RANVIJAY VARDHANA POV

Dard?

I stare at her, the word echoing in my mind like a bell in an empty hall. In ten years of war, in a lifetime of royal duties, no one has ever asked me that. My father asked if I was strong. My mentors asked if I was ready. Jorah asks if I'm winning.

But no one.... not a single soul.... has ever asked if it hurts.

I look at this small, mud-stained girl standing before me. She's the one who gave me the wound, yet she's the only one worried about the pain. For a split second, the Crown Prince of Aravati does not know the answer. Have I ever felt pain? Or have I just been too busy surviving to notice it?

I don't answer for a long time. I just look at her, and for the first time in a decade, I feel.... human. Vulnerable. Like a little boy who forgot how to cry.

"Nahi," I say finally, my voice sounding rough and hoarse from the morning chill. "Humein.... humein dard mehsoos nahi hota." (I.... I don't feel pain.) I actually stammer. Why the hell am I stammering in front of her?

To hide my sudden lack of composure, I turn to the rearview mirror. I pick up the small adhesive bandage Jorah left behind and carefully apply it over the cut on my neck, ensuring she doesn't get more frightened by the sight of my blood. I can see the lingering panic clearly in her honey colored eyes.

"Sabko hota hai," she says, her voice gaining a sharp, beautiful touch of stubbornness. "Insaan ho na aap? Toh dard toh hoga hi." (Everyone does. You're human, right? So it must hurt.)

I let out a breath; it is almost a laugh, but it is far too heavy for that. I turn and open the driver's side door, stepping back into the vehicle.

She climbs into the back seat too, settling across from me in the cramped space of the jeep.

"Pata nahi," I mutter, more to myself than to her. "Shayad aaj se pehle kisi ne kabhi poocha hi nahi." (I don't know. Perhaps because before today, no one ever asked.)

As I say, my gaze lifts and meets hers.

Neither of us looks away. Just silence.

And her eyes.

The intense, melting eye contact lasts for three whole seconds.

Gurgleeeee.

Her stomach lets out a thunderous, violent roar that completely shatters the heavy silence of the highway.

I blink, my confusion instantly snapping back into reality. She closes her eyes in pure mortification, looking as if she wants the leather seats to open up and swallow her whole.

Suppressing a massive cough of sudden amusement, I reach into the passenger footwell and pull out the clean clothing bag and the steaming steel thermos.

"Raat ko jab aap so rahi thi, humne apne ek aadmi se ye mangwaya tha," I say, my voice instantly reverting back to its calm, untouchable regal tone. I place the bag on the seat next to her. "Ismein saaf kapde hain. Aur ye.... Garam chai aur nashta. Kha lijiye, rasta lamba hai."

(There are clean clothes in here. And this.... hot tea and breakfast. Eat, the way is long.)



MEERA POV

I am still staring at the small adhesive bandage on his neck, my mind completely spinning. How can a man who looks like he owns the entire highway not even know how to answer a simple question like "Does it hurt?"

But he doesn't let the emotional silence linger. He places the bags on the seat next to me.

I look at the bag, then at the thermos, then back at him. My stomach chooses that exact baseline moment to give another traitorous growl.

Pakka ye mujhe khila-pila kar mota kar raha hai taaki bali achhi ho, I think frantically. But the rich, heavenly scent of fresh ginger tea is already seeping through the container. I can't even pretend to be suspicious anymore.

I open the clothing bag first. It's a simple, high quality cotton suit-deep red colour. It's soft, perfectly clean, and smells like fresh rain.

"Aapne.... aapne ye sab mere liye kiya?" I whisper, my eyes darting back to the bandage on his neck. I literally wounded him, and he went completely out of his way to get me tea and a dress?

"Humne pehle hi kaha tha," he says, his eyes focused entirely on the empty road ahead as he shifts the Jeep into gear. "Aap is haal mein kahin nahi ja sakti. Aravati ke log apne mehmano ko keechad mein nahi chhodte."

(I told you before. You can't go anywhere in this state. The people of Aravati don't leave their guests in the mud.)

Mehman? A sudden lump forms in my throat. Nobody has called me a guest in a very long time. In my uncle's house, I was just a daily burden.

But then, my inner drama queen wakes up. I can't let him think I'm that easy to win over! I proudly turn my head away, looking out the side window with the tragic dignity of an Indian serial heroine who has just discovered a family secret on the day of her wedding.

"Nahi, shukriya. Mujhe bilkul bhook nahi hai," I say, crossing my arms so tightly it actually hurts. "Main aise kisi ka bhi diya hua khana nahi khati."

He doesn't even blink. He just stares straight ahead, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly diabolical.

"Theek hai. Waise ismein aloo ke garam paranthe hain, Makhan ke saath. Aur kaju ki katli bhi hai. Par agar aapko nahi khana, toh hum thodi der mein ise raste par fek denge."

Aloo parantha? Makhan?! KAJU KATLI?! My head snaps back so fast I swear I hear my spine crack. Fek denge?!

My jaw drops. Throw away fresh, hot, heavenly ginger tea and breakfast?

Is this man an absolute psychopath or insane? That is a straight ticket to hell! Wasting that kind of food is a mortal sin!

My stomach gives another loud, angry growl, completely destroying my acting career. The enclosed space of the Jeep makes the noise ten times worse.

Theek hai, fine. Strategy change, I tell myself.

Main dushman ke saamne haar nahi maan rahi. Main bas khaane ko waste hone se bacha rahi hoon. Yeh ek mahaan samaj seva hai.

I nod to myself.

Bilkul. Food waste karna paap hota hai. Main in bechare makkhan mein doobe parantha ko anath chhod kar nahi ja sakti. Unki kya galti hai? Unhe toh bas pyaar se khaya jaana tha.

I glance at the food. The food glances back.

Yeh ek humanitarian operation hai. Parantha Bachao Abhiyan. And as the founder, president, and sole volunteer of this noble organization....

....mujhe apni duty nibhaani hi padegi.

Before he can even utter another syllable, I unbuckle my seatbelt. Bye-bye, backseat.

I launch myself forward, attempting to climb directly over the center console into the front seat. It is not graceful. At all. My foot slips on the plastic, my dupatta tangles violently around the gear shift, and for a terrifying two seconds, my backside is directly in front of his face as I struggle to squeeze my legs through the narrow gap.

In my panic, my elbow accidentally flies out and thumps him right in his broad, stiff shoulder.

I finally crash into the front passenger seat, landing completely sideways like a heavy sack of potatoes. My uncombed hair flies over my face, making me look like a ghost from a low budget horror movie.

His hands grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn stark white. The heavy Jeep swerves violently to the left before he stomps on the brakes, bringing us to a sudden halt.

Slowly, very slowly, he turns his head toward me. His sunglasses have slid halfway down his nose, and his mouth is slightly open. The calm, untouchable man looks like he has just witnessed a chaotic alien abduction inside his own vehicle.

I blow a stray strand of hair out of my mouth, scramble upright, and immediately grab the linen food packet like a wild raccoon digging through a trash can.

"Maine socha.... khana barbad karna paap hota hai," I say, panting slightly but keeping my voice completely casual and polite, acting as if I hadn't just commando crawled over his luxury dashboard.

"Humare yahan kehte hain ki anna ka apmaan nahi karte. Isliye main thoda sa kha leti hoon. Sirf aapka dil rakhne ke liye. Waise makhan kahan hai?"

Without waiting for his permission, I rip open the packet, tear off a massive piece of the stuffed parantha, and stuff it directly into my mouth.

He just stares at me in absolute, dead silence for five long seconds. He looks at my stuffed, puffing cheeks, then down at the crumbs already falling onto his spotless leather seats.

Slowly, very slowly, he reaches up and pushes his sunglasses back into place. He turns his gaze back to the empty highway and shifts the car into gear, but I swear I see his broad chest heaving as he swallows a massive, desperate gasp of laughter.

I took a slow sip of the tea. It was hot, sweet, and absolutely perfect, warming me from the inside out. Over the rim of the stainless steel thermos, I looked at the back of his head; at his neatly trimmed dark hair, his broad, unyielding shoulders, and that tiny adhesive bandage stuck to his neck.

"Waise," I say, my mouth still half-full of a giant piece of buttery paratha, "Aapke aadmi ne ye kapde kahan se liye? Itni raat ko toh dukanein band hoti hain."

He didn't turn around to face me, but I see his large hands tighten on the leather steering wheel.

"Humara parivaar.... thoda bada hai, Humein cheezein mil jaati hain." he replied smoothly, his tone effortlessly regal.

(Our family is.... a bit large. We get things done.)

Bada parivaar? (Large family?) I think of the way the men with sticks bowed to him last night when he lied and called me his dharam-patni.

I finish chewing my parantha, my eyes darting to the dashboard. My stomach is full, the ginger tea has revived my soul, and now reality is starting to hit me. I am currently hitching a ride with a terrifying powerful stranger who literally ordered his men fetch me clean clothes while I was passed out.

I can't just walk away like a shameless freeloader. My uncle might have treated me like a worthless burden every single day of my life, but my mother had raised me with strict manners.

I looked down at my bare wrists, then down at my feet. There wasn't much left of my old life after running away from that cursed wedding. I was still wearing them; my mother's traditional silver payals. They weren't wildly expensive, but they were the only valuable things I had left of my mother and father.

Ek payal de de Meera, dusra toh rahega tere paas, a soft voice whispered in my head. Maa ne sikhaya tha ki aise kisi ka ahsan nahi lete.

Before the Jeep could reach my stop, I reached down to my ankle. With a sharp, defiant click, I unclasped one of the silver payals; the old, heavy ones that had jingled with every single frantic, terrified step I took through the mud last night. It was slightly tarnished, but it was pure silver. The only real piece of home I owned.

"Ye lijiye," I said solemnly, leaning forward and holding it out to him. "Aapke nuksaan ke liye. Aur.... chai ke liye bhi." (Take this. For the damage. And.... for the tea too.)

He glances down at my hand, his left hand never leaving the steering wheel. He just stares at the single, mud-flecked silver anklet pooling in my palm, then looks back at the road, his eyebrows lowering.

"Humein kisi badle ki zaroorat nahi hai," he says, his voice dropping into that deep, flat, authoritative tone that made me want to sit up straight. "Ise wapas pehniye." (I don't need anything in return. Put it back on.)

"Par aapka-"

"Hum ek madad ke liye kisi mahila se unka gehna nahi lete," he interrupts, sounding so high and mighty it makes me want to poke his arm again. "Rakh lijiye ise." (We do not take a woman's jewelry for a single help. Keep it.)

My stubbornness flared up like a wildfire. "Main muft ka khana nahi khati!" I snapped.

"Toh mat khaiye," he replies calmly, his face completely expressionless as he navigated a turn. "Par ye hum nahi lenge." (Then don't eat. But I will not take this.)

Fine. Two can play this game.

"Aapka bus stand aagaya," he announced quietly.

The Jeep finally slowed down, pulling up to the main junction where I needed to get off. The moment the heavy tires came to a complete stop, I grabbed my bag of clean clothes. I didn't want him to catch me in the act, so I waited until he swung his door open to get out and assist me.

Seeing my chance, I leaned down toward the center console. With a soft, metallic, I dropped the single silver anklet straight into his pristine cup holder, right next to the gear shift.

Aap nahi lenge toh mat lijiye. Par main bhi wapas nahi lene wali! I thought with a smug, victorious grin.

I quickly slid out of the passenger seat. He walked around to my side, his tall frame blocking the cold morning wind as he held the heavy door open for me.

Just then, a rusted metal bus rumbled loudly into the station, coughing out thick clouds of black smoke. It looked ancient, but it was the only transport moving through the flooded district today.

Before I could even take a step toward it, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, massive roll of notes. It was more cash than I had likely seen in my entire life. He held it out to me.

I looked at the mountain of money, then up at his face. My eyes widened as my inner detective immediately took over.

Wait a minute.... itne saare paise?! Even if he is a village Sarpanch like he claimed last night, no normal local leader walks around with a mini bank vault casually stuffed in his pocket.

Pakka chor hai ye!

A highway dacoit! He probably loots rich city tourists on the highway and pretends to be royalty. That explains the luxury car, the lack of manners, and why he was hiding out in the middle of a midnight storm!

I stepped back, my jaw tightening as I glared at the cash like it was stolen government property.

"Nahi," I said, my voice small but absolutely firm as I shook my head. "Humein yeh nahi chahiye." (No. I don't want it.)

"Zidd mat kijiye. Aapke paas kuch nahi hai," he said, his tone darkening dangerously. He looked completely offended, as if he truly wasn't used to anyone turning down his illegal wealth. (Don't be stubborn. You have nothing.)

"Hamaare paas hum hai. Kaafi hai," I replied, my eyes flashing with the exact same fierce fire I'd used to hold a knife to his throat last night.

Vaise bhi, chor ki kamai khakar mujhe paap nahi kamana, I added proudly in my head. (I have myself. It's enough.)

The bus driver began shouting for the final passengers, honking a horribly loud horn.

I grabbed my bag tightly, turned on my heel, and marched straight toward the bus steps. I let out a fierce, muttered huff under my breath.

"Kusat bhoot kahin ka.... itna ghamand dikha raha hai jaise khud mehnat karke kamaya ho. Lootera!" (What a stubborn, arrogant ghost.... showing off as if he actually earned it himself. Thief!)

Glancing back over my shoulder as I reached the bus, I saw him freeze. His extended hand stayed completely suspended in mid-air, and his jaw tightened so hard I thought it might crack. A slow, dangerous heat seemed to crawl right up his neck, turning the skin around his bandage a furious shade of red.

Oh-ho. The highway dacoit heard me, I thought triumphantly.

I quickly paid no attention and hurried onto the bus, finding a seat by the dusty glass window. Looking out, I watched him walk straight up to the bus driver before the man could climb into the driver's seat. He pushed the massive roll of cash directly into the driver's hand, leaning in so close their shoulders touched.

I couldn't hear the words, but his face had dropped into a terrifying, lethal whisper. The poor driver's face went entirely pale, looking at the money, then at his piercing dark eyes, before nodding his head frantically like a broken toy.

He finally stepped back into the muddy gravel, his hands sliding casually into his pockets. I clutched the heavy pashmina shawl tighter around my chest, suddenly realizing I had completely forgotten to give it back to him. It still smelled faintly of sandalwood and safety.

The ancient bus lurched forward with a violent groan, coughing up smoke as it rolled out of the station. As it passed his towering frame, our eyes met one final time through the dusty glass window.

To be continued....

Official announcement:

Paratha Bachao Abhiyan was a complete success. 🫡🥔

Our fearless founder, president, and only volunteer, Meera, successfully saved innocent aloo parathas from being abandoned on the highway. Such bravery should be remembered in history books. 🙏

Meanwhile, poor Ranvijay survived a knife attack, a near car accident, public accusations of being called a chor, lootera, and probably ten other names, and severe emotional damage caused by one very chaotic girl.

Honestly, after fighting wars for years, I don't think anything could have prepared him for Meera. 😭

Pray for him please. He's trying his best.

Also, can we please take a moment for the fact that the man who has spent years hiding his pain completely malfunctioned when someone simply asked,

"Dard ho raha hai?" ❤️

That tiny moment is one of my favorites from this chapter.

Now tell me....

What was your favorite scene?

Team Meera's Parantha Bachao Abhiyan or Team Ranvijay's Suffering?

And most importantly, how long do you think it'll take Meera to realize that our "highway dacoit" might not actually be a highway dacoit?

Thank you so much for reading, voting, commenting, and screaming with me through this journey. Your support means the world. 🤍

See you in the next chapter! ✨🫶🏻

Until then, protect your paratha and don't accuse random princes of being thieves. 🤭👑🥔❤️

Thank you for reading.