The letter of 1857

Chapter The Palace, Sitapur— Later That Evening

The soft rustle of silk and muted scent of rose attar lingered faintly in the private quarters of the Rathore palace, but Arav had returned without the scent of either.

He stood before the intricately carved wooden mirror, still tugging at the collar of his light pink kurta, as if it held answers. His fingers paused at the edge of his collarbone, mindlessly tracing where her voice still echoed.

Behind him, Raza leaned against one of the brass-latched window panels, arms crossed, his olive kurta sleeves folded back neatly, icy green eyes narrowed at the back of Arav's head.

"So," Raza finally broke the silence, "you look like a man who just saw a ghost."

Arav exhaled. "Not a ghost. A storm in cotton and sarcasm."

Raza's eyebrow lifted a notch. "That bad?"

"No," Arav said, turning around with a thoughtful smirk. "That… interesting."

Raza walked over, grabbed a grape from the crystal bowl and popped it in his mouth. "Let me guess. She hit you."

"No."

"Pushed you?"

"No."

"Spoke more than you did?"

Arav narrowed his eyes. "Definitely."

Raza gave a slow nod. "Dangerous."

Arav paced the room once before dropping into the cushioned diwan with a dramatic sigh. "She argued over the cost of bangles in fractions."

Raza blinked. "Math?"

"Horribly. Brilliantly. Loudly. To a shopkeeper. In full public view."

Raza sat across from him, resting one ankle over his knee. "And let me guess — you stepped in to save the poor merchant."

"She didn't need saving. She just needed to be told that half is more than three-fourths."

A beat passed. Raza gave him a hard stare. "You corrected her math?"

"I tried to. She accused me of eavesdropping."

"Did you?"

"I might've hovered… slightly."

Raza laughed once — the rare, short kind that sounded more like air leaving stone.

"And then?"

"She walked off before telling me her name. Again."

"Second time?"

Arav nodded.

"You're doomed."

"I'm curious," Arav said slowly, "not cursed."

"That's what all doomed men say," Raza replied dryly, leaning back.

Silence lingered, until Raza added thoughtfully, "She didn't behave like a noblewoman?"

"No. That's the thing," Arav said, eyes drifting to the latticework outside. "She was dressed simply. Walked freely. Boldly. No servants. No royal insignia. Just… like she belonged."

"Maybe she did," Raza said. "Just not to the place you expect."

Arav didn't answer. He simply pulled a blank parchment closer on the low marble table, dipped his pen, and began to sketch — not her face, but the shape of the earrings she had been holding. The tilt of her neck. The way her fingers pointed at a tray of bangles.

Raza watched silently for a moment, then murmured with faint amusement, "At least now we know it's not the battlefield you fear. It's the marketplace."