Beyond Destiny ~ A Saga Of Timeless Love

11 ~ Mystery Of Book

"I can't tell you how piercingly and endlessly I think about you."

Ruhanika

His words continued to reverberate in my mind as I sat on the bed, frustration pooling in my chest like a heavy stone, making it impossible to relax. My mind was a chaotic jumble, entangled in thoughts of him. For the last hour, I had tried in vain to close my eyes and drift into sleep, but that conversation kept replaying in my head like a stubborn loop.

I don’t want to think about this.

The gentle glance he had given me, the concern that had softened his usually stern demeanor, and the authoritative reprimand he’d delivered for my clumsiness all crowded my thoughts. I do not want to remember him at all.

With a sharp breath, I swung my legs off the bed, the coldness of the wooden floor shocking against my skin as I stood up. Frustration drove me toward my chamber, where I hoped to find solace, yet the confines of the room felt suffocating. I can't go outside. If Maya saw me, it would be over. I could still hear her voice from yesterday morning, sharp and disapproving, chastising me for my clumsiness when I tripped over nothing in the corridor.

I paced back and forth, each step dragging my weariness deeper into my bones until my legs felt heavy and worn out. I just need to rest. I convinced myself that a quick nap would do the trick, but my optimism faded as I settled into the bed. Not even fatigue could lure me into sleep.

Why won’t that guy leave me alone? Even in his absence, he lingered, his presence like an unwelcome shadow that taunted me from the corners of my mind.

Desperate to distract myself, I scanned the room, seeking something—anything—to occupy my thoughts. My eyes fell upon an object sitting on my bedside table. There it was, the book that the prince had gifted me. A small smile broke through my frown as I thought, Now I can kill some time.

Curiosity piqued, I reached for the book. The cover was a rich crimson, smooth beneath my fingertips, but devoid of any title or artwork. What had possessed him to give me this? I recalled his mischievous grin, the glint of mischief in his eyes when I had expressed interest in books.

With anticipation swirling in my chest, I opened the book. The faint scent of aged paper wafted up, mingling with the lingering memory of his presence. But as I flipped to the first page, a single word leapt out at me, and my heart sank. My eyes widened in horror, and before I could process the title fully, the book slipped from my hands and landed with a soft thud on the floor.

What the fuck?

I never cursed; it wasn't in my nature, but in this moment, it felt like the only appropriate response.

The book I was holding in my hands, which the prince gave me after I told him this piqued my interest, was Kamasutra.

I was in disbelief; my cheeks were burning. That is why he was making fun of me that particular day. How can he read this, and what kind of books does he have in his collection?

Yes sure like you don't read dark romance yourself.

My subconscious mocked me. I had no argument against it. I enjoyed those stories, but they were mine—private, not meant to be shared or scrutinized. After the initial shock subsided, an overwhelming sense of shame washed over me, followed closely by indignation.

This book needs to be returned to him immediately. The thought ignited a fire in my chest. I would confront him, demand an explanation, and reclaim my dignity. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable interaction, my heart pounding as I pictured his smug expression, knowing exactly what this book would do to my already tumultuous feelings.