The city didn't just sleep; it seemed to hold its breath whenever he walked into a room. He was a man who had curated his life into a perfect gallery of successes: untouchable assets, fleeting connections, and the intoxicating freedom of answering to no one. Tonight, standing thirty floors above the glittering sprawl, he felt invincible. He was the master of his own untethered world, convinced that every risk he took was calculated, every outcome managed. He didn't know that thousands of miles away, a different kind of calculation had finished. It wasn't measured in currency, but in years lost and secrets kept. He didn't hear the storm approaching. It sat quietly in a sterile airport terminal, clutching a one-way ticket toward a stranger, carrying nothing but a backpack and a pair of eyes that mirrored his own. The king was about to be dethroned. And he wouldn't even see it coming.

I don't know yet," Veer admitted. "Now tell me, Dr. Shekhawat, what do you want?" ​She answered immediately, her voice taking on a deeper, more serious tone. "Someone who doesn't turn me into a Goddess. I want someone who looks at me like a flawed, breathing, normal human." ​Veer looked puzzled. "What? Isn't it the highest respect if a man treats you like a Goddess?" ​"No, Veer. It's a trap," Rashi said, looking him dead in the eye. "When you put a woman on a pedestal and call her a Goddess, you aren't honoring her-you're imprisoning her. You're telling her she's not allowed to fail, not allowed to be angry, and certainly not allowed to be herself. Men use that 'Goddess' title to control us. They tell us we are the 'izzat' of the house so they can dictate how we dress and how we speak. They turn our sacrifices into a 'divine duty' just so we never complain about the burden." ​She leaned back, her gaze cold. "Look at our stories. The 'good' woman is the one who bears abuse with a smile, wears the traditional clothes you approve of, and stays silent. The minute a woman has an opinion, the minute she puts herself first or stops taking someone's shit, you label her the villain. You don't see movies where a man in jeans is a villain just because he isn't in a dhoti, right? But for us, our clothes and our 'tone' decide our character." ​She sighed, her voice softening but remaining firm. "I don't want to be worshipped. I want a partner who knows I am going to make mistakes-and that those mistakes don't make me a 'bad woman.' I want someone who realizes that my life doesn't revolve around being his moral compass. I just want to be human, Veer. Not a symbol, not a goddess, and definitely not someone's property."

The heart is a complicated thing, it's supposed to keep you alive. Situated in the left side of your chest, pumping blood through your body to keep you going. Then, Nandini wonders, how can it betray her like this. It's supposed to beat for Nandini, with the sole purpose of keeping her alive, so how can it start beating for someone else? 18+

This story is set around a rural background where patriarchy is at its peak. Men were considered as the backbone of the country and women had no such place. What happens when in an attempt to save a girl who was bounded to be killed by the society is saved by AVYAAN THAKUR, the new zamindar. Will fate be kind to them? Maybe not, but if they try to melt the cruel heart of fate? Maybe yes.

It is about hate to love of akshika the princess of Raghuvansi and to be queen of Rajput