a game—she sighed, dramatically.

“Baba sa… there’s nothing here. Maybe… maybe some maid took it.”

That was it.

That’s all it took for them to leave.

No apology, No remorse, Not even a glance back.

They just… walked away, Like I was invisible, Like I had never even mattered.

I always knew they didn’t love me, But I didn’t know they hated me this much.

And in that moment…I started to believe maybe they were right.

Maybe I was the problem, Maybe the only mistake I ever made…was being born.

I sat there—broken, Bloodied, Breathless.

And then,

“AAAAhhhhh………”

     to be continue......                                                         ******************************************************
Happy reading, Roses!
I hope you enjoy the chapter.
How was it, Roses? I’d love to hear your thoughts!
It’s a little over 6K+ words—sorry if it felt short.
I promise I’ll try to make the next chapter longer.
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