The palace courtyard, moments ago alive with laughter and rituals, now stood quieter… heavier. The glowing diyas still flickered, the sacred fire still smouldered, but the air had changed. The sound of shehnai now played a more soulful tune, like a distant lullaby bidding goodbye to innocence.

Sitara stood at the grand threshold of Rajvanshi Palace, her dupatta veiling half her face, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her hands were covered in fresh mehendi, and her forehead bore the deep red sindoor he had placed moments ago. She was no longer just Princess Sitara Rajvanshi—she was now Mrs. Sitara Abhay Singh Rathore.

"But the goodbye wasn’t easy.

Maharani Meenakshi couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks as she cupped her daughter’s face, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Meri Rajkumari… sabse gehra rishta hota hai beti ka apne ghar se rukhsat ka. Par tujhmein meri shaan aur sabr dono hain…"

Prince Rudraksh, her elder brother, stood silently beside her. His always-proud gaze now held an unbearable ache. He didn’t cry. But the tight hug he gave her said everything he couldn't.

"Tujhse kisi ne poocha bhi nahi… par tu fir bhi kar gayi. Hamare liye. Hamare sammaan ke liye," he whispered against her hair.

Sitara’s voice broke as she finally spoke, eyes on her family.

“Rudra bhaiya… maa… baba… mujhe laga tha Rajkumari banna mushkil hai… par kisi ki bahu banna aur bhi zyada..."

The time had come.

The doli stood waiting—richly decorated with red velvet and golden threads. Just beside it, Abhay, in his sherwani, his expression unreadable. Arms behind his back, posture still, but his eyes... his eyes were only on her.

As the priest chanted the final farewell mantras, Sitara bent down to touch her parents’ and brother’s feet. She didn’t even realize she was crying until her tears fell on the marbled floor.

She took a step back… and another. Her eyes never left her family’s.

The moment she turned around, the shankh blew again, announcing her departure—not as a daughter—but as a bride.

Just as she stepped into the doli, she heard Rudraksh’s voice crack softly,

“Jab bhi teri aankhon mein aansu aayein, Sitara... mujhe yaad karna."

She paused for a heartbeat.

Then sat down, inside the doli, and the palki bearers lifted her up.

The crowd began to cheer softly as rose petals rained, but Sitara’s world blurred. Her childhood home grew smaller behind her… and beside the doli, Abhay walked silently, like a king escorting his queen to a war neither of them had asked for.

The journey had begun.

But this time, not toward a palace.

Toward the battlefield of emotions.