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"Adhira."

Prince Rishabh Singh Devgarh is standing in my apartment, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to pass out. How did I get here? How did he get here? And why does he have to look so... calm when I'm busy internally combusting?

How does he make my name sound like both a royal decree and an inside joke at the same time? It's maddening. I hate him for it. And by 'hate,' I mean I'm approximately five seconds from swooning, and I despise myself for that too.

"I—uh—Prince Rishabh," I stammer, sounding like someone who's been asked to recite the alphabet backward.

Smooth, Adhira. Really setting the tone here.

His expression remains infuriatingly neutral, but I swear I see the tiniest flicker of amusement in his stupidly perfect hazel eyes. Oh, great. Now I'm his entertainment for the evening. Fabulous.

I gesture for him to come in, my hand moving in some vague, awkward wave that I hope translates to enter, please ignore the visible panic and messy apartment.

Your Highness, do come into my disaster of a living room and make yourself comfortable while I internally die.

He steps inside, his eyes glancing around the room, but his face stays neutral. I can feel my soul slowly leaving my body as I realise he's probably judging the chaos I shoved into corners five minutes ago. He doesn't say anything about it, though, and I allow myself the tiniest sigh of relief.

As he sits down on my couch, far too relaxed for someone in a space that isn't his, I hover like an awkward ghost, straightening cushions that don't need straightening.

"Do you, um, want something to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea?" I'm rambling, and I can't stop.

I'm like a broken record.

"Water's fine," he replies, his tone so calm it makes me irrationally angry. How is he so composed while I'm spiraling? Is this a royal superpower?

I scurry to the kitchen, where I promptly proceed to spill water all over the counter. Because of course, I do. I can't even pour water properly now. Someone revoke my adult card.

The stupid dream I had about him earlier flashes through my mind. The one where he looked so... broken, so hurt. Stop it. That was just a dream. This is real. He's fine. He's sitting on your couch, looking annoyingly composed, and not at all like someone who haunts your nightmares.

As I return to the living room, glass in hand, I catch sight of him sitting on my couch, looking like he owns the place. And okay, maybe I wasn't using that couch to its full potential, but still—does he have to look so at home? It's unsettling.

I hand him the glass, and just my luck, our fingers brush. My heart does this ridiculous fluttery thing that makes me want to punch myself. Get it together, Adhira. It's just a hand. Not a romantic drama on a rainy train platform.

"Thank you," he says, his voice as smooth as ever. I swear, if voices could smirk, his definitely would.

I perch on the edge of the armchair across from him, my body stiff with the effort of trying to appear casual. Spoiler alert: I'm failing miserably. Where do I put my hands? Why does my face feel weird? Is it obvious I have no idea how to human right now?

"Long day?" Rishabh asks, his tone casual, but it feels like there's something deeper behind the question, like he actually cares.

"Yeah, you could say that," I reply, trying to sound breezy and totally failing. "Work stuff, deadlines, meetings... you know, the usual."

Why am I still talking? Someone needs to invent a mute button for my mouth.

He nods, taking another sip of water, completely unfazed by the chaos I'm radiating. Meanwhile, my brain is spiraling into overdrive. The dream is still lingering in the back of my mind, like a shadow I can't shake. What if it wasn't just a dream? What if it was some kind of warning?

I try to laugh, but it comes out weird. Strained. "So... Mumbai? Business or pleasure?"

Oh my god, did I really just say that?

His eyebrow quirks up, and for a second, I think he might actually laugh at me. "A bit of both, I suppose," he says, setting the glass down on the table. "But mostly business."

Right. Business. Unfinished business.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, my elbow collides with the glass on the table. It tips. Water spills. Onto the table. Onto the floor.

"Oh no!" I gasp, leaping up like I'm auditioning for a slapstick comedy. I grab the first thing I see—a pillow. Yes, a pillow. Because clearly, that's the most logical tool for cleaning up a spill.

"I'm so sorry!" I babble, dabbing at the water with my makeshift mop. "I don't know why—this never happens—oh my god, you must think I'm a complete disaster—"

He chuckles softly, and it's maddening how unfairly nice his laugh sounds. "It's just water," he says, calm as ever. "No need to panic."

No need to panic? Is he kidding? This isn't just water—it's a metaphor for my entire life right now: chaotic, messy, and spilling everywhere.

"I'm such a mess," I mutter, still attacking the spill with the soggy pillow. "This isn't how I wanted this to go—"

"You don't have to be perfect all the time, you know," Rishabh says, his voice gentle now, softer than before. "It's okay."

I freeze mid-dab, clutching the soggy pillow like it's my last shred of sanity. His words are so calm, so steady, that for a second, they cut through the static in my brain.

"You don't have to keep apologizing either," he adds, leaning back like this is just another day in the life of Rishabh Singh Devgarh: Professional Calm Person.

I just stand there, blinking at him, unsure of what to do next. "I—okay."

There's a pause, and then, in the most casual, unexpected way, Rishabh says, "Maybe I should help you clean up?"

I stare at him like he's just suggested we rob a bank. "You? Clean? No, you can't—" My voice rises an octave. "You're a prince! Princes don't clean!"

He shrugs, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "It's just water."

His calm is infuriating.

"You don't have to," I start, but he cuts me off.

"It's alright, Adhira."

Just my name. Simple, the way he says my name makes me freeze. It's not fair. It's not fair how disarming he is.

And just like that, the absurdity of the whole situation hits me like a truck. Before I can stop it, a laugh bubbles out of me—small at first, then uncontrollable. I'm doubled over, clutching the pillow, tears forming in my eyes.

Rishabh raises an eyebrow. "Is it really that funny?"

"Yes!" I gasp between giggles, pointing at the chaos around us. "Look at this! Look at me! This is insane!"

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound that makes my stomach flip. "Well, I'm glad you're finally seeing the humor in it."

The whole thing is absurd. But in this moment, it doesn't matter. We've broken through whatever barrier was between us, and somehow, that feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He clears his throat softly. "I'm actually here to talk about—"

"I know," I interrupt, my voice steady even though my heart skips a beat. "I've been thinking about it. A lot, actually."

It's not like I can pretend I haven't. Of course, I've thought about it. It's marriage—to a prince. To him.

We sit in silence for a moment, a quiet tension hanging in the air, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels like the calm before a storm. Then Rishabh speaks again, his voice soft. "You know... things are going to change after this, right?"

I know exactly what he means. The weight of what's happening, what's being asked of me—it's pressing down harder now. He's giving me a chance to talk about it, to acknowledge the shift that's about to happen.

I lean back into the armchair, fingers absentmindedly tracing the cushion's edge. "Yeah," I sigh, my voice barely above a whisper. "I guess they will."

Rishabh is watching me, his gaze as steady as his ridiculously perfect posture. He doesn't push me to say more, which is almost worse. It's like he's handing me a shovel and waiting for me to dig my own emotional grave.

"I'm going to miss Mumbai."

He nods, thoughtful. "You can come back whenever you want. The palace charter will be at your command. Just say the word."

Ah, yes. A private jet on speed dial. Every girl's dream.

I force a small smile. "I'll miss my best friend, Muskan," I say instead. "I mean, it's not like I can just pack her in my suitcase and take her with me."

"You can invite her to visit anytime."

I snort softly, appreciating the effort but knowing full well that Muskan in a royal palace is a reality show waiting to happen. And then, because my brain has no filter, I blurt out what's really bothering me.

"Rishabh..." My smile falters, and I swallow hard. "I'm afraid I'll miss my freedom."

There it is. The big, ugly truth hanging between us like a neon sign. My freedom. The thing I've spent my whole life clawing for. And now, I'm expected to trade it in for tiaras and curtsies? Hard pass.

Rishabh's jaw tightens, and for a split second, I think I've offended him. But then he speaks, his voice steady and sincere. "I won't take that from you, Adhira. No one will. I don't expect you to change who you are. The palace, the title—it's a lot, yes. But you'll still be you."

His words... they sound like a promise, but I don't know if I can believe him. Won't I change? I think. Won't everything about me have to shift, mold into this new life?

"Won't I, though?" I counter, my voice sharper than I intended. "Change, I mean. Won't everything about me have to adapt? I'm not exactly... princess material."

He leans forward, his gaze locking onto mine like he's trying to solve a particularly stubborn puzzle. "You will change," he admits, "but only your title. The palace, the responsibilities—they're just additions to your life. They don't have to replace everything else. Just be you. That's more than enough."

I want to believe him. I really do. But part of me wonders if that's even possible. The other part of me is busy freaking out over the fact that this man—this prince—is sitting here, casually making life-altering promises like he's discussing the weather.

"I'm proud of what I've built," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm afraid of losing it... of losing myself. What if I don't fit in?"

To my surprise, Rishabh laughs. Not a polite chuckle, but a real, genuine laugh that catches me completely off guard.

"You think I fit in all the time?"

I blink at him. "Uh, yeah? You were practically born to sit on a throne."

He laughs again, shaking his head. "You'd be surprised."

But he doesn't answer that, doesn't tell me what it's really like for him.

Then, before I can stop myself, I ask the question that's been gnawing at me since this whole proposal was mentioned. "Why are you doing this? The marriage, I mean. You could have any princess in the world, someone who fits into this life... someone who belongs in it."

His expression shifts, growing serious. He doesn't answer right away, and for a moment, I wonder if I've crossed a line. But then he speaks, his voice quiet but honest.

"Honestly? I have no idea."

My jaw nearly drops. Of all the answers I was expecting, that was not one of them.

"I've asked myself the same question a hundred times since this arrangement was made. Why you?" His eyes meet mine, steady and unwavering. "Yes, I could marry someone who fits into this life perfectly. But when I first heard about you... you struck me as different. I could have taken the easy road. But this is marriage, Adhira. It's not just a business deal. Yes, my parents set this up, and yes, a part of me is doing this because that's how my life works. I need a wife. You just happened to be... the unexpected option."

His honesty catches me off guard. He's not pretending this is some grand love story. He's not trying to make it seem like destiny brought us together. He's just laying it out—plain and real. And that's somehow more unsettling than anything else.

"In my world, things don't always make sense," he continues. "Sometimes decisions are made for us, and sometimes we go along with them because maybe—just maybe—they'll lead to something we never expected."

"This marriage," he continues, his voice dropping lower, "it's your choice, Adhira. No one else's."

Hold up. Did I hear that right? My choice? That can't be right. Surely, there's a catch. A fine print clause that says - Just kidding! This is all a trap!

"What if I say no?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I'm bracing for some royal-level manipulation, a speech about duty and consequences.

But Rishabh just nods, as calm as ever. "Then we'll part ways. No questions. No obligations."

My brain short-circuits. That's it? No drama? No threats of exile? Just... no strings attached? Who is this guy?

It's liberating. And absolutely terrifying. Because now, the ball is in my court, and suddenly, I have no idea what to do with it.

"I'm not saying yes," I blurt out, meeting his gaze. "But... I'm not saying no either."

Smooth, Adhira. Very decisive.

His smile softens, and for once, it's free of that annoying smugness. It's almost... genuine.

"I need time," I say, my voice firming up as I try to reclaim some shred of control. "I can't make this decision right now."

"Take all the time you need," he replies, his tone gentle but still too calm for my liking. What's his deal? Is this reverse psychology? Some Jedi mind trick to make me fall for him?

But I can't shake the feeling that he actually means it. That this isn't some ploy to trap me into saying yes. And that? That's somehow even more unnerving.

I've always been the confident one. But since the news of this arranged proposal, my confidence has fled to some isolated corner of my mind. I don't even recognize myself anymore.

"Are you really okay with me walking away?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Rishabh leans back slightly, his expression calm, but something unreadable flickers in his eyes. "I won't lie and say there wouldn't be whispers or questions. The royal family isn't exactly used to broken engagements. But for me? If this isn't what you want, I'm not going to force it. I won't ask you to live a life you never signed up for."

I stare at him, my heart pounding. He's so... calm. It's infuriating. I want to find cracks in his armor, but all I see is someone being honest. And maybe that's what terrifies me the most.

It would be so easy to say no, to retreat back to my life in Mumbai. I could return to my career, my friends, my freedom. Everything would be familiar, comfortable.

But then I glance at him—at the way his gaze hasn't wavered, at the quiet sincerity in his words—and suddenly, it doesn't feel so simple anymore.

He's not the arrogant, detached prince I imagined. He's human. Real. And maybe, just maybe, that's what terrifies me the most.

The choice of marrying him—of becoming his princess, of stepping into his life—is entirely mine. He's giving me a choice. A real choice.

And I'm starting to think that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

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Babe is a mess right now. Internally and externally 🤣
What will she choose?
Will she say no to the Rishabh Singh Devgarh?
Will I let that happen?
Alssooooo - oh my god!!! Rishabh Singh Devgarh
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How lucky one would be to have a partner like him in real life.