Scene 1

(Chapter 7)

The corridor felt endless. Bhavya followed the maid in silence, her mind still reeling from the storm that had just hit them. Her shoulders ached from keeping herself composed downstairs. Her fingers still remembered the way they’d trembled behind her back. The hate in the eyes of the young man who is her supposed family.

“He has no right to be here!”  “She’s still an outsider! They have no place in this family!” And her Dada’s voice—the cold finality of it—echoed louder than anything else. This is not my family. Nor do I belong here. She blinked hard, willing the sting behind her eyes to disappear as the maid opened a large door at the end of the hallway.

“This was Chote Kunwarsa’s room. Hukum has asked you to reside here until your room is ready.” the woman said softly, stepping aside. Bhavya snapped out of her thoughts as she stepped inside the room and froze.

It wasn’t just a room. It was a time capsule. Like someone had paused the clock fifteen years ago and forgotten to hit play again. The chamber had an airy grandeur—tall ceilings, thick velvet curtains in deep blue and gold, polished marble floors that gleamed like mirrors. A small but regal four-poster bed stood at the center, perfectly made, the cushions plumped and untouched.