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Pain. Sharp, overwhelming pain.
But wait. Shouldn’t she be dead?
Aadrika groaned, her mind swimming in confusion. If I’m feeling pain, I should be alive, she thought. Her surroundings were a blur, a mix of colors and sounds that didn’t make sense. She struggled to open her eyes, her lashes fluttering as she summoned every ounce of strength left within her. Slowly, her vision began to clear.
What she saw made her heart race.
She was surrounded by unfamiliar faces, all dressed in lavish, royal attire, adorned with more gold than she could ever imagine. Their expressions were painted with concern—for her?
"I should be in a hospital… or dead," she mumbled under her breath, bewildered. The room, the people, everything was so foreign. Where am I? Who are these people?
Aadrika's breath quickened, panic threatening to consume her. She turned her head slightly, wincing at the pain that shot through her neck. To her left, she spotted a girl, no older than fifteen. The girl’s eyes were swollen, tears brimming on the edge of spilling over her cheeks. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant yellow lehenga, her bangles softly jingling as she wiped at her tear-streaked face. The girl looked at Aadrika with such a deep sense of worry, as if her world would shatter if something happened to her.
Who is she? Why is she crying? Aadrika’s head swam with unanswered questions.
Ignoring the searing pain in her body, Aadrika tried to sit up. She needed to understand what was happening. The moment she moved, the girl noticed and rushed to her side, helping her sit up. Her hands were small but firm, her touch filled with care.
“Where am I?” Aadrika’s voice was hoarse, laced with confusion and panic. She locked eyes with the girl. “Who are you all?”
The worried faces of the strangers around her suddenly shifted to confusion. An elderly woman, dressed magnificently in what seemed to be royal attire, turned to an old man standing nearby and whispered something. Aadrika strained to hear but couldn’t make out the words.
“I believe she has lost her memory,” the man said, his voice calm yet serious. “But it’s most likely temporary. We shouldn’t worry too much.”
Memory loss? Aadrika’s heart pounded in her chest. No, I remember everything! They’re confusing me with someone else. But before she could protest, she saw the girl’s face crumble, tears flowing freely now, while the others looked on with a shared sense of sorrow.
The elderly woman, who seemed to carry the most authority in the room, spoke again. “How can she regain her memory?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with urgency.
The old man bowed his head respectfully. “Rani Sahiba, Rajkumari Aadrika will recover her memory in time. We must not force it; doing so could make things worse.”
Rajkumari? Aadrika’s head spun. They think I’m some kind of princess? This has to be a dream. Or worse—a prank!
YOU ARE READING
AADRIKA : The writer of the story
Historical FictionAADRIKA : " Everything has beauty, But not everyone sees it." Aadrika was a famous writer who never thought that one day she would be trapped in the very own story she wrote herself. After getting in an accident, when she opened her eye...
