Aaishvy
The palace at Almora had WiFi routers hidden behind its 300-year-old carved doors. A grand chandelier from Europe hung above a marble floor that had once echoed with the footsteps of kings. Outside, tourists snapped selfies at the gates, whispering about the "last princess of Kumaon."
That princess - Aaranya Singh Chauhan - sat in her room, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. She had 1.2 million Instagram followers, all convinced she lived a fairytale life. Her feed was curated with pictures from royal galas, traditional festivals, and charity drives. Smiling in every post. Glowing in designer lehengas.
But her drafts folder was full of pictures she never posted - her face bare, her eyes tired, her smile gone.
"It's better to heal alone and not let anyone enter my world," she whispered to herself, tossing her phone aside.
She wasn't broken, not exactly. Just... guarded. Like the glass walls of her palace - transparent, beautiful, but unbreakable.
And then, there was Ariv Rawat.
The Garhwali prince wasn't the kind who flooded the news with scandals or Instagram stories from yachts in Dubai. He was known instead for launching eco-projects in the hills, donating to rural schools, and showing up at temples with no photographers following him.
Their worlds had brushed once before - across a crowded temple courtyard. She'd been carrying an offering plate, her dupatta slipping in the mountain wind, and he'd steadied it with one hand. Their eyes had met for just a second. Long enough for him to see the sadness she hid.
That second was enough.
He'd told himself he wasn't the kind to chase. Yet here he was, weeks later, stepping into Almora again - this time for a charity event hosted by her family.