His Bride

1 | Arushi Mehara

Arushi's Pov

The warm, vibrant streets of Rajasthan enveloped me, a sensory tapestry of colors, sounds, and scents so foreign and thrillingly alive compared to London's composed rhythm. The air was thick with spices, the hum of conversations in Hindi and Rajasthani blending into the calls of vendors, and the rhythmic clip-clop of horse-drawn carts mixed with the modern rush of scooters and rickshaws. The architecture mesmerized me: sandstone and marble arches, latticed windows, intricate carvings on doors—all painted in hues of the desert, warm and welcoming. The culture was rich, every element brimming with history and pride, and for someone raised in London's structured world, this was a kaleidoscope of unfamiliar wonder. I'd needed this change, craved it, and when a job offer from Rajasthan University (RU) arrived, it felt like a sign—fate telling me it was time to begin anew, to leave behind what no longer served me.

Leaving London had been hard, of course. A part of me had wanted to cling to that familiarity, but there were memories I was ready to bury, pieces of my past best left untouched. This was a chance to build a new life, a life for me and my daughter, Aadhya.

RU wasn't just any institution; it was one of the top universities in India, funded by Rajasthan's royal family. The grandeur of its legacy felt almost tangible as I stepped into those grand, stone-carved halls for the first time. Each inch of the place seemed to speak of history, of a lineage reaching back centuries. There was a deep sense of pride and tradition here, something I'd only read about but never felt so palpably. I'd been hired as an assistant professor in the English department—a role I'd worked hard to achieve. The prestige, the resources, the competitive pay, all felt surreal. Walking the corridors, adorned with portraits of scholars, past professors, and historical figures, I sometimes felt like an intruder, as if my presence disrupted the balance of something ancient and revered. But over time, it became my home, and in these quiet hallways, I began to settle into my new role.

Then, of course, there was Aadhya. My daughter, my joy, my anchor. Her happiness and her future were my utmost priorities, and finding a good school for her was at the top of my list when we arrived. Rajasthan Royal School of Elites came highly recommended—a prestigious institution with a reputation as impressive as RU's. It wasn't a school that just anyone could get into; they had strict policies, and admissions were reserved for the wealthy and influential, with no exceptions, no scholarships. Fortunately, we were able to afford it, and her grades were more than adequate. She was accepted. I wanted her to thrive, to be surrounded by opportunities I could only dream of, and this school promised that.

Finding a place to live was the next step. I went through countless options with real estate agents, searching for a home that was both accessible and peaceful. A sanctuary. After days of searching, I found it—a beautiful house three hours from RU and two from her school. It was further than I'd originally planned, but when I saw it, I knew it was worth it. The peace and sense of safety the place offered was exactly what I wanted for both of us. It had space for Aadhya to play, for us to make new memories together. We needed that balance—a place where we could both feel free to grow in our own ways.

A month passed in the blink of an eye. I began to settle into a routine at RU, familiarizing myself with the curriculum, the students, the other faculty. But today was different. Today was the university's annual Founder's Day celebration, an event honoring the king who had established RU generations ago. The entire campus buzzed with anticipation; everyone seemed on edge, going over final touches. We were expecting a guest of utmost importance—the heir to the royal family, a direct descendant of RU's founder. His presence was a symbol of the university's connection to Rajasthan's history and legacy, and everyone was keen to make sure everything was perfect for him.

I wasn't deeply versed in the royal family's history; my knowledge was pieced together from snippets and whispers. I knew the family's legacy carried a weight that shaped their lives in ways I couldn't imagine, and today, I would meet one of them face to face. A strange mix of curiosity and nerves brewed within me. What would he be like, this heir who had spent his life under the shadow of his family's lineage?

Then, the unexpected happened. A fellow professor, who had been set to perform a traditional dance for the ceremony, was suddenly unable to participate due to a family emergency. In a whirlwind of activity, I found myself volunteered as her replacement, my colleagues insisting that I was the only option. Panic surged through me, but there was no time to refuse or overthink. I quickly changed into the traditional attire they handed me and found myself on stage, the lights bearing down as the music began.

I moved to the beat, letting the drums and melody guide my movements, trying to focus on the rhythm and forget the nerves. The audience blurred into a single, indistinct mass of faces, my attention centered on each beat, each step. Then, halfway through, I felt it—a presence, something intense and magnetic. A gaze. It cut through the crowd's energy, breaking my focus, compelling me to look. I resisted the urge to stop, to search for the source, but that feeling stayed with me, a pull as strong as the music itself.

After the dance ended and the applause filled the air, my eyes instinctively scanned the audience. And then I saw him. Even amidst the crowd, he was unmistakable—the heir, standing tall, his posture composed and regal. But it was his eyes that held me, a stormy grey that seemed to carry secrets, stories, and a piercing intensity. His gaze was unwavering, locked onto mine as though he'd seen something in me, something in my dance that spoke to him.

For a brief, electrifying moment, the crowd, the ceremony, the noise—all of it faded away, leaving just the two of us in the stillness of that exchange.