The Mewar Palace, which had been a vision of splendor during the engagement preparations, was now shrouded in tension. The once-vibrant courtyards were eerily quiet, and the air was heavy with whispers of disbelief. 

The news of Prince Aryaveer Singh Mewar breaking his engagement had spread like wildfire, sending shockwaves not just through the royal family but also throughout the kingdom.

In his chambers, Aryaveer stood by the large arched window, gazing at the sprawling palace gardens below. His decision, though firm, weighed heavily on his heart. 

He had spent the night wrestling with his conscience, but one thought had cut through the noise: for once, he wanted to live as Aryaveer, not as a prince bound by duty.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was Meera.

“May I come in?” she asked, her voice unusually cautious.

Aryaveer nodded, turning to face her.

Meera stepped in, closing the door behind her. Her saree, usually impeccable, was slightly askew—a sign of her distress. “Aryaveer, what have you done?” she began, her voice trembling. “Do you realize the chaos you’ve caused?”

Aryaveer met her gaze, his expression resolute. “I know, Meera. But I couldn’t go through with it. Marrying Devyani would have been a lie—to her and to myself.”

Meera crossed her arms, her brows furrowed. “And what do you expect to happen now? Do you know how angry Baba is? How humiliated Raja Bhanupratap feels? The alliance was important for both families, Aryaveer. You’ve risked everything.”

Aryaveer took a deep breath, his voice calm but firm. “I couldn’t stand there and pretend to be happy, Meera. Devyani deserves someone who truly loves her, not someone who’s fulfilling a duty. And I—” He paused, his gaze distant. “I need to find my own path, even if it means going against everything expected of me.”

Meera’s eyes softened, but her tone remained sharp. “Your path? Aryaveer, do you even know what you’re looking for? Is this about that girl you saw in the gardens? Someone you don’t even know?”

“Yes,” Aryaveer admitted. “I don’t know her. I don’t know if I’ll ever find her again. But for once in my life, I want to take a chance—for myself. Not for the throne, not for the kingdom, but for me.”

Meera shook her head, disbelief evident on her face. “You’re risking everything for a fleeting moment, for someone who might not even remember you.”

Aryaveer’s eyes bore into hers. “Maybe. But if I don’t, I’ll always wonder what could have been. I’ve lived my entire life doing what’s expected of me. For once, I want to follow my heart.”

Meera sighed, sinking onto the chaise. “Aryaveer, I understand wanting to live for yourself. But our lives aren’t just ours. The weight of this family, this kingdom, falls on you. Do you think Baba or the council will ever forgive you for this?”

“I’ll bear the consequences,” Aryaveer said firmly. “But I won’t start my marriage with a lie. I respect Devyani too much for that.”

In the royal council chamber, Maharaja Vikram Singh paced the marble floor, his face a mask of controlled fury. The sound of his boots echoed in the vast room.

Maharani Gayatridevi sat quietly, her expression conflicted. She understood her son’s decision, but her husband’s anger left little room for reason.

“Gayatri, this is unacceptable!” Vikram thundered, turning to his wife. “What kind of example does this set have? How will we recover from this insult to Bhanupratap and his family?”

Gayatri’s voice was calm but firm. “Vikram, Aryaveer is not a puppet. He has a right to make decisions about his own life.”

“A right?” Vikram scoffed. “He has a duty, Gayatri! A duty to this family, to this kingdom!”

“And what of his happiness?” Gayatri countered. “Would you have him live a life of misery, tied to a marriage he doesn’t want?”

Before Vikram could respond, a servant announced Raja Bhanupratap’s arrival. The imposing man entered the chamber, his face dark with anger.

“This is an insult, Vikram!” Bhanupratap began, his voice booming. “Your son has humiliated my family and my daughter. Do you have any explanation for this disgrace?”

Vikram stiffened. “Bhanupratap, I assure you—”

Devyani entered then, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to her father’s fury. “Enough, Baba,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s not make a scene.”

Bhanupratap turned to her, incredulous. “Devyani, he broke off your engagement! And you want me to stay silent?”

Devyani met her father’s gaze with quiet strength. “Yes. If the prince doesn’t want to marry me, that is his choice. I wouldn’t want an unwilling husband.”

Her words hung in the air, silencing the room. Vikram and Gayatri exchanged a glance, while Bhanupratap struggled to find a response.

“Devyani,” Gayatri said gently, “you are wise beyond your years. I’m sorry for what Aryaveer has done.”

Devyani offered a small smile. “Thank you, Maharani Sa. But I believe this is for the best—for both of us.”

Meanwhile, in Ahmedabad, Kavya and Rishab had returned to their normal routine. Their home was small but cozy, filled with warmth and love. The walls bore photos of their journey together—from their high school days to their wedding to their recent Udaipur trip.

Kavya sat at her desk, flipping through her new leather journal. She had already filled a few pages with memories of their trip, her handwriting neat and precise.

Rishab entered, loosening his tie. “Long day?” he asked, kissing her forehead.

“Not too bad,” Kavya replied, setting down her pen. “How about you?”

“Exhausting,” he admitted. “But worth it. I finished the project we’ve been working on for weeks.”

Kavya smiled, proud of her husband’s dedication. “That’s wonderful, Rishab. You deserve a break.”

“Well,” he said, sitting beside her, “we do have our trip to your parents’ house this weekend. I know how much you’re looking forward to it.”

Kavya’s face lit up. “I can’t wait. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them. And Mama’s cooking…”

Rishab laughed. “Don’t forget to save some for me.”

They shared a laugh, the ease between them a testament to their bond.

As the weekend approached, Kavya and Rishab packed for their trip to her parents’ house. The drive to Ahmedabad was filled with laughter and conversation, their excitement palpable.

When they arrived, Kavya’s parents welcomed them with open arms. The small gathering was filled with warmth and joy, a stark contrast to the tension brewing in the royal palace of Udaipur.

Kavya’s father, retired Colonel Rajendra Gurung, regaled them with stories of his army days, while her mother, Asha, fussed over the food. Rishab fit seamlessly into the family, his easy going nature endearing him to everyone.

As the evening wore on, Kavya felt a deep sense of contentment. Surrounded by her loved ones, she couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment.

Back in Udaipur, Aryaveer sat alone in the palace gardens, his thoughts heavy. The moonlight bathed the scene in silver, the cool breeze carrying the faint scent of jasmine.

His mind wandered to the woman he had seen at the lake garden. Her laughter, her grace—it was as if she had breathed life into his soul. He didn’t know her name, her story, or where she had gone, but the memory of her was enough to ignite a spark of hope.

“I will find her,” he vowed silently. “No matter what it takes.”

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