ROYAL HIGHNESS

49. love, hurt, pain

Amyardh’s POV,

There are a few moments in life when your heart stops—not metaphorically, but literally. When the rhythm falters, the breath stutters, and the world around you quiets so unnaturally that all you can hear is the sound of your own terror.

One of those moments happened on that bridge. Ovie had already climbed over the guardrail, reaching carefully toward the puppy with one hand while her other gripped a vertical bar of the railing. The bridge beneath her boots was aged and dusty, and the drop below was enough to make my stomach churn.

I had barely managed to grab a fistful of the waistband of her jeans just as she leaned too far forward. My other arm looped tightly around the iron bar for support, anchoring both of us.

She finally managed to scoop the puppy into her arms. It let out a yelp and clung to her chest like a baby. For a second, relief swept through me… but only a second.

I hauled her back over the railing with one arm, the other still gripping her waistband as if letting go would end the world. When her feet hit solid ground again, I practically collapsed, heart racing.

As we sat in silence with the engine humming. I couldn't take it anymore. I looked at her—really looked at her—and burst.

“Yeh stunt karne se pehle tumne mujhe bata diya hota toh main bhi help karta!” My voice cracked slightly despite myself. “Tum jaanti ho na woh jo tumhara chhota sa stunt tha, kitna khatarnaak sabit ho sakta tha?”

She turned to me slowly, the gleam in her eyes softening as she took in the way I was gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. She blinked once… and then said it. Quietly. Gently.

“Tum aise keh rahe ho jaise zindagi bhar mere saath rahoge.”

Her eyes locked with mine. And for a heartbeat—just one—time stood still again. Not out of fear, but something else. Something far more dangerous.

Hope.

But just as quickly as it came, the warmth in my chest turned to frost.

She looked away, down at her lap, her fingers playing with the hem of her top. Her voice was barely above a whisper, as though she hadn’t meant to speak it aloud. As though she regretted the slip.

And then she shattered it.

“Kal se humare raaste alag honge.”

I felt it like a slap. My fingers clenched tighter on the wheel, leather creaking under the strain. I didn’t trust myself to speak. If I opened my mouth, I might beg her to stay. I might say things I couldn’t afford to say—not now. Not when I had no idea how to love her right.

.......

The days without her felt longer than years.
Each minute dragged like lead on my skin, every breath a battle against memory. No calls. No messages. No accidental run-ins or explosive arguments. Nothing.

Just silence—thick, consuming silence.

But I knew this would happen. I had prepared for it. No, I planned it.

Because I’m the kind of man who loves the pain he invites upon himself. A masochist of the heart, destined to ruin every good thing that ever dares to bloom in my life. And what Ovie and I had... it wasn’t just blooming—it was threatening to take root. That terrified me more than I cared to admit.

So I reminded myself of the promise.
A foolish, desperate, gut-wrenching promise made to a cousin who didn’t deserve her. “I’ll get her back for you,” I had said to Advait. “By hook or by crook.”