A Glimpse of Red

Heat of the shadows

Nitya stood in the grand foyer of the Rajput Paris hotel, her nerves coiled like a spring. Every floral arrangement, every piece of décor had been personally vetted by her. It wasn’t just about hosting—it was about proving something. And though she wasn’t entirely sure to whom, the need burned deep within her. 

“Yuvrani sa,” Ram Singh interrupted her thoughts, his voice steady and respectful, “I just received a call from Princess Ishika. She’s requesting to attend the shoot. It seems she’s quite fond of the film’s male lead actor.” 

A flicker of amusement crossed Nitya’s face, softening her sharp features. “Let her come, Ram Singh,” she replied, thinking of her younger sister’s carefree spirit, the polar opposite of her own. 

As the clock ticked toward 6 p.m., a buzz of excitement filled the air. The crew had been on set since five, adjusting lights and setting the scene. But Nitya knew the real show would begin when the Rawal brothers arrived. And right on cue, at 5:58 p.m., a message buzzed on her phone—Pratham Singh Rawal and Akhil Rawal had arrived. 

Nitya squared her shoulders, took a breath, and made her way to the entrance to greet them personally. As she descended the grand staircase, her heart quickened, but not from nerves. It was the burning, almost oppressive gaze of Pratham that she felt even before her eyes found his. His intensity was something she had come to expect, yet each time it unnerved her more than she cared to admit. 

“Rawal sa, welcome,” Nitya said, her voice smooth, carefully measured. She extended her hand, her poise unwavering, though the heat of Pratham’s eyes remained on her, unwavering. 

Before Pratham could respond, Riyansh arrived at her side. His hand landed possessively on the small of Nitya’s back, a subtle but clear claim of territory. His fingers pressed slightly into her, a quiet message to Pratham—she’s mine. Pratham’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, a muscle in his jaw tightening, but before he could speak, the air shifted with the arrival of Princess Ishika Ranjit Singh Rajput. 

“Hi, handsome!” Ishika’s voice rang out, breaking the moment of tension as she breezed into the room with her usual radiant energy. She immediately went to Riyansh, lightly swatting his hand away from Nitya’s back as if scolding a child. “You didn’t think you could enjoy all this without me, did you?” Her smile was bright, charming, and impossible to resist. 

Riyansh grinned back at her, playing along. “Ah, Ishika, the shooting hasn’t even begun yet! How could it without our main star, Miss Ishika herself?” The playful banter between them lightened the atmosphere, and Ishika, ever the vivacious younger sister, turned to Nitya next. Her voice softened with affection as she greeted her formally, “Welcome to Paris, Jiji Sahib.” Ishika bent gracefully, touching Nitya’s feet in respect, but then turned to Pratham Singh Rawal, bowing before him with regal poise. 

“We are honored to host you, King Rawal, and Prince Akhil,” she said with a sweet sincerity that made even Pratham’s stony expression thaw for the first time that day. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. 

It was a rare sight, Pratham Singh Rawal smiling. And Nitya noticed. She didn’t like it. It wasn’t the smile itself—it was the reason behind it. The sudden ease with which Ishika had charmed him, something Nitya had never managed to do. The unfamiliar feeling that twisted in her chest was foreign and unsettling. 

But she brushed the emotion aside. There was no room for distraction tonight. “Let’s head to the set,” she said coolly, leading the way toward the shooting area. 

As they walked through the ornate corridors, the tension hung thick in the air. Even the crew, bustling about the set, felt the weight of the powerful personalities now gathered. The actors, used to the spotlight, faltered under the sharp, discerning eyes of people who weren’t just audience members but rulers in their own right.