The golden sky of Udaipur shimmered like silk as the royal car glided through the palace gates. Trumpets echoed softly, welcoming back the youngest princess of Rajvanshi Empire — Sitara.

Dressed in a simple white anarkali  suit, hair are open , Sitara looked out of the window at the place she once called home. London had changed her — polished her, prepared her — but as the first breeze of Udaipur kissed her skin, she realized… some things never leave you.

Her mother, Maharani Meenakshi, rushed forward with moist eyes, holding her baby girl after three long years.

"Chhutki…" the voice came from behind — deep, commanding, and protective. Rudraksh, her elder brother, stood with folded arms and a rare smile playing on his lips.

Sitara laughed as she hugged him. "Bhai, tum abhi bhi waise hi ho. Khadoos."Before anyone could respond, a black vintage car rolled slowly through the back entrance of the palace grounds.

From its tinted window, Abhay Singh Rathore watched the scene unfold.

His eyes didn’t blink.

Not once.

His gaze was fixed on her.

On the girl he was bound to marry.

Not out of love.

Not out of choice.

But out of a contract signed in blood and silence — years ago.

"She’s back," he murmured, sipping his black coffee.

Behind him, Aryan leaned casually. “So, the princess arrives. Tum ready ho, Abhay?”

Abhay’s eyes darkened.

“I don’t need to be ready. She does.”

Welcome home, Sitara,” echoed the palace halls as flower petals rained from the balcony above.

Servants lined up in silence, guards stood tall, and royal banners swayed gently in the wind. But none of it mattered to Maharani Meenakshi as she cupped her daughter’s face.

“Three years, Sitara… London se sirf call aati thi, lekin maa ki baahon ka sukoon kahan milega tujhe wahan?” Her voice trembled with emotion.

Sitara smiled gently. “Maa, mujhe har raat tumhari voice note sun kar neend aati thi.”

Behind them, Maharaja Raghvendra Rajvanshi stepped forward — tall, dignified, eyes filled with pride and hidden grief. He hugged her silently, and that one moment said more than a thousand words.

“Tum badal gayi ho,” he finally said.

“Lekin aankhon ki masoomiyat wahi hai.”

She chuckled, “Aur papa ki daant bhi wahi hai, I’m sure.”

And then came Rudraksh, her elder brother, who never showed much emotion but always felt too much.

He handed her a cup of ginger tea — her favorite. “London ki fancy coffee se zyada yeh pasand aayegi.”

Sitara raised an eyebrow. “Tum mujhe ya meri pasand bhool kaise jaate?”

He smiled softly. “Main toh tujhe kabhi bhool hi nahi sakta.”

They all walked inside together — into the grand sitting hall adorned with vintage chandeliers, golden antiques, and portraits of their royal ancestors.

But as Sitara sat with her family, laughing over old stories, sipping her tea, she didn’t know that far away… another family was watching her return.

A family whose history was tied to hers.

A man whose world was darkness.

And she, the only ray of light destined to enter it.

-

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