Author's pov
Sixteen years of silence, sixteen years of longing. When Atharav Singh Rathore left Jodhpur at twelve, Nayantara was only six. He carried his destiny in a train bound for Delhi, leaving behind an unfinished story, a childhood promise, and a girl who never stopped waiting.
But time, however cruel, always circles back. And now, the boy had returned as a man the Crown Prince of Jodhpur, with scars of the city and secrets of the heart.
Atharav's pov
At the Railway Station
The whistle of the engine echoed across the sandstone city. I stepped down from the train, my posture regal, face calm, but eyes carried a storm.
Waiting for me at the platform was a familiar figure.
Satyam Singh Shekhawat.
"Arre Rajkumar Rathore!" Satyam spread his arms wide, grinning. "Finally! Solah saal ke baad, tu vapas aa gaya yaar"
(“Oh prince Rathore!” Satyam spreads his arms wide, grinning. “Finally! After a year or so, you’re back, man.”)
Atharav's lips twitched faintly. "Tu vahin ka vahin hai, Satyam."
("You haven't changed a bit, Satyam.")
Satyam slung an arm around my shoulder, then leaned in, whispering like a conspirator. "Waise kuch laya ho?"
("Did you bring something?")
"Laya?" I frowned.
("Brought?")
Satyam smirked, fishing something from my pocket. The delicate silver glinted in the sun an anklet, old but still beautiful.
Atharav froze. His chest tightened. "Yeh..."
("This...")
"Yaad hai?" Satyam teased. "Ek chhoti si ladki, jo hamesha teri ungli pakad ke ghoomti thi... yaad toh bhaut karti hogi tujhe voh jaise tu karta hai."
(“Remember?” Satyam teased. “That little girl who used to always walk around holding your finger... she must miss you just as much as you miss her.”)
My gaze softened. I took the anklet in my hand, thumb brushing against the tiny bells. For a second, the memories rushed back a six-year-old girl laughing, running across marble corridors, calling my name.
Satyam chuckled. "Oho, aankhon mein pighalti hui yaadein... dhiyan se, Rajkumar. Lagta hai sheher se wapas aaya toh bhi dil wahi chhoti si duniya mein atka hai. Aashiq Rathore."
("Oh my, memories melting in your eyes... Careful there, Prince. It seems that even after returning from the city, your heart is still stuck in that same little world. Lover-boy Rathore.”)
I shot him a look, though a ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "Bas bakwaas karna band kar, chal."
("Just stop talking nonsense—let's go.”)
We two walked out, stepping into a vintage car waiting outside the station. As we drove through the streets of Jodhpur, I clutched the anklet once more before slipping it carefully inside my shirt pocket close to my heart.
Arrival at the Palace
The car rolled into the grand gates of Rathore Palace, its polished chrome gleaming in the desert sun. My eyes lifted the towering walls, the domes, the courtyards. Home. And yet, not home.
Satyam leaned back, smirking. "Bas abhi dekh, tera swagat karne pura mela jama hoga."
("Just watch—the entire fair will gather to welcome you.")
I didn't answer. My gaze was already drawn elsewhere.
Because right there, in the courtyard, children were running wildly with kites, their laughter spilling like music. And among them she was there.
Nayantara. My Nayan. Only mine.
Nayan's pov
The day had begun like every other sunshine spilling into marble corridors, children tugging at my dupatta, begging me to join their kite fight. And I had given in, my anklets ringing as I ran barefoot across the courtyard, string cutting into my hands as I shouted:
"Pakad lo, pakad lo! Is baar toh hum jeetenge!"
(“Grab it, grab it! This time, I’ll win!”)
But then I felt it. That shift in the air.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel.
I turned. And the world is still.
The vintage car pulled in, and from it stepped a man I had once known as a boy. His hair darker, his shoulders broader, his presence heavier. Yet in his eyes that same glint I remembered.
Atharav.
The kite slipped from my grip, soaring into the sky, but my gaze remained locked on him. My breath came short, my heart hammered loudly.
He came back. He really came back.
Atharav's pov
I froze where I stood. Amidst the noise, the laughter, the fake welcomes that awaited me I saw her.
Nayan.
The girl who had once clung to me in fear of puppies, declaring she feared no one. The child who had promised she would always wait.
Now she was here, radiant, alive, her smile trembling as she stared at me.
"Yaad hai wo kutte wali kahani?" I muttered, almost unconsciously.
("Remember that story of those puppies?")
Satyam followed my gaze, smirking knowingly. "Ohooo... Aashiq Rathore. Tere liye toh yeh mahal bhi ruk gaya hai."
(“Oh… lover Rathore. Even this palace has come to a standstill for you.”)
I didn't reply. But my heart... it stumbled.
Author's pov
The spell broke when the royal family descended like actors on a stage.
Maharani Devyani Singh Rathore glided forward, every inch elegance. "Swagat hai, Atharav. Tumhari kami humesha mehsoos hoti thi."
(“Welcome, Atharav. You were always missed.”)
Kavya Singh Rathore, graceful but sharp-eyed, clasped her hands. "Bhai sa, itne saalon baad... sach kahun toh, humne socha tha aap wapas aana hi nahi chahte."
("Brother, after all these years... to be honest, we thought you didn't want to come back at all.")
Veer Singh Rathore, arrogant as ever, smirked. "Rajkumar sahab, aap toh bilkul badal gaye. Lekin dekhte hain, ab iss mahal mein kiski chalti hai."
("Prince, you have changed completely. But let's see who holds the reins in this palace now.")
Rajvardhan, with his false warmth, clapped him on the back. "Atharav, bhai! Aap aaye ho, yeh sabse badi khushi hai."
Maitreyi's honeyed voice followed, "Hum sabne tumhe kitna miss kiya."
(“Atharav, brother! The fact that you’ve come is the greatest joy.” Maitreyi’s honeyed voice followed, “We all missed you so much.”)
But Atharav wasn't fooled. He saw the bitterness in their smiles, the envy in their glances.
Without responding, he simply strode past them all. His path was clear straight to his grandfather's chamber.
The scent of sandalwood lingered as he pushed the door open. Maharaj Pratap Singh Rathore sat there, frail but dignified, a man who had once ruled with strength and wisdom.
"Dadaji..." his voice cracked for the first time.
("Grandfather...")
He looked up, eyes wet. "Mera beta..."
("My child...")
He touched his feet, and then he pulled him into his arms.
For a moment, He wasn't the crown prince. He was just a boy who had come home.
Nayan's pov
The palace was alive with whispers
Prince Atharav has returned.
For me, every word was like the ringing of temple bells. I darted through corridors, laughter spilling, and heart soaring. The boy I had waited sixteen years for was finally here.
That night, I couldn't resist. I climbed quietly to the wing where his chambers lay. My heart thundered, my hands trembled, but the spirit was light.
And there he was.
Standing at the window, moonlight tracing his face.
My lips curved, and I waved. Not as a grown woman, not as a palace servant's daughter but as the little girl who had once waved him goodbye by the lake.
For a flicker of a moment, his eyes softened. His hand almost lifted. Almost.
Atharav's pov
Knock knock knock.
"Atharav," came my father's stern voice.
("Atharav")
My jaw clenched. I shut the window without a word.
Below, Nayantara's hand dropped, her smile fading, but not her hope.
Must be thinking I came back. And no matter how much I tried to hide it... I remember her .
-I hope you all liked the chapter please let me know your favourite scene in the comment section and don't forget to vote and follow to get regular updates.
- The next update will be next weekend.
- Till then have a great time my cupcakes 🫶🏻.
With love
talesbydoi
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