The book slipped from my hands, hitting the ground with a soft thud. As I bent down to pick it up, my fingers brushed against his—warm, steady, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Something jolted through me. A weird, unexplainable sensation that made my heart stutter for a beat.
I looked up.
And that's when our eyes met.
For a moment, everything around me faded—the tourists, the murmurs, even the distant ringing of a bell somewhere in the haveli. It was just him and me, staring at each other like we were searching for something. Like we had known each other in another life but couldn't quite place how.
What was this feeling?
Before I could figure it out, he suddenly stood up and walked away. No words. No glance back. Just... gone.
Instinct took over, and without really thinking, I followed him.
I found him in the main hall, where a small crowd had gathered. My eyes darted to the center of it—a man crouched on the floor, clutching his chest, his breaths ragged. A little girl stood beside him, panicking, tears brimming in her big brown eyes.
People whispered. Some stepped forward, but no one really did anything.
Except him.
He moved with complete focus, kneeling beside the old man like he knew exactly what to do. His hands were steady, his voice calm as he asked a few quick questions, checked the man's pulse, then pulled out some medicine from his pocket. He made it look effortless, like it was second nature to him.
The ambulance arrived within minutes, and I watched as he reassured the little girl. "He'll be fine," he said, his voice softer than before. "The doctors will take care of him."
And just like that, she believed him.
So did I.
Something inside me shifted at that moment. It wasn't just admiration—it was realization.
I'd always thought you needed power or money to help people. But maybe... knowledge was enough. Maybe, if I studied medicine, I could do the same.
I exhaled slowly and turned—only to catch him already looking at me.
And there it was again.
That feeling.
Like something was connecting us, pulling us closer, making the air between us feel heavier. Familiar yet unfamiliar.
I don't know what to call it.
But I know it's there.
I wanted to go upstairs and see how royalty actually lived. We had royalty back in Bihar, and I had visited their estates before, but this place—this palace—felt different. It called out to me in a way I couldn't explain, like a forgotten memory whispering for attention.
But when I asked my guide, he immediately refused. "It's not allowed," he said, shaking his head. His tone left no room for negotiation.
And then came my savior. My partner in crime.
My little brother.
He always helps me chase my dreams, even when they're reckless, even though he's younger than me. The moment I looked at him, he grinned, took my hand, and before I could rethink my decision, we were already sneaking upstairs.
I should've been scared. Maybe I was scared. But with him by my side, I knew we would be in this together, no matter what.
Halfway through, though, we got separated.
And that's when everything changed.
I turned a corner and came face-to-face with a palace guard. His sharp voice boomed as he started walking toward me, his expression unreadable. My feet refused to move—I froze, heart hammering against my ribs.
What would happen if I got caught? Would they throw me out? Call my parents? Was there some ancient punishment for sneaking into a palace?
Before my thoughts could spiral further, a firm hand wrapped around mine and pulled me forward.
I gasped but didn't resist.
Who—?
The moment the dim lights illuminated his face, I forgot how to breathe.
It was him.
Up close, his features were even more striking—the sharpness of his jaw, the way his dark eyes held secrets, the way he looked at me like he already knew me somehow.
And suddenly, I realized how close we were.
The warmth of his hand still lingered against mine, and the space between us felt too small, too charged. My gaze lifted to meet his, and for a second, neither of us moved.
Then, as if realizing the same thing, he stepped away.
"I followed you and your brother here," he said simply, his voice steady.
I exhaled, trying to make sense of everything. "That man from earlier—the one you helped. Is he going to be okay?"
His expression softened. "Yeah. He just had a mild cardiac episode. He'll be fine with treatment."
"You knew exactly what to do."
"I'm a medical student," he said. "Here in Jaipur."
Somehow, that answer made perfect sense.
I wanted to ask more, to keep talking, but reality came crashing back in. My family. They would be worried sick.
"I need to go back," I said. "Will you help me find them?"
He nodded and, without hesitation, took my hand again.
The warmth of his touch was something I didn't realize I'd started craving until he suddenly let go.
I felt the loss immediately.
And then I saw why.
My family was right in front of us.
I quickly scanned the crowd and spotted my little brother standing there, perfectly fine, not caught, not in trouble. Relief flooded me.
Before turning away, I met his gaze one last time and mouthed, Thank you.
And then my father's voice cut through the moment.
"Aaradhya, where were you?" His expression was a mix of worry and frustration.
Before I could answer, my aunt joined in. "Do you know how dangerous that was? You didn't even inform us!"
"I—"
"You're not a child anymore, Aaradhya," my father sighed. "You can't just disappear like that."
I lowered my gaze, guilt settling in my chest. They weren't wrong. I should have told them.
The ride back to the hotel was quiet, but my mind was anything but.
The only thing I could think about was him.
The way his hand fit in mine. The way he looked at me in the dim light of that room. The way he walked away, like something had shifted in him too.
Did he feel it? That strange pull between us?
It was as if I knew him, but at the same time, I didn't.
And then, my thoughts drifted to the room itself.
It wasn't just any room in the palace. It felt lived in.
The first thing I noticed was how neatly everything was arranged. The bed, the books, even the papers on the desk—there was a quiet order to it, like someone who liked control, who didn't let things fall into chaos.
And yet, despite the warmth of the wooden furniture, the soft glow of the lamps, the thick curtains—it felt cold.
Like something was missing.
There were barely any photographs.
That struck me the most. It was like the person living there had deliberately erased traces of attachment, of people, of memories.
Then my gaze had landed on the bookshelf.
Books. Lots of them. Medical textbooks, of course, but also literature—history, philosophy, even poetry.
I couldn't help but smile at that.
They say you can tell a lot about a person by the books they read or the music they listen to.
And in that moment, I wanted to know everything.