Chapter 7: Lost and Found in the Garden

After changing, I hurried back to the garden.

The air was thick with anticipation; someone had started playing a shehnai in the distance. The flowers seemed to nod in the breeze, their colours more vibrant than before.

There was a burst of cheers and laughter as several young noblemen arrived.

Their shoes gleamed, their kurtas crisp. Even the peacocks in the garden strutted as if aware of the occasion.

From afar, I caught sight of a familiar figure.

He stood taller than the rest, his profile unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat.

My heart leapt with joy, and I walked quickly forward, only to hear Ritika’s shy voice: “Your Highness, this is improper.”

I froze mid-step. My fingers clenched the edge of my dupatta, hope crumbling inside me.

I stopped in my tracks.

My breath came in shallow bursts. The world narrowed to the scene before me.

Before me was Rohan, breaking off a brilliant marigold and pinning it in Ritika’s hair.

His gesture was tender, intimate—the sort reserved for someone beloved.

A wave of bitterness surged in my heart.

It tasted metallic, like blood on my tongue. I swallowed, forcing myself to remain upright.

The two gazed at each other, as if no one else existed.

Everyone else blurred into the background. Even the chattering faded away.

A talented man and a beautiful woman—a perfect match.

The words echoed, cutting me deeper than I cared to admit.

“This marigold suits you well, Miss Ritika.”

His tone was gentle, the kind he’d once used only for me.

Rohan’s lips curved in a gentle smile.

It was the smile that had always made me feel special. Now, it belonged to someone else.

In my previous life, when he played with me, he also smiled at me with that doting, helpless look.

I remembered those moments—the moonlit walks, the whispered secrets. All of it seemed lost now.

I clenched my dupatta, fingers digging into the embroidery, and instinctively reached for my bangles, trying to steady my trembling hand. I blinked hard, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Instead, I turned and fled, the world spinning behind me.

My steps faltered, but I forced myself to keep moving, not trusting myself to look back.

Ritika called out to me, seemingly on purpose.

Her voice was sweet, but her eyes glittered with triumph.

Rohan looked over, his eyes calm and clear, his voice gentle and bright. “Miss Priya, you dropped your handkerchief.”

He held it out, but I barely registered the gesture. My pride wouldn’t let me linger.

I hurriedly picked up the handkerchief and left the garden.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the cloth, shame burning on my cheeks.

When I calmed down and looked at the embroidered handkerchief in my hand, I panicked again.

It was not mine—there was an unfamiliar design at the corner, someone else’s initials stitched in gold.

I didn’t even know whose handkerchief it was.

My mind spun, trying to make sense of the mix-up.

Thinking this, I flung it into the lotus pond.

The splash was small but satisfying—a tiny act of rebellion.

Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a teasing voice came from behind. “Why did this young lady throw my handkerchief into the pond?”

There was a lilt in his tone, a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

I turned around, and our eyes met in the air.

He was tall, sun-browned, with a smile that hinted at secrets. My heart skipped a beat.

He was momentarily stunned, his fingers unconsciously curling, a hint of red rising on his dusky cheeks.

He looked away, scratching the back of his head, as if unsure how to proceed.

I had no intention of explaining myself.

There was too much at stake. I pressed my lips together, letting silence speak for me.

So I turned and ran away.

My sandals slapped against the marble, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet.