The letter of 1857

1855,ferozabad,Mirza palace

Chapter Continues: Later That Night — Mirza Palace, Private Chambers of the Princesses

Noor Jahan threw herself dramatically on the cushioned settee, scattering her dupatta like battlefield spoils. Her laughter echoed off the high stone walls, as Yasmeen closed the jharokha window behind her and spun around with eyes blazing with curiosity.

"I can still hear the shopkeeper muttering fractions under his breath," Noor said, hand on her heart, grinning wide. "Poor man nearly gave up his trade over my ponay dhai confusion."

Yasmeen, arms folded but face alight, leaned against the carved column near the bed.

"Forget the shopkeeper, Noor ," she said, pointing an accusing finger. "Who was that man?"

"What man?" Noor asked, as though she hadn't noticed the entire bazaar had paused when they clashed elbows.

Yasmeen crossed the room, grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it at her cousin. "The man who corrected your math in perfect royal accent! The one whose smile made the sun second guess itself."

Noor caught the pillow mid-air with a giggle. "Oh him. Just another annoying stranger trying to steal my bangle bargains."

"Another annoying stranger? Noor, that was a tall glass of poetry. I mean, did you see him? He must've been 6'3 at least! Dark, wavy hair like the Deccan monsoon, and grey eyes like mist over marble."

"You forgot the sculpted jaw," Noor added lightly, though she busied herself with the silver box of bangles she had smuggled in.

Yasmeen snapped her fingers. "Yes! The jaw! Like it was carved by royal decree."

"He was just a man," Noor said, though her smile gave away a touch of intrigue. "Too smug for his own good. Probably some trader's overfed son pretending to be useful."

"Or a prince pretending to be ordinary," Yasmeen said, her voice dropping theatrically.

Noor blinked at her. "You're too imaginative."

"And you're too not."

They laughed. Noor slipped one of the bangles onto her wrist and watched the silver reflect the candlelight.

"Still," Yasmeen continued, now lounging beside her, "He looked like he knew things. The kind of man who carries a sword but reads poetry."

Noor said nothing. Her finger paused on a sapphire-studded bangle.

The breeze in the bustling bazaar of Firozpur danced with loose ends of veils and the chimes of bangles, but it could not distract Yasmeen from the moment she was caught in.

"Did you see his cheekbones?" she whispered again, eyes wide as saucers.

"I saw the collision," Noor Jahan replied drily, "and my arm still remembers it."

"He was a—" Yasmeen began, her voice dreamy.

Noor rolled her eyes, "Don't say statue. You called the librarian a statue last week."

Yasmeen tilted her head, thoughtful. "Yes, but this one… this one had depth. Like a marble statue that reads poetry. In Urdu."

Before Noor could rebuke her with another quip, a familiar voice cut through the crowd—firm, but with a trace of warmth and unmistakable grace.

"Ah, begmaat of the Mirza haveli. What mischief have you both brought to the common streets today?"

They turned—Mir Baksh, their ever-watchful royal advisor, stood with a twinkle in his eye and his hands clasped behind his back. In his stately off-white achkan with gold buttons and a walking stick more for style than support, he looked every inch the loyal courtier of the Mirza family—only softened by his fondness for the young princesses.

Noor put on her most innocent expression. "Mischief? We only came for bangles."

"Hmm," Mir Baksh said, narrowing his eyes with playful suspicion. "And what bangle is it that makes a princess laugh like a girl of the galli?"

Noor tilted her head. "The kind that matches Yasmeen's imagination, apparently."

Yasmeen gave a sheepish grin. "They're pretty bangles."

Mir Baksh chuckled. "And next you'll be buying jalebis to go with them."

"We already have," Noor said, raising her paper cone of sweets like a soldier showing off his medal.

"Well," he nodded, eyes twinkling, "if your mother asks, I shall say you were studying city trade economy." He leaned in mock-secretively, "Though I doubt any economics was learned today."

Noor gave a half-curtsey. "You doubt us too much, Mir Baksh."

"And you charm too easily, Begum-e-Firozpur," he replied with a wink, before stepping away. "Back to the haveli before sunset. Or I shall personally blame Yasmeen."

He turned and vanished into the crowd, his royal walk still unshaken by the chaos of the market.

The moment he was gone, Yasmeen exhaled with exaggerated relief. "Okay, I love him, but sometimes he feels like a third parent."

"More like a third eye," Noor mumbled, adjusting her dupatta over her shoulder.

Yasmeen leaned closer. "Back to the real issue. That man. I mean—who was he?"

"I don't know," Noor said quickly, brushing dust from her sleeve. "Just a… passerby."

"Oh please," Yasmeen scoffed, "passerbys don't wear pale pink kurta-pyjamas stitched like the heavens handpicked the thread."

Noor laughed, despite herself. "You're unbearable."

"Tall. Easily 6'3. Dark, wavy hair. Brownish black. Sculpted jaw," Yasmeen counted off on her fingers like a scholar of handsome men. "And those eyes—I swear, grey. Like dusk just before rain."

"Dusk just before rain?" Noor echoed, raising a brow.

"Poetic, right?" Yasmeen grinned.

"You're hopeless."

Yasmeen smirked. "Hopeless, but observant. He looked about twenty-eight, no?"

Noor's lips twitched. "Twenty-eight is oddly specific."

"Because it's accurate," Yasmeen declared. "That is a man who knows his way around a sword and a mirror."

Noor shook her head, amused but trying not to show it. She tucked the remaining jalebi into her pouch and pulled Yasmeen forward. "We should go."

Yasmeen nodded dreamily. "Mmm. But if he's still in the market—"

"He's not."

"If fate brings him again—"

"I'll change my fate," Noor said, tugging her away by the arm.

But behind her calm face, something fluttered in Noor's chest—an echo of grey eyes and a voice that was far too steady for a stranger. She wouldn't admit it to Yasmeen, but something about the man's smile had struck her… oddly.

Not familiar.

But curious.

Too curious.