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How do you act in a play when you have no idea what the script is?

I'm living that uncertainty right now; winging it, fumbling through each stare, unsure if I'm even remotely convincing.

Am I playing my part well? Not at all.
But somehow, I've lucked out with a brilliant co-star. Fabulous, if I'm being honest.

And for now, all I can do is follow his lead—because if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that he'll guide me through this act, no matter how lost I feel.

So here I am, walking to the stage with Rishabh—like the most beloved couple already.

His hand extends toward me, a silent invitation, an unspoken promise. I hesitate for the briefest moment, then place my hand in his. His fingers curl around mine, firm and reassuring, grounding me in a way I didn't know I needed.

Our eyes meet, and there's a flicker of something in his gaze—something steady and sure, something that makes the world around us blur.

My heart pounds so loudly, I'm certain that if the music stopped, everyone would hear its frantic rhythm. It's chaotic, completely out of sync with the steady beats of the dhol.

I try to block out the noise, the expectations, the countless eyes watching us. I focus on the one constant in this chaos—him.

I replay everything that led me here: the awkward conversations, the ridiculous formalities, the weight of everyone's expectations.

I glance at Rishabh. He's calm, composed—like he was born to command a room. Of course, he was. My grip tightens on his hand, and I tell myself it's just nerves, nothing more.

The officiant steps forward, holding out a small velvet tray with our rings. On it sits the delicate gold band meant for him, a single diamond glinting under the lights.

My hands are steady, but my heart? It's absolute chaos.

The officiant gestures for me to take the ring, and I do, my fingers brushing against the smooth metal. It feels heavier than I expected; like it carries the weight of promises I'm not sure I'm ready to make.

Rishabh's expression softens, the teasing I've come to expect from him nowhere to be found. Instead, his hazel eyes hold mine, steady and calm, silently telling me that it's okay.

No one else exists for a moment; it's just him and me.

With a small, nervous breath, I lift his hand.

"Rishabh," I say, my voice low, barely audible above the chants and music. "This is... yours now."

As if the words hold everything about our future.

His lips twitch, just the faintest hint of a smile, but he doesn't say anything. I slide the ring onto his finger, the cool metal warming against his skin. My touch lingers for a second too long, but he doesn't pull away.

Then it's his turn. He takes my hand, his fingers warm as they curl around mine. I glance down as he picks up my ring, the diamond catching the light and throwing tiny rainbows across the stage.

"Relax," he murmurs, leaning in slightly. His voice is low, meant only for me, and impossibly calm. "I promise I won't mess this up."

There's something oddly reassuring about his tone, almost like he's done this a hundred times before.

His fingers are deliberate as he slides the ring onto my finger, slow and precise, as if he's memorizing the moment. It fits perfectly.

His thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles as he finishes, a subtle, reassuring gesture that makes my heart skip.

The applause erupts around us, flowers shower from above us - but it feels distant now.

All I can focus on is him, the way he's looking at me like he's seeing me for the first time, or maybe seeing me in a new way.

He doesn't let go of my hand. Instead, he steps a little closer, his presence drawing me in and his breath warm against my ear.

"Welcome to your fairytale, fiancé."

Fiancé.
A foreign word.
A label I never thought I would hear for myself.
A title I believed I wasn't born for.

Yet here I stand—someone's fiancé.
Rishabh Singh Devgarh's fiancé.
And in this moment, from this day forward, I am a princess in making.

Before I can respond, there's a sudden flash of light. Both of us turn instinctively to find the royal photographer, grinning behind his camera.

"Perfect shot," the photographer announces with a satisfied nod. "Candid and magical."

Magical? Sure. Let's call it that.

Rishabh straightens slightly, still holding my hand as he turns back to me.

"Looks like our first official photo together." he leans in again, this time a little closer, his breath brushing against my cheek.

My heart flutters treacherously. He's too close, too smooth, too him, too infuriatingly charming. My traitorous heart skips, but I force myself to look away, attempting to focus anywhere but on him.

His hand, still holding mine, tightens ever so slightly.

"Tell me now, Rathore," he asks, his tone suddenly more serious, his dark eyes searching mine, "what made you say yes to this? To the relationship? To me?"

The question catches me off guard, raw and too real for a moment like this. My stomach twists.

I plaster on the cheesiest smile I can muster, desperate to deflect.

"We have our whole life ahead of us to talk about that, Your Highness. What's the rush?"

"Right - our whole lives ahead, together."

His voice is quieter now, almost contemplative.

Together.
Right, fuck.
Marriage.

The weight of the word sinks in like a stone, heavy and unavoidable.

We're engaged. That means there will be a wedding.
And then we'll be husband and wife.

Oh, God. What have I done?

This all feels both thrilling and terrifying all at once.
I hadn't really let it sink in before now.

Rishabh notices the shift in my expression. His eyes soften.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks, his voice low, like he's trying to coax the answer out of me.

I force a smile, attempting to mask the storm brewing inside me. "Just thinking," I say, though my voice betrays me—it's unsteady, uncertain.

He doesn't press, but I see the flicker of concern in his gaze, the way his brows knit together ever so slightly. And I hate that he's right to worry because the storm inside me feels endless.

What am I even thinking about?

Everything. The engagement. The wedding. The future. Him. Me. The suddenness of it all presses down on me like a suffocating fog.

One minute, we were strangers, oblivious of each other's lives and now I'm supposed to be his partner. He is in my life now.

"You don't have to have it all figured out right now."

I nod, but my mind races. He's right—there's no need to have all the answers today. But that doesn't stop the feeling that my world is spinning out of control.

Wait - how did he know exactly what I was thinking?

"And breathe, Adhira."

He pulls back, just a step, just enough to break the fragile thread of connection between us. The absence of his closeness hits me like a sudden chill, and it terrifies me how much I notice it.

I wasn't supposed to know him three weeks ago.

And now—now, I find myself craving the way he breathes around me. The proximity. The warmth. How is it that I've come to need it so quickly?

What is wrong with me?

He guides me down the stage, his hand resting on my back, but not quite touching me—yet I am acutely aware of its presence. We walk past the crowd, their eyes on us, their smiles wide and congratulatory.

Every congratulation feels like another layer of a mask being pulled over me, tighter and tighter. I can barely breathe. Each word of praise suffocates me a little more, each hand that clasps mine, each glance that lingers, all of it feels like a cage slowly closing around me. With every smile and nod, I lose another piece of myself. I can feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on me, and it's suffocating.

I'm no longer Adhira. No. I'm 'the future queen,' 'the perfect bride', a title, a role—not a person.

We walk to my parents, who are beaming with pride, absolutely convinced that I was born for this. Born to be a princess. Born to marry a prince. Born to—what? Look pretty and wave? Fabulous. I'm living the dream.

"I know it's overwhelming," my mother says, clearly noticing the thousand-yard stare I've developed. "But this is your destiny, Adhira."

Destiny. The word hits me like a slap. My destiny is to be the crown jewel in the royal family's display case.

I look back at Rishabh, now deep in conversation with my father and brother. He's laughing, the sound warm and genuine. But then he turns slightly, and for a split second, I catch it—a crack in the façade.

He doesn't want this either.
I brought this on both of us.

I could've said no. I could've stopped this madness before it began. But I didn't. And now, here I am, with a diamond ring on my finger that feels like it's mocking me for the reckless decision I made.

We are stuck now. Locked in this royal charade, putting on a show for everyone watching.

Now I can't even hate him properly.

We're both trapped in this gilded nightmare, playing our parts for the sake of everyone else. And the worst part? The crowd loves it. They love us. Adhira and Rishabh, the perfect couple.

Perfectly doomed.

As we walk past the rest of his family, I brace myself for more of the forced pleasantries. Sure enough, Rishabh's uncle, Prince Prithvi Singh Devgarh, claps him on the shoulder with a grin so wide it looks painful.

"Rishabh, my boy—you're a lucky man," he booms, his gaze flicking to me, and I know what's coming. "And you, my dear, have found yourself a fine prince."

Ugh, here we go.

I force a polite smile and dip into a curtsey, lowering my head like the well-trained princess-to-be I'm supposed to be. When I stand back up, I catch his eyes lingering on me.

And not in the warm, 'Welcome to the family' kind of way. No, this is different. Sharper. Colder. His eyes are scanning me, like he's sizing me up, hunting for some flaw he can latch onto. It makes my skin crawl. There's judgment in his stare, and it feels like he's already decided that I don't measure up.

I look away, trying to shake off the discomfort, but it sticks.

"Please excuse us," Rishabh says, his voice smooth but firm, as he gently pulls me closer to his side. His tone leaves no room for argument, but it's polite enough to seem unassuming. "I should show Adhira around."

Prince Prithvi, still wearing that grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, raises an eyebrow.

"That can wait," he says, voice laced with something I can't quite place. "Where is Adhira running away to? This is her home now. She will be here forever."

I freeze. Forever. The word hits me like a cold wave, sinking straight to my stomach. I can feel the blood drain from my face, the air around me turning thick.

Forever. Forever in this palace. Forever in this role. Forever with him.

The weight of it all feels unbearable, and I wonder if everyone here can sense the crack in my façade.

Rishabh must have noticed the shift in my posture, because without another word, his hand finds mine. He takes it gently, but firmly, guiding me away from the crowd. The moment his fingers close around mine, I feel an odd mixture of relief and unease. Like his touch is the only thing holding me together, even as it sends a strange flutter through me.

As we move through the throng of smiling faces and congratulatory nods, I feel their eyes on us. On me. The perfect bride-to-be. The future queen. A role to be played, not a person to be seen. My throat tightens, and I struggle to hold onto the composure that's been drilled into me.

The air shifts as we step into the gardens, the cool breeze carrying the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. The noise of the crowd fades behind us, replaced by the soft hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. For the first time tonight, I feel like I can breathe.

He stops by a marble bench beneath a canopy of stars, his hand still wrapped around mine. He doesn't let go immediately, and when he finally does, my fingers tingle with the ghost of his touch.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice different now—gentler, more vulnerable. "You alright?"

I want to snap at him. I want to pull away from him, tell him to stop playing the perfect prince. But something in his voice keeps me grounded. It's not just a question; it's a genuine concern.

I nod, forcing a smile that feels as fragile as glass. "Just... a lot to take in, that's all."

His gaze doesn't waver.

"Talk to me," he says, his voice coaxing but patient. "I might be a terrible, not-so-disciplined prince, but I'm a decent listener."

I huff a small laugh despite myself.

He's trying, I'll give him that. But how do I even begin to explain what's going on in my head? The crushing weight of expectations, the suffocating pressure of a life I didn't choose, the cold realization that I've trapped us both in this gilded cage. How do I put into words the fear that 'forever' might not be the fairytale everyone assumes it is?

He's just... Rishabh. Not a title, not a prince—just a man standing in front of me, for whatever reason, trying to understand.

There's no judgment in his expression, no impatience. Just... waiting.

I hesitate. There's so much I could say. The fact that this suddenly feels like a prison, the fact that I can't escape the royal world, or even the fact that I don't know how to be the person everyone wants me to be.

But how do you say all of that to someone who's been raised in this world, who wears its weight like second skin? He won't get it. He can't.

Then why did I even agree to marry him?
He might keep asking it - but will I ever have the answer?

But when he looks at me like this—so steady, so unwavering—it's hard to hold onto my defenses. It's like he sees right past the perfectly poised princess-to-be and straight into the mess of a girl underneath.

I don't know how to be that girl in front of him. I don't know how to be anything but what everyone expects me to be.

But still, his gaze stays on mine, patient, waiting. He doesn't press, doesn't demand. Just... waits.

"I guess the reality is finally sinking in," I say, my voice barely steady. "Maybe I was high on some kind of drug. Since the moment I said yes, to slipping the ring on your finger... it's all finally settling in."

"And now you want to pull back?"

Rishabh asks, his tone even, but there's something unreadable in his eyes - as if he is worried that I might.

"Oh no—no, that's not what I mean. I just..." I hesitate, my words faltering. "A girl can get cold feet when she's marrying into a royal family, can't she?"

He takes a step closer, his expression softening.

"Adhira," he says gently, "yes, you're marrying into a royal family. You'll be a princess soon, but more importantly—you're marrying your partner. And that's all that should matter."

I say nothing, just look at him, trying to figure out how he can sound so certain about something I feel so unsure of.

"I get it," he continues, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. "We met under awkward circumstances, and that led us here. But now... now we're engaged. You're my fiancée, Adhira. And I would never want you to feel suffocated in this engagement."

There's a gentleness in his voice that makes my chest tighten.

"I hope you find a friend in me, Adhira," he continues, his voice softer now. "Forget the titles. Forget the labels we're bound by. Let me be your friend. That's where we can start."

A lump rises in my throat, and I'm not sure if it's relief or something else entirely. I made a rash decision, but he is taking the right ones, for both of us.

He's yet again offering me space—space to be myself, whoever that is.

I don't trust myself to speak, so I just nod, a small, tentative movement.

Rishabh's lips twitch into a faint smile, the kind that doesn't try too hard but still manages to light up his face.

"Nodding is a good start," he says, his tone teasing. "Maybe I can work up a strategy to be a good friend to you."

You already are, I think but keep the words to myself.

Before I can stop it, a laugh escapes me. Quiet but real. It bubbles up from a place I thought had gone numb. "A strategy?"

He leans against the marble bench, crossing his arms like he's settling in for a grand revelation.

"Step one: be incredibly charming. Step two: make you laugh, preferably at my expense. Step three..." He pauses dramatically, tilting his head. "Still working on that one."

I roll my eyes, but there's a smile tugging at my lips now. "Step three should probably involve not annoying me."

He gasps, feigning shock. "Annoying? Adhira, I am many things, but annoying is not one of them."

"Hmm." I tap my chin, pretending to think. "I don't know. You might need to revisit that list."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the heaviness in my chest feels a little lighter.

"Alright, how about this?" he says, straightening up. "Step three: prove to you that I'm not as bad as you think."

I narrow my eyes at him, but there's no real bite in it. "That's a tall order, Your Highness."

Rishabh raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin that's equal parts mischievous and self-assured. "Oh, I love a tall order, Rathore. You'll change your mind about me. Mark my words."

"Bold claim," I retort, my tone teasing. "And what if you don't manage to prove it? What if I still find you... mildly annoying?"

He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Then I guess I'll have to keep trying. Annoying you for life doesn't sound so bad, as long as it's me doing it."

I blink, caught off guard by his words, and feel heat rush to my cheeks.

"Careful, Your Highness," I say, my voice steady but quieter now. "You're starting to sound dangerously close to charming."

"Ah," he says, grinning, "so step one is working."

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. How does he do that? How does he take a moment that feels so heavy and turn it into something lighter? Something that doesn't feel so impossible?

"Why are you doing this?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Doing what?"

"Being... so nice. Patient. Understanding." I pause, searching for the right words. "You didn't sign up for this either, Rishabh. You didn't choose me. So why are you trying so hard?"

His expression softens even more, and he steps closer, closing the distance between us.

"Because, Adhira," he says, his voice low but steady, "we're in this together now. And if we're going to make this work, if we're going to survive this madness; we have to start somewhere. I'd rather start with being on your side than standing on opposite sides."

The sincerity in his tone is undeniable, and it leaves me momentarily speechless.

"And to be honest - You're far too sharp for me to risk being your enemy."

Despite myself, I laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—and when I look back up at him, I find him smiling too.

"Wise choice," I say, a teasing edge to my voice. "I can be terrifying when provoked."

"Noted," he replies, mock-seriously. "I'll make sure to stay on your good side. For my safety, of course."

I roll my eyes, but the smile on my lips feels lighter now, less forced.

"You know," he says, his voice quieter now, "you don't have to have all the answers right now, Adhira. Neither of us does. We just have to take it one step at a time. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. To feel unsure. And when things feel overwhelming..." He hesitates, as if choosing his words carefully. "When they do, you can lean on me. I'll be here."

His words settle over me like a blanket on a cold night—unexpectedly comforting. I'm not used to this. Someone offering me support without asking for anything in return. Someone meeting me exactly where I am, without judgment or pressure.

I inhale deeply, trying to steady myself. I don't need this. I don't need him. I've always been fine on my own, haven't I? But even as the thought forms, something inside me hesitates.

Maybe I do.
Maybe I'm not as strong as I like to pretend.

I find myself holding his gaze for a little longer than I intended. For the first time in days, the chaotic storm in my mind quiets, just for a moment. And in that silence, I feel something new beginning to settle inside me—something fragile, yet real.

Hope.

Maybe it's not impossible to lean on someone. Maybe it's okay to let someone in.

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Oh my babies are engaged.
And how beautiful Rishabh is to bring Adhira at peace.
I am excited to see what life holds next for them. They are already so cute together.

Happy New Year guys.
May this year bring you all the happiness and joy.
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