King of my Heart-Unroyals #1

06 | A secret

It was around seven in the evening when Kedar woke up to the sound of the distant rumbling of thunder that might have happened somewhere in the Himalayan skies. The night was cryptic, and the air was pure and smelled of trees. He was drenched in sweat when he woke up, tiny drops trickling down his forehead, even though the cold wind crept in through the slightly ajar window. It's been a daily routine for Prince Kedar to awaken from his vague yet terrifying nightmares at night, drenched in sweat. The yellow light filled the room as he turned it on. It was seven in the evening. Kedar was not hungry at all, so he didn't bother to think about travelling down to the dining hall on that cold night. He took a hot shower, each droplet melting his skin. 
Back in the room, he went through the notifications awaiting him on his phone, mostly texts from his friends at his previous school and texts from Zoya asking how his first day was. 
After replying to the messages, he opened his e-mail account. There were a bunch of unopened mails, but a particular one got his attention: an email from the debate club. He clicked on it.
 
Subject: Your application to the debate club at Aldridge-Heaton Academy.
 
Dear Kedar Nath Singh Panwar,
 
Thank you for showing interest in the debate club. We are impressed by your skill and your spontaneous ability to form logical responses. However, there are certain aspects that restrict us from onboarding you. We wish you all the best in your future endeavors.
 
Regards,
Coordinator, Debate Club.
 
 
It was his last straw. Despite having to put up with the ridiculous chain of questions, he has now been rejected. His answers were satisfactory enough to get into the club; he was confident. He should not be concerned about not getting into the club; he is more than that. But he was concerned and frustrated that a silly club at his school devalued his worth. How could he get into Oxford if he could not get into a debate club? He was sure that only one person could have discarded his application—the captain.

The next day was a Saturday, somber and chilly from yesterday's rain. The stone pavements in front of the church that lead down to the horse stables were dampened. The mini stadium, gym, swimming pool, golf course, stable, riding arena, and other buildings specially designed for the arts were the places some students spent their Saturdays. Kedar had chosen horseback riding and golf, just like a typical royal. 
 
Kedar was used to walking up before the sun. It was a routine his grandfather taught him or forced upon him when he was very little. Now, he doesn't need an alarm to wake up early in the morning. It was quarter past six in the morning, and there were only a few people on the school premises: some cleaning staff, some people who were working in the garden and kitchen, and the teachers who were on a morning walk. 
 
Kedar strode through the campus until he reached the buildings where the arts classrooms were. There were three hours left until the stables and horse riding arena opened, and he thought about roaming through the campus to get a good picture without the peering eyes of students watching him. The art classrooms had new, contemporary-style attachments to the old Victorian-style architecture of the main classrooms, painted white with green coloured glass panels. The sun had just peeped his head from the eastern edge behind the mountains, radiating its yellowy hue. Kedar walked through the veranda of the classrooms, glancing in through the green coloured glass panes. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees more than usual, and he put his arms into his black trousers. He wore a navy blue knitted t-shirt, which kept him warm enough. Notes of a faint Hindustani music flowed in like water currents in a river. He took a couple of steps until the music intensified. He peeped in, his breath fogging the mirror. It was a dance classroom, and someone was dancing alone inside, her white salwar blooming like a flower as she spun. He looked closely; it was her—Himani Arora. He wanted to unlock the door, go in, and ask her why he was rejected from the club, but he stood there, glued to the floor. His heartbeat increased as the song's rhythms shifted. She kept dancing; if she had noticed him, it'd have sure interrupted her flow. Her hands, feet, and everything were flexible, dancing like a wind blowing or a bird flying. Seconds later, when the music came to a halt, she turned around, locking eyes with him. That's when he realized that he was still there, and he had to ask the reason behind the rejection. His hand went to the door knob the same time she sprinted towards the door, realizing he was trying to open it. Before he could open the door, she bolted it from inside. 
 
'I need to talk to you.' He shouted from the other side of the window.
 
'Can't you see I'm busy? You can't just barge in.' Her voice was muffled behind the glass window as if she were in some other dimension, and he was trying to converse with her through a portal. 
 
'I've got no time to talk to you; I need to get to work early.' She complained as she drew the curtains. The portal was closed, leaving only him outside the classroom. Before he left, he stood there for a few seconds, cooling down his anger, which was simmering a few seconds ago.
 
He did not see her until Monday, which happened accidentally when he almost bumped into a teary-eyed Himani in the walkway to the library. But on Sunday, something else happened. No matter how annoying Agastya is, he is a man of his words. As promised, he had sent his Ford Mustang—white, pristine, and shiny. 

Himani was in the library that Monday afternoon after lunch, doing her assignment that was due Friday. There were only a few students, scattered and sitting at different corners of the old library. The librarian was immersed in a book, and she would look up through her brown-rimmed glasses to see if anyone was talking. 
After fifteen minutes, Himani stood up and walked to the "business management" section to find the reference books that she needed. But someone else was waiting for her there. 
 
'What are you doing h—' She almost said as Ehan Kapur shushed her. 
 
'Seems like this is the only place to meet you now.' Ehan whispered as he pulled her closer so she could hear him talking. She wriggled her arm so as to free herself from his grip. 
 
'Don't touch me.' She said which made him leave her hand.
 
'Oh my god.' He let out an exasperated sigh. 'Did you not receive the flowers I sent?' 
 
'I threw it down the bin.' She clenched her jaw. 
 
He bit his lip and rubbed his temple in frustration. 'I said I'm sorry, I'm sorry for what happened with Akshat. He can be a prick sometimes.' 
 
Himani's eyes were welling up now. A torrent of emotions surged through her. She cannot believe that she was crying in front of someone she thought would never make her cry. When Ehan Kapur started consoling her after every insult that she received during her initial days at Aldridge-Heaton, she thought he was different from everyone else there, even when he asked her to keep their relationship private. She could not even tell Lily, which indeed worried her to a great extent. 
 
'Come on now. Don't cry.' He said.
 
'I'm fed up.' She said, her voice coarse like dry sand.
 
'What?' Ehan's eyes widened. 
 
'Can't you see? You're still defending your friend.' She sighed. 'I don't care about Akshat. All I wanted was for you to stand up for me and do something. But you didn't.' Tears soaked up her white shirt's collar. 'It was someone else. A random guy who help me that day.'
 
'I said sorry. Kedar reached you before I could.'
 
'You always have an excuse, Ehan. And I'm done with that. You want to keep me a secret. You're clearly ashamed of our relationship; otherwise, everybody will judge you for being with me. I was too blind not to see that. Now I can. Very clearly.'
 
'Himani... You're mistaken. It's not that. I just don't like my relationship to be the talk of everyone else.' 
 
'Relationship! What's our relationship? Am I your girlfriend?' She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. 'Tell me.'
 
Ehan gulped. He was answerless, like a kid who was asked an incomprehensible question. 
 
'You can't answer that, can you? Because you can't put the girlfriend tag on someone like me. Being your girlfriend means meeting your friends, your family, and posing for pictures with you. But I'm just a secret, aren't I?.'
 
His eyes betrayed him. She was, in fact, a secret.
 
'I'm ending this here.' Her voice quavered with sadness and anger. 
 
'No, please.' He grabbed both her arms. 'Please don't end this.' 
 
'Leave my hands, Ehan. I want to go.' She said and forcefully removed his grip on her hands. 
 
'Please don't do this to me. Himani...' She could hear him say it as she walked away.
 
 

p.s. this is not a love triangle.