Journey of two broken souls.
ADHIRAJ RANA -future CM of Rajasthan and king of Udaipur
Dr. TRANIKA RAJVANSH- IAS officer
"I am your fucking wife, Adhiraj, treat me like one," I said, my voice shaking with emotion. "The wife you forced into this mar...
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The hallway outside Tranika's room felt suffocating. The air was thick, heavy with anticipation and dread, as if the walls themselves were bracing for the worst. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the smallest shift of weight on the marble floor felt too loud, too intrusive.
Adhiraj's parents had just arrived, their expressions etched with worry. His mother's breath hitched the moment she saw the tension on everyone's faces.
"What happened?" His father's voice cut through the silence, urgent and demanding. His sharp gaze darted from one person to another, searching for an answer—an explanation—anything that could make sense of the fear gripping the air.
Vriti swallowed hard, her throat tight with unshed tears. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.
"Her heartbeat... it's dropping."
The world seemed to stop for a second.
His mother gasped, clutching onto her husband's arm as if the ground beneath her had disappeared. "How? What's happening to her?" she asked, her voice trembling as she looked at Reyansh, Atharva—anyone who could tell her something that made sense.
"We don't know," Reyansh muttered. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful.
Time had slowed to a crawl. An hour had passed since the doctors rushed into Tranika's room, but it felt like an eternity. No one had dared to leave. No one had the strength to.
Anamika wiped her tear-streaked face with trembling hands, her shoulders shaking. Anuradha Rana stood with her arms crossed, blinking rapidly as if sheer willpower could keep her emotions at bay. Even Vriti, the one who always held things together, looked like she was barely keeping herself upright.
And yet, amidst all this fear and uncertainty, Atharva's mother stood tall, unmoving. Her hands were folded, her expression unreadable—unshaken. She looked at the closed door, then at the others, her voice calm, firm.
"She will wake up."
It wasn't a plea. It wasn't a hope. It was a certainty. A mother's unyielding faith.
Inside the room, the doctors moved in rushed precision, their hushed voices barely audible through the thick wooden door. The beeping of machines echoed like a distant heartbeat, a cruel reminder of the fragile line between life and death.
Adhiraj stood apart from the others. He was motionless, as if turned to stone, his face unreadable. In his arms, he held the little angel—his grip gentle, yet so firm it was as if he feared she would vanish too. His silence was terrifying.
Vriti hesitated before stepping closer. "Adhiraj... let's go. You've been standing too long—it's been an hour. She will be fine." Her voice was soft, but uncertain. Even as she said it, she realized she hadn't moved either. No one had.
