I sat on my bed, stretching my sore muscles. Yesterday had been the final day to submit the project my friends and I had been working on, and exhaustion still clung to me. Glancing at the wall clock, I sighed. It was already fifteen past eight—I had a class at nine and needed to start getting ready. Dragging myself out of bed, I trudged to the washroom to complete my morning routine.

After a refreshing shower, I started dressing, but my kurti got caught in the chain around my neck. Carefully untangling it, I held the delicate piece of jewelry between my thumb and index finger, inspecting it for any damage. This chain was the only thing I had that belonged to him. The pendant attached to it bore the letter 'A'—his initial.

It had been six months since the day he placed it around my neck. During our wedding, when Pandit Ji asked him to make me wear a mangalsutra, we had none. Following his Dadi’s suggestion, he took off his own chain and fastened it around my neck. Since then, it had been with me like a nuptial chain. Though we shared no real husband-wife relationship, the values my Dadi instilled in me never allowed me to remove it.

I had agreed to this hopeless marriage only because of my Dadi. She was my everything. I had never seen my parents; I was told that someone had abandoned me on the steps of a temple, and Dadi had found me there. She took me in and gave me the identity of her granddaughter. The Royals had funded my education and expenses, and the Rathores were kind to their servants. Rajmata Sarla Devi, in particular, was very fond of my Dadi.

The current King of Udaipur was Anand Singh Rathore—a man revered by the people, ruling his kingdom with authority. He had two sons: Avyant Singh Rathore and Kabir Singh Rathore. Kabir was the son of Maharani Mitali Singh Rathore, the present queen, while Avyant was the son of Anand Singh’s first wife, Vijaya Singh Rathore, who had passed away when he was just three years old. According to Dadi, she had been an extraordinary woman. Outwardly, the family appeared harmonious, but each of them carried secrets buried beneath the regal façade.

After Rani Vijaya’s death, the king remarried, hoping that Kuwar Avyant would receive motherly love. But fate had other plans. The rift between father and son only deepened over the years, and eventually, Avyant was sent away to boarding school.

Kabir and I had always shared a friendly bond, but with Kuwar Avyant, there had never been any interaction—until that night when our fates were intertwined by an unwanted marriage. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. It was April. My final exams had just ended, and I had come to Udaipur to spend time with Dadi and attend Avyant’s wedding. But destiny had other plans.

The mansion had been a vision of royalty, adorned with fragrant flowers and flickering candles. Guests flooded the venue, while the servants bustled around, ensuring everyone was tended to. I had been assigned the task of overseeing the decoration of the mandap, where the bride and groom would sit. Irritated, I found myself arguing with the decorator, who had used yellow roses instead of pink ones.

If only I had known back then that I’d be the one getting married on that mandap, I would’ve chosen water lilies instead of pink roses. I didn’t get the husband of my choice, but at least the flowers could have been mine.

My phone’s ringing snapped me out of my thoughts. Seeing Dadi’s name on the screen, a smile graced my lips. Talking to her, I slipped on my mojari and stepped out, locking my door behind me.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at my university, where I was pursuing a post-graduation in social sciences. The competition results for our project—a proposal for providing quality education to children in slum areas—were to be announced in the auditorium. My friends were already waiting for me.

"She’s finally here! What took you so long?" Raghav asked impatiently.

Our team consisted of five members: Raghav, Meera, Chanchal, Suraj, and me. The project was backed by a company that would invest in the winning proposal, offering the team a valuable opportunity to work with them.

"Let’s not waste time standing here,"

Meera chided.

The conversation can wait—let’s go.

We entered the auditorium, which was packed with students and professors. Some seats near the podium were occupied, while others were likely reserved for guests. As we took our seats, we noticed more guests arriving. Then, a man in a navy-blue suit entered, flanked by two bulky security guards, blocking my view of him.

Who comes to a university with Z-plus security? What harm could a bunch of students possibly cause?

I rolled my eyes. These rich people and their unnecessary displays of power.

But then, I noticed the commotion among the students, especially the girls, who were fawning over him as if he were the very air they breathed. What was with this generation? Why did they idolize everything without reason?

I refused to crane my neck just to get a look at some rich guy. He would eventually sit in the front row, and I would see him then.

Our principal himself approached the man, clearing the crowd before greeting him. As the path cleared, I finally caught sight of him.

Clad in a three-piece navy-blue suit, he exuded the presence of a ruler—one who was soon to be king. His slicked-back hair revealed sharp cheekbones and thick, arched eyebrows over deep-set eyes. His well-groomed stubble and mustache only enhanced his effortless charm. His lips, full and perfectly shaped, completed the striking composition of his face.

Suddenly, I understood why the girls were losing their minds. After all, he was the Crown Prince of Udaipur—a man sculpted like a Greek god.

After six long months, I was seeing him again. He had left Udaipur right after our wedding, disappearing as swiftly as the mandap had been dismantled. And now, here he was. But why? What was he doing here?

Our principal led him to his seat, his every step radiating confidence. As he settled, the professor took the podium and introduced the guests. That’s when we learned he was the one whose company would be investing in the project.

My eyes widened in surprise. My friends, on the other hand, were ecstatic.

When he was invited to give the introductory speech, I lowered my gaze, suddenly finding the intricate patterns on my mojari far more interesting than looking at him.

I didn’t know how much time had passed before my friend nudged me—it was time for the results. Anxiety gripped me.

My hands were freezing. My heart pounded as I silently prayed for our team to lose. But, as always, fate had other plans.

Our professor announced our name as the winners.

Excited cheers erupted around me—everyone on my team was elated, except for me. Their joyous celebration was chaotic, making my stillness all the more noticeable. I couldn’t help but wonder: what was I thinking when I chose these idiots as my friends?

With no other choice, I rose from my seat. My eyes instinctively found him—my husband. Avyant Veer Singh Rathore, the Crown Prince of Udaipur.

His gaze was steady, unreadable. Did he even recognize me as his wife? Or was I just another student in his eyes?

I forced a small smile as I accepted the certificate from him, but he looked away, making it painfully clear—he either didn’t remember me or simply didn’t care.

And just like that, we marked six months of our marriage.