Phool for You |Royal Retelling 1|

Chapter 9: Inequitable Rules

Days passed with minimal interaction between Rafay and I. We kept to ourselves, keeping our conversations to a minimum. Our exchanges consisted of nothing more than occasional terse remarks like "Move out of my way" from Rafay and a quick "Sorry" from me. He stayed true to his word: he does not talk to me, nor does he display his extramarital affairs . Though we do not sleep in the same bedroom, I had not seen any unfamiliar women around the mehel lately. Whether or not he is sneaking them in without my knowledge, is not something I wish to worry myself with.

I spend my days with Rukhsaar and Cas, often helping them in the kitchen, and reading the medical journals I brought with me when I moved into this prison.

Time in the kitchen reminds me of those days where I would come home from school, hungry and exhausted, and Raza would have a plate of steaming hot food on the table ready for me to devour. He was the true definition of an all-rounder, being a doctor, an exceptional cook, and never declining the opportunity to be of help to someone.

Out of the two of us siblings, Raza was the talented one in the kitchen. He picked up Ammi's knack for cooking and recreated her rich, aromatic recipes like it was second nature to him. Savory foods were not my forte, but desserts were. I could make anything from a simple plate of shahi tukra to an elaborate arrangement of different types of halwa, barfi, and mithai.

My heart aches every time I try a new dessert recipe because I am reminded of the fact that Raza was my taste tester. His insightful opinions and valuable suggestions always enhanced my dishes.

The medical journals were Ammi's. I crave turning the pages and seeing her comments scribbled on the margins. My eyes seek out the barely-decipherable scrawl annotating her perspective on certain methods or discoveries. My father was ingenious, but my mother was extraordinary. She had the most research publications in the country, with entire journals and books to her name. Some of the textbooks that were required reading in medical school were written by her.

She was the reason I wanted to become a doctor.

The wedding took place at the beginning of my winter break. As it comes to an end, I mentally prepare myself to start my last half of hospital rotations. After this, I will have the freedom to practice medicine wherever I please.

I finish the delicious halwa and puri Rukhsaar made for me and slip on my lab coat, preparing to head out for the hospital. As I approach the main door and reach out to grab the handle, it opens suddenly. Startled, I take a step back, only to trip over my feet and fall unceremoniously to the marble floor, twisting my right ankle in the process.

Acute, stabbing pain shoots through my ankle and I grasp it in an effort to alleviate the pain. Rafay's dark hazel eyes flicker over me momentarily before he steps away, disregarding my presence on the floor as if I were a discarded wrapper, unnoticed and untouched.

An unpleasant sensation passes through me, not so much hurt, but more like a twinge of sadness. I sigh and attempt to stand, placing a hand on the door in front of me for assistance, uncertain of what I was expecting from him. Surely any person with the slightest bit of courtesy would help someone they've sent inadvertently knocked to the ground.

Gingerly, I put weight on the affected foot, testing its capacity. Searing, needle-like pain runs up my leg, causing me to wince. Despite my best efforts, I can't suppress the soft sound of discomfort that escapes me as I press my right foot into the floor in an effort to start walking again.

Sprained ankle.

"You might have a broken bone."

I glance over my shoulder, taken aback. I hadn't realized that Rafay had been standing behind me this whole time. His artfully disheveled onyx hair is slightly damp and his defined torso is covered in a thin veil of sweat.