𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 |Edited Version

नचदी फिरूं, तपड़ी फिरूं

कीली मैं नपड़ी फिरूँ

हद करूं, हद करूं

हद करूं रू रू रू..

यारा बुल्ले लुटेया करूं

लुटेया करूं लुटेया करूं

यारा बुल्ले लुटेया करूं

मैनु डर हुण नइयो

____________________________

Next chapter will be updated soon

Happy reading 🎈

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The sun had barely risen, its soft golden light spreading across the sky like a gentle whisper. Outside Sharma Sadan, everything felt serene-birds chirping sweetly, a cool breeze rustling the leaves, and that rare quiet peace only early mornings offer.

But inside Sharma Sadan?Mornings were never peaceful.They were loud ,chaotic and bursting with life.

Rudivika stepped out of the washroom, already dressed in her neatly pressed school uniform.

Her blazer sat perfectly on her shoulders, the Godley Public School badge pinned with quiet pride. She adjusted her sleeves, glancing at the clock-time was ticking.Then her eyes fell on the bed.And she froze.

A very familiar disaster unfolded before her: half a body sprawled on the mattress, the other half dangling mid-air like gravity had thrown in the towel.

"Hey Bhagwan, kya karu main tera, Roohi..."

(Oh God, what do I even do with you, Roohi...)

She muttered under her breath, lunging forward to grab her before she face-planted onto the floor.

With practiced exasperation, Rudivika hoisted the limp form back to the bed's center, tucking her in like a reluctant child.

The culprit?

Roohi Sharma.

The youngest daughter of the Sharma clan-A whirlwind of energy, drama, and unfiltered joy, devoted to exactly three things in life:Her loved ones, endless plates of food... and sleep deeper than the ocean.

Sharma Sadan's pampered princess.

Every man in the family-father, uncles, brothers-treated her like a delicate glass doll, showering her with indulgent smiles and zero boundaries.

Even though Roohi was anything but delicate. She was a force of nature wrapped in pigtails and mischief.

Rudivika peered down at her sleeping sister.

mouth agape, lost to the world.

And...

"Ugh!"

A thin trail of drool glistened on the pillow. Rudivika scrunched her nose in disgust, waving her hand dramatically.

"Roohi, uth jaa! Suar ki tarah mat so-tera school hai!"

(Roohi, wake up! Don't sleep like a pig-you have school!)

"Uth, maa aa gayi toh phir daant padegi. Baba bhi nahi hai tujhe bachane ke liye!"

(Get up-if Mom comes, you'll get an earful. And Dad's not here to save you today!)

She shook her once. Twice. Harder.

Nothing. Not a flutter of an eyelid.

Roohi Sharma slept like the world owed her a century of rest, her chest rising and falling in oblivious rhythm.

Rudivika sighed, glancing at the family photo on the wall. She and Rithik had aced their way into Godley Public School after fifth grade-one of the most reputed institutions around, with strict uniforms, top grades, and zero tolerance for nonsense.

Roohi, however... was a completely different story.

She attended Dreamers Public School, a modest spot just a short walk from Sharma Sadan. Not because she couldn't aim higher-But because no other school could handle her.Every single day brought a fresh complaint: Fights in the playground ,Sassy backtalk to teachers ,Elaborate pranks that turned classrooms upside down.

Roohi Sharma wasn't just a student.

She was an event-a pint-sized tornado leaving chaos and laughter in her wake.

And the only reason Dreamers Public School hadn't kicked her out?

One unbreakable name: Naveen Sharma.

Her grandfather, the legendary lawyer from Rajasthan, whose reputation echoed through courtrooms and boardrooms alike. He'd bailed the school out of countless legal headaches-dodgy land disputes, regulatory tangles, you name it.

Sending her elsewhere wouldn't fix the firecracker.It would just ignite the problem in a new zip code.

"Uggghhhh!"

Rudivika stomped her foot hard on the floor, the sound echoing faintly through the still‑morning house.Roohi still hadn't stirred.

"Mat uth ab! Maa se daant kha... main ja rahi hoon."

(Fine, don't wake up! Get scolded by Mom... I'm leaving.)

She snatched her bag from the back of the bed, adjusted the straps, and marched downstairs-

Not because she was in a hurry, but because if she stayed a second longer, she knew she'd be the one dragged into the disaster.

The house smelled like rituals and heat.

In the front hall, Geet Sharma was walking in slow circles, her saree pallu neatly tucked, balancing a small copper thali with diyas and flowers. In one hand she held a tiny bell, in the other, a lit dhoopbatti whose sweet, smoky fragrance curled through the air like a blessing.

Her lips moved softly-mantras slipping out in a low, steady murmur, a familiar morning ritual that had marked the Sharma home for decades.

Rudivika paused at the foot of the stairs, watching for a second.

The scent of dhoopbatti, the gentle chime of the bell, the soft chant-It all felt like peace.

A complete contrast to the war zone that was about to erupt upstairs.

After finishing her prayers, Geet placed the thali safely on the little puja table, blew out the diyas, and moved toward the dining area.

Rudivika followed, bag on shoulder, ready to escape the house once and for all.

There, at the dining table, sat Rithik.

Elbows on the table, mouth half full, eyes shining with pure joy.

A plate of mooli ke parathe sat in front of him, the parathas slightly browned, still steaming, and somehow not yet finished.

"Kitne parathe khayega, bhukkad?"

Rudivika muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

(How many parathas will you eat, you glutton?)

"Phir sadega itne mooli ke parathe kha kar."

(You'll stink after eating so many radish parathas.)

Rithik didn't even look up. He just grinned, cheeks bulging, and took another bite, as if the paratha were a love letter written just for him.

Aarohi stood beside him, ladle in hand, dropping one more paratha on his plate.

"Khana waste mat karna, kha logi."

(Don't let food waste, eat it all.)

Anjali, meanwhile, sat at the end of the table, neatly folding napkins and packing lunch boxes-one for Rudivika, one for Rithik. Each box already smelled like home: aloo‑paneer, rice, curd, pickle, and the leftover paratha that Geet had insisted no meal should be complete without.

"Mummy, 4 parathe extra rakh dena-Abhigyaan ke liye."

Rithik said suddenly, licking his fingers clean.

(Mom, pack 4 extra parathas-for Abhigyaan.)

Anjali paused, a lunch box halfway into the bag, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeh roz apne lunch ke saath uska bhi lekar jaata hai... uske ghar mein khaana nahi banta kya?"

(He takes food for him every day... don't they cook at his house?)

Rithik grinned again, unabashed.

"Arey, hum dono jo bhi breakfast mein banta hai woh lekar jaate hain... lunch ke baad bhook lagti hai toh ek dusre ka kha lete hain."

(We both bring whatever is made at home... after lunch we get hungry, so we eat each other's food.)

Rudivika shook her head, half‑amused, half‑exhausted.

She placed the lunch boxes into their bags, zipped them shut, and turned toward Rithik.

"Ab chal yaar, bus aane wali hogi."

(Come on, the bus must be arriving.)

She grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged.

"Arey! Aaram se!"

(Hey! Easy!)

Rithik pouted, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

Just then, Geet smiled softly, stepping closer.

She slipped a fifty‑rupee note into each of their hands-crisp, slightly folded, and still warm from her palm.

"Aaram se jao, bachchon."

(Go carefully, kids.)

Rithik looked at the note like it was a tiny insult.

"Dadi, ₹50 se kya hoga? Dena hai toh ₹500 do."

(Grandma, what will ₹50 do? If you're giving, give ₹500.)

Before Geet could even scold him,

Aarohi's voice floated from behind Rudivika.

"Rudivika, Roohi nahane gayi ya nahi?"

(Did Roohi go to bathe or not?)

Rudivika didn't even turn.

"Maa, woh uthi bhi nahi hai. Gadhi ki tarah muh khol ke so rahi hai."

(Mom, she hasn't even woken up. Sleeping like a donkey with her mouth open.)

Aarohi froze.The color drained from her cheeks for a second.She closed her eyes, breathing through her nose, silently calling all the gods she could remember by name.

"Hey Kanha... main kya karu is ladki ka..."

(Oh Krishna... what do I do with this girl...)

"School ka time ho gaya hai, main utha ke aati hoon."

(It's already school time, I'll go wake her up.)

Rithik's eyes lit up, mischief spreading like wildfire..

"Arey, main ek photo leke aata hoon!"

(Wait, I'll go take a photo!)

Before he could even take a step toward the stairs,Rudivika grabbed his wrist, almost dragging him.

"Bus aa gayi! Chal!"

(The bus is here! Let's go!)

They both rushed out, sneakers slapping against the floor, bags bouncing against their backs.

Geet and Anjali, standing in the hallway, instinctively raised their hands and covered their ears, as if they had a sixth sense for the incoming storm.

Because they knew-What happened next was institutional.

"ROOOOOOOOOOOOHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII SHARRRRRRMMMAAAAAAAA!"

The sound hit like a thunderclap.

Aarohi's voice didn't just travel through Sharma Sadan-It invaded it.

Upstairs, the door slammed open ,The birds sitting on the tree outside the window took off in panic, scattering into the sky like tiny, frightened feathers.

The ceiling fan trembled.Even the wall clock seemed to hesitate for a second.

Upstairs, in Roohi's room,Aarohi stood in the middle of the room holding a wireless microphone.

Yes ,Roohi's microphone.

The one Roohi had "borrowed" from some local wedding photographer and then turned into a permanent part of her "stage."

The one she used for her "concerts" in the living room, followed by five minutes of chaos, three minutes of apology, and one minute of laughter.

But Roohi? Still asleep.

Lying half‑off the bed, half‑on it, like she had given up on gravity and the concept of "mattress."

Aarohi narrowed her eyes, stepping closer-

And then noticed the tiny white earbuds buried in Roohi's ears.A faint beat of music leaked out, muffled but still there.

And She raised the microphone till it was almost touching Roohi's ear Then-

"ROOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIII SHARMAAAAAAAA! CHUHE KI AULAAD, UTH!"

(Roohi Sharma! You rat's child, WAKE UP!)

The scream hit like a sonic wave.

Roohi shot up so fast she almost hit her head on the ceiling fan.

"Aaaauuu! Mumma!"

(Ouch! Mom!)

She rubbed her ears, blinking rapidly, trying to process the universe.

Sleep floated away like fog.

Only to be replaced by Aarohi's glare-

Narrowed eyes, crossed arms, and a jaw set so tight it could crack nuts.

"Koi uthne ka time hota hai ya nahi?"

(Is there any time to wake up or not?)

"Ghadi dekh!"

(Look at the clock!)

Aarohi pointed dramatically at the wall clock.

"7:30 baj rahe hain."

(7:30!)

"Tujhe school mein hona tha aur yahan tu ghode bech ke so rahi hai!"

(You should be at school and here you are sleeping like a log!)

Roohi just... stared.

Her brain still loading like a slow phone app.

Half asleep.

Half processing.

Half regretting ever being born.

"Ab mera muh kya dekh rahi hai? Nahane ja!"

(Why are you staring at me? Go bath!)

Aarohi snapped, smacking Roohi lightly on the head.

Processing finally loaded.

"Aree yaar, matashree... paas mein hi toh hai school. Aaram se chali jaungi..."

(Oh Mom... the school is nearby. I'll go comfortably...)

"Thoda aaram karne do, phir jaati hoon..."

(Let me rest a bit, then I'll go...)

She stretched her arms, yawned widely, and flopped backward onto the bed, ready to slide back into dreamland.

Aarohi lost it.

"Kya aaram? Majdoori karke aayi hai kya?"

(What rest? Did you come back from labor work?)

"Sokar hi uthi hai! Chup chaap uth-tere baap ka school nahi hai!"

(You just woke up from sleep! Get up-it's not your father's school!)

Roohi froze mid‑stretch.

Then, slowly, her eyes lit up.A wicked grin spread across her face.

"Wow, nice idea matashree!"

(Wow, nice idea Mom!)

"Baba se bolungi-school khareed lo... phir kabhi bhi jaungi!"

(I'll tell Dad to buy the school... then I'll go anytime I want!)

"Us gadhe ko nikaal doongi, teachers bhi change karwaungi... aur class mein AC lagwaungi!"

(I'll throw out that donkey, change some teachers... and install AC in class!)

She beamed proudly, as if she had just solved world hunger.

Aarohi stared.

Dead. Silent.

The kind of silence that comes before a storm.

Roohi gulped Immediately shut her mouth.

Sat up straight.

"Uth le, Roohi..." she muttered under her breath, glancing at the door.

(Get up, Roohi...)

"Dadu baba bhi nahi hain tujhe bachane ke liye."

(Even Grandpa and dad isn't here to save you.)

Because both Naveen and Neeraj were in Delhi for a case.Client trouble. Court drama. Billable hours.

Roohi's worst nightmare.

No one to bail her out when Mom exploded.

But then, Roohi suddenly perked up again.

"Ohhh... baba ki chummi nahi mili aaj..."

(Oh... I didn't get Dad's kiss today...)

She dragged herself off the bed, shuffled over to Aarohi, and planted a loud, sloppy kiss right on her cheek.

"Lo, maine de di."

(Here, I gave it.)

Then, grinning like a mischievous Cheshire cat, she added-

"Dekho matashree, baba‑wali lip‑lock wali kiss toh main nahi de sakti..."

(See Mom, I can't give that 'Dad‑style' lip‑lock kiss...)

"Woh toh main apne future husband ko hi dungi..."

(That I'll give to my future husband...)

"Abhi aap isse kaam chala lo."

(For now, you make do with this.)

Wrong. Move.

Aarohi twisted her ear with a practiced grip.

"Aaaah! Mummaaa!"

(Ohhhh Mom!)

"Beta, jis tarah ki harkatein hain na..."

(With the kind of antics you do...)

Her eyes burned, but her voice was low, almost calm.

"Tujhe koi ladka kya, koi ghar bhi apni bahu nahi banayega."

(Forget a boy, no family will accept you as a daughter‑in‑law.)

"Zindagi bhar yahin rehna padega, hum hi tujhe jhel sakte hai"

(You'll have to live here forever because we're the only ones who can tolerate you.)

Roohi pouted, eyes suddenly wide and dramatic.

"Waise bhi aap logon ko hi jhelna hai... duniya ko nahi."

(Anyway, you guys have to tolerate me-no one else does.)

"Ab chup!" Aarohi snapped, giving her a firm push toward the washroom door.

"Nahane ja!"

(Go bathe!)

Roohi dragged her feet, arms swinging, shoulders hunched, like a sentenced prisoner..

"Mera hi ghar hai... phir bhi majboor hoon..."

(It's my own house... yet I'm forced...)

She disappeared behind the bathroom door with a dramatic sigh,While Aarohi stood outside, listening to the sounds of splashing water and grumbling.

🌷

Rathore Palace:

Meanwhile, at the Rathore Palace, an early morning was unfolding-The sky still clung to the last fading shades of night, the sun barely a promise on the horizon.

The large palace stood calm and silent, wrapped in a royal stillness that only existed before dawn-a kind of hush that felt like the house itself was holding its breath.

On the topmost floor, in the private wing that belonged only to Abhimanyu and Abhigyaan, the corridor was dimly lit, the marble floor cool and quiet under the soft light of wall lamps.

Inside Abhimanyu's room, darkness lingered, the heavy curtains blocking out the faint silver glow of morning.

He lay straight on his bed, body perfectly aligned, limbs held with the same discipline he carried in life.Even in sleep, he did not sprawl ,He did not roll.

He just lay there, as if his body refused to grant itself the luxury of being careless.

Yet, a faint frown rested on his forehead-A small line carved between his brows, betraying the unrest his mind refused to surrender.

As if even his dreams refused to give him peace.In his dream,He stood alone on rough, barren land.

The ground cracked under his feet, dry and cracked, the air heavy with dust.The horizon stretched endlessly, empty, lifeless, like a desert imposed by fate rather than nature.

It mirrored the harshness of his own life-A life built on relentless training, Mountains of expectations, And responsibilities that never ended.

He was the eldest son,Born to a name that needed protection,Born to a crown that did not wait for childhood to pass.

He was destined to take the throne once he completed his studies.Along with that, he carried the burden of managing the family's vast business empire-Hotels, land, companies, deals, boardrooms, politics.Nothing was left to chance.

Nothing was left to a sixteen‑year‑old boy who had never truly been allowed to just be a boy.His life had become nothing but work, duty, and control. No lazy days,No meaningless fun,No "someday I'll do it" excuses.

Everything had to be now, perfect, flawless.

As he stood in that dream desert, sky heavy and threatening,A sudden flash of lightning tore through the clouds,

Splitting the sky into jagged pieces of light.

Before he could fully process it,A hand appeared in front of him.

Soft. Steady.Unafraid.

He frowned, confused,Then looked up.

A girl stood there-Grinning brightly, as if the vast emptiness around them meant nothing.

Her eyes sparkled, alive and free,As if she had walked straight out of another world-one full of laughter, choice, and light.

She looked at him as if she knew him,

As if she had seen beyond the titles, beyond the name.She nodded softly,

A simple, gentle gesture-And almost unconsciously,He placed his hand in hers.

His rough, calloused, trained hands-used to holding swords, weights, pens, documents-Contrasted sharply with her soft, smooth ones-Delicate fingers that had probably never felt the weight of an empire.

The difference was impossible to ignore.

He was tension ,She was ease.

He was control ,She was chaos wrapped in gentleness.

She stepped closer,Closing the distance between them,Unafraid, unbothered by the emptiness around them.Her free hand reached out, gently fixing his collar,

As if she had every right to touch him,

As if she had always been allowed into his space.Then, with a smile still on her lips,She leaned slightly closer,

Her breath a whisper against his ear-

"Main aa rahi hoon aapke paas."

(I'm coming to you.)

The words settled inside him like a secret vow,Soft, intimate, dangerous.

And then,The desert, the sky, the girl-

Everything vanished in an instant.

The next moment,Abhimanyu woke with a sharp jerk, his chest heaving, breath uneven, his heart pounding like it had run miles in that dream.

The room was still dark,The curtains still drawn,The palace still asleep.

He blinked, eyes adjusting,And muttered,

"What the hell did I dream?"

He ran a hand roughly through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp,Trying to shake off the lingering image-

Her face.

Her eyes.

Her voice.

Somewhere deep within, he knew he longed for someone-Someone who didn't see "Prince" when they looked at him.

Someone who didn't bow before him because of his name. Someone who could look at him, ask him how he was,And actually listen to the answer.

A place to feel safe.

A place where he could drop the armor,

Even if just for a second.

But the thought made him uncomfortable ,Weak, Human.

He immediately shrugged it off.Pushed it down. Buried it under layers of discipline and duty. He closed his eyes again, Trying to return to the numbness he was used to-But the dream returned,Only as a glimpse.

Her face. Her smile. Her whisper echoing in his head. His jaw tightened ,Teeth grinding together.

"I don't need anyone," he muttered firmly,

As if he were speaking to the room, to the house, to the weight of his name.Then, as if to cleanse himself of that softness,He brought his palms together, bowing his head slightly,Eyes closed,And whispered-

"Karagre vasate Lakshmi,

Karamadhye Saraswati,

Karamule tu Govinda,

Prabhate karadarshanam."

(At the tips of my fingers resides Goddess Lakshmi,At the center resides Goddess Saraswati,At the base resides Lord Govinda,

Thus, I look at my hands in the morning.)

He rubbed his hands slowly over his eyes,

Washing away the faint warmth of the dream,Bringing himself back into the world of stone, steel, and responsibility.

Glancing at the clock,He saw the red digits flash 4:30 AM.

Without wasting a second,He got up.

The bed bore no creases from restless movement-only the straight imprint of someone who rose because he had to, not because he wanted to.

He moved to the bathroom, freshened up quickly,Brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face,And came out dressed in a black t-shirt and plain training trousers.

He tied his shoelaces with practiced precision,Then stepped out of the room.

Though only sixteen-soon to be seventeen,

His physique carried the strength and discipline of a grown man.

Broad shoulders, firm chest, sharp jawline,Body carved by years of relentless training-Weapon drills, cardio, weight training, meditation, discipline.

By 5 AM, he was already on the palace ground.The air was cool, the sky still half‑dark,The world only beginning to stir.He started running-Steady, continuous circles,No breaks,No hesitation.

His breaths were controlled,His pace unwavering,As if exhaustion was a concept he had defeated long ago.Each step hit the ground with purpose,Each heartbeat carrying the weight of a future he did not get to choose.

From the balcony above,Maithali Singh Rathore stood watching,Her hands resting on the stone railing, her posture regal even in a simple saree.

Beside her, Abhinav stood, quieter, his eyes softer, more human.A proud smile curled on Maithali's lips as her gaze followed Abhimanyu's every movement-The way his shoulders moved, the way his legs carried him forward,The way he looked at nothing except the path ahead.

"Hum bol rahe hain, Abhinav..."

She began, her voice low but firm,

(I'm telling you, Abhinav...)

She turned slightly toward him, eyes gleaming with a mix of pride, hope, and hunger.

"Humaara heera Rathoron ka naam bahut ooncha lekar jayega."

(Our gem will take the Rathore name to great heights.)

Her voice carried pride,But also ownership,

As if she owned every drop of sweat he would ever shed.A trainer approached Abhimanyu with a sword,And the scene shifted immediately-From running to sword training.

Abhimanyu picked up the wooden practice sword,Spun it once in his hand,And moved into position-Feet set, back straight, gaze steady.

Meanwhile, Abhinav let out a deep, heavy sigh,His eyes softening with concern.

"Lekin kis keemat par, Maa sa?"

(But at what cost, mother?)

His voice was low, almost gentle,But the meaning cut deep.

"Uska bachpan cheen kar?"

(By taking away his childhood?)

He looked down at the boy below,Watching him move with precision and focus,Yet seeing, at the same time, the boy that had been lost somewhere along the way.

"Abhi bas 16 ka hai... aur maa, ab zamana waisa nahi raha jaisa mere aur Raj ke samay tha."

(He's only 16... and Mom, the world is not the same as it was in our time and Raj's.)

He paused, letting the words sit,Then continued,

"Waqt badal raha hai... kuch mahino mein uski 12vi shuru hogi, aur in sab ki wajah se woh school bhi nahi ja pata."

(Times are changing... in a few months his 12th will start, and because of all this, he can't even attend school properly.)

"Ghar ke saare bachche so rahe hain... aur Abhi-"

(The other children in the house are still asleep... and Abhi-)

"Bas, Abhinav," Maithali cut him off firmly,

Her tone sharp, leaving no room for debate.

(Enough, Abhinav.)

She turned to face him fully, eyes hard, voice steady.

"Humein sab pata hai."

(I know everything.)

She paused, letting her gaze sweep over the house,

As if she knew every secret, every plea, every sacrifice made within these walls.

"Zamana badalta hai, par maryada aur niyam nahi badalte."

(Times may change, but traditions and rules do not.)

Her eyes returned to Abhimanyu, moving on the ground below,Parry, strike, block, rotate-Precision carved into muscle memory.

"Humein pata hai Kunwar sa ki 12vi hai,

Aur yeh bhi ke uske baad woh aage padhne jayega."

(I know his 12th is near, and that he will go for further studies after that.)

A pause,Then the final, cold question-

"Toh kab seekhega yeh sab?Dhandha bhi sambhalna hai,Aur jile ko bhi chalana hai-raja ki tarah."

(Then when will he learn all this? He has to manage the business and rule the region like a king.)

Her gaze hardened, turning from a mother's warmth to a queen's iron will.

"Tum sab ne baaki bachchon ko bigaad diya hai,"

(You all have spoiled the other children,)

She said, her voice colder now,

"Par hum apne heere ke saath yeh galti nahi karenge.".

(But I won't make that mistake with my gem.)

Her eyes softened for just a second,

Then they returned, sharper,

"Humein poore parivaar mein sirf Abhimanyu se umeed hai,Aur humein pata hai-woh kabhi humein niraash nahi karega."

(In this entire family, I have expectations only from Abhimanyu,and I know he will never disappoint me.)

She turned without waiting for a response,Her saree sweeping behind her like a shadow,Leaving Abhinav alone on the balcony.He stood there, silent, His eyes following Abhimanyu's movements,The boy now fighting the trainer with a sword-Precise, focused, relentless.

"A curse of belonging to a royal family,"

He whispered under his breath,His voice heavy with both memory and warning .

He saw the same struggle repeating in the next generation-The same weight,The same sacrifice,The same lost childhood.

The world only ever noticed the luxury, the power, the pride of a royal family. The glittering weddings, the grand celebrations,The sprawling palace, the titles, the photos in newspapers.

No one ever saw the weight they carried,The sleepless nights,The silent sacrifices,The laughter swallowed so that the throne could stand.

No one ever saw the boy inside the crown, Running circles in the dark , Training his body.

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Word limit - 4.3k words .

Hope you all loveee the chapter, I tried my best to give better detailed backstory.

Tell me how is it ! I am soooo nervous hehehe 😭.