A Glimpse of Red

Return

Queen Aanchal paced back and forth in the grand hall, her every step accompanied by the gentle, rhythmic chime of her *payal*. Though she held the title of Queen with unwavering dignity, in this moment, her heart pulsed with pure maternal longing, overpowering the polished calm of royalty. Her children—her three treasures—were returning home today, and the weight of that joy eclipsed everything else.

At last, her wait came to an end when she spotted her youngest daughter, Princess Ishika, running toward her with hurried steps. Tears welled up in Aanchal's eyes as she took Ishika into her arms, wrapping her in a warm, protective embrace. Memories of their parting tugged at her heart: how she'd reluctantly sent Ishaan and Ishika away to France for their studies, as tradition demanded, even though it felt like tearing her heart in two.

When Aanchal finally released Ishika, her eyes sparkled with motherly pride and relief. But then, her ears caught the sound of a familiar whistle—playful, cheeky. She turned, knowing only her son, Prince Ishaan, would announce himself in such a way.

Smiling, she moved toward him, reaching up to touch his face gently, as if needing to reassure herself he was really there. "This isn't a dream, Your Highness," Ishaan teased, his tone soft as he held her hand, "and it isn't fair to look at me like that. Let me see you too, maa sahib!" She laughed, unable to contain her joy, and pulled him into a warm hug. The years of separation, the formality of titles—all dissolved in that moment of reunion.

As Aanchal held her twins close, she sensed a familiar, steady presence observing them. She turned to meet the gaze of her eldest daughter, Princess Nitya, who stood quietly by, taking in the scene. Unlike her siblings, Nitya was groomed under the watchful eyes of her father and grandmother, learning the duties of a queen, the intricacies of court life, and the responsibilities of their family's vast business. She rarely allowed herself to show vulnerability, keeping her emotions as guarded as her royal duties demanded.

In Nitya's eyes, Aanchal saw love for her siblings but also a glimmer of something she could barely recognize—perhaps it was the loneliness that came from carrying the family's burdens so young. Unlike Ishaan and Ishika, Nitya had grown up with the expectations of royalty pressing heavily upon her, shaping her to be cold, resilient, and ever dutiful.

As she stepped forward, Nitya bent to touch her mother's feet in respect, a gesture that she had performed countless times yet carried a rare weight today. In that simple act, Aanchal felt the familiar pang—a bittersweet distinction between the respect shown by her eldest and the affection shown by her twins.

Ishaan and Ishika brought her laughter, warmth, and freedom to be simply a mother, unburdened by protocol. With Nitya, it was different. Nitya's sense of duty and regal composure pained Aanchal, she wants the same love that she got from other child of hers.

With a heavy heart, Aanchal placed her hand gently on Nitya's head, her voice soft as she murmured, "Welcome back, my child." She helped her eldest daughter rise, meeting Nitya's composed gaze with a warmth that conveyed all the love she rarely voiced. "Come," Aanchal continued with a gentle smile, "I've prepared today's lunch myself to celebrate having all three of you home."

Nitya nodded respectfully, but her face remained resolute. "Please, *Maa Sahib*, feed Ishaan and Ishika," she replied. "I must go to *Pita Sahib's* study to address urgent matters."Aanchal's expression shifted, and she took Nitya's hands in her own. "All of that can wait, Nitya. Join us—just this once."Nitya hesitated, glancing briefly at her younger siblings, whose laughter and joy filled the hall. "No, Maa Sahib," she replied, a familiar determination in her voice. "The estate comes before my own needs. This is my duty."

Aanchal watched her go, feeling the weight of the words left unsaid. She admired her daughter's strength, but her heart longed to see Nitya allow herself, even if only briefly, to step away from her responsibilities and feel the warmth of family.

The words hung heavily in the air, and a cold tension filled the space between them. Aanchal's hand fell away, her fingers curling slightly as if trying to grasp what had slipped. Her heart tightened painfully, realizing the distance that years of duty had created between them. She watched Nitya turn and walk away, her footsteps steady, her back unyielding—a princess bound to her responsibilities, bound to a duty that had consumed the daughter she once knew.

As she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, Aanchal stood frozen, fighting back the tears that stung her eyes but sudden sound of Prince Ishan calling her interrupted her thoughts and she wiped her face and goes to her twin children with a smile.

---------------------------Study Room of Ranjith Sing Rawal-------------------------------------------------------

Princess Nitya entered her father's study, and King Ranjith Singh Rajput, deep in thought over the papers before him, looked up. As soon as his gaze landed on her, his expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. Removing his spectacles, he smiled. Without hesitation, Nitya stepped forward, bowing to touch his feet in reverence, but before she could, he gently pulled her into a warm embrace.

"Nitya," he murmured with pride, his voice thick with emotion, "you have no idea how proud I am. You've followed your heart, and that takes courage."Nitya's face broke into a soft smile, her voice gentle as she replied, "Thank you, Hukum." There was an unspoken bond between them, a shared understanding of the weight of duty they both carried. Ranjith chuckled, the warmth in his eyes deepening. "I can't wait to see you with Riyansh. It's a new chapter for both of you."Nitya gave a quiet nod, her gaze softening. "And where is Dadi Sahib?" she asked, glancing around, knowing her grandmother.

"She's probably in the prayer room," Ranjith replied, his voice tender. "Praying for you and Riyansh." His words lingered, and Nitya felt a flicker of warmth at the thought of her grandmother's blessings surrounding her.

The conversation gradually shifted, and soon father and daughter were immersed in discussions of estate affairs, decisions that had awaited her return from France. Time slipped away unnoticed, and only when a servant knocked gently to announce that dinner was ready did Ranjith glance at the window and notice the darkening sky. "Well," he said, closing the ledger, "I think that's enough business for one day. Now, let me see my other children—they'll have waited long enough for me." He grinned, the warmth of a father surfacing beyond the sternness of a king.

Nitya rose to leave, but as she reached the door, Ranjith's voice, low and full of a rare vulnerability, stopped her. "Nitya," he said, his gaze meeting hers, "I am your father, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for your happiness. I'd fight the world for you. But always remember, my child," he paused, his eyes carrying a lifetime's wisdom, "listen to your heart. This crown, this kingdom—it will bring you responsibilities, power, and wealth, but it may never bring you peace. That, only your heart can give."

A glimmer of emotion crossed Nitya's face, and she nodded, absorbing his words. "Yes, Pita Sahib," she replied, her voice steady, touched by his rare openness. And with one last look, she left the study, feeling the weight of his words settle in her heart.