Chapter 5: Bitter Medicine, Sweeter Bonds

As soon as Papa left, I went to my sister’s room.

The door was ajar, and I slipped in, careful not to disturb her. The curtains fluttered in the evening breeze, bringing with them the scent of mogra from the garden below.

She was napping on a divan. When she saw me enter, a hint of surprise flashed across her face.

Her eyes widened, and she sat up hastily, smoothing her hair. "Didi, is everything okay?"

“Didi, what brings you here?”

She always called me that with such warmth, no matter what.

I remembered that in my previous life, I had disliked this sister for reasons I could never explain. Yet, when I was in trouble in the palace, she was the first to try to help me.

She had risked her own reputation to stand by me, even when the other consorts whispered behind her back.

Later, she married, but her husband was not a good man. When she died, she was nothing but skin and bones.

I had cried for her long after everyone else had forgotten. Even now, the memory made my throat ache.

“I just want to tell you, don’t rush into marriage.”

I took her hand, squeezing it gently—hoping she would understand all the love and worry I couldn't put into words.

Now, my sister was fifteen, just past her thread ceremony, and many matchmakers had already come to propose.

Relatives from all over kept sending photographs, sometimes even turning up unannounced with laddoos and shagun.

She covered her mouth with a dupatta and giggled.

"Accha, Didi," she teased, eyes shining with mischief. "Are you giving me advice now?"

“Alright.”

Her promise was soft, almost uncertain, but I chose to believe it.

Before I entered the palace, I had to help her choose a good husband, so she could live a peaceful life.

I resolved to screen every prospective groom myself, grilling them harder than any overprotective bhaiya could.

“In a few days, come with me to the flower hairpin function.”

She perked up instantly, having heard stories about the grandeur of that event.

At that event, many outstanding young men would be present, and Rohan would certainly attend as well.

The whole city would be abuzz with anticipation—rickshaws lined up outside, shopkeepers discussing the royal prospects as they wrapped jalebis in old newspaper.

This time, I had to win his favour early—even entering the palace as the first would be fine.

My heart fluttered at the thought, a secret hope blooming amidst all the uncertainty.

Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but smile.

The reflection in my sister’s eyes was all the reassurance I needed.