Chapter 3: Rebirth and Resolve

When I opened my eyes again, I was sixteen years old once more.

The ceiling fan above my head whirred lazily, and a pigeon outside cooed persistently. My room still smelled of sandalwood and fresh laundry. It took me a moment to realize I had been given another chance—a reset.

In this life, Rohan was still the crown prince, yet to ascend the throne.

He was in all the newspapers—young, dashing, already the talk of aunties at the beauty parlours. Even the old gardener, Keshav kaka, would shake his head in wonder at Rohan's sense of duty.

I had my father invite a travelling vaidya from the South to check my pulse as early as possible.

Papa looked at me with his trademark mixture of worry and indulgence, but he agreed. "You and your ideas, Priya beta!" he chuckled, sending a telegram that very evening.

The doctor shook his head helplessly. “This girl has been as strong as a horse since childhood—how could she have any hidden illnesses?”

His Tamil accent was warm, his smile reassuring. The maid standing in the doorway nodded vigorously, as if she too could vouch for my robust health.

I frowned and insisted, “I do want the South Indian doctor to check my pulse.”

I pursed my lips, refusing to be dismissed. The palace staff exchanged knowing glances, probably thinking I was being stubborn—again.

During my more than ten years in the royal household, the palace doctors had claimed I’d injured my constitution as a child, making it difficult for me to conceive.

The words still stung. In hushed tones, they had called me 'durbal', always offering tonics and turmeric milk.

I was anxious and distressed, unable to bear Rohan a child.

It became a silent ache, a wound that never healed, hidden behind laughter and perfect pleats in my saree.

He had several princes and princesses, but none with me. Even though Rohan always comforted me, it remained a deep regret.

His reassurances were gentle, but I could sense the unspoken longing in his eyes whenever he played with the little ones.

In this life, only if I could bear his child would I feel truly fulfilled.

This time, I was determined to rewrite my fate—even if it meant pestering every doctor from Kanyakumari to Kashmir.