Chapter 3: Old Wounds, New Fears

Amit’s exam results brought joy, but unease lingered in my chest. Three years ago, after I faked my death and left the palace, rumours spread about the imposter princess. That same year, the real princess, Priya, was welcomed back.

The news broke on a sticky summer afternoon, the neighbourhood radio crackling the announcement. I watched kids playing gilli-danda and tried to steady my heart, but inside, fear and relief warred.

When I heard this, I was selling paintings with Amit. For a moment I was dazed, then doubled over in laughter at Amit’s classical debates with customers. But our peace didn’t last. Soon after, I saw the wanted notice, pasted near the temple steps, ink smudged by monsoon rains. My heart pounded as I read—my name, marked as a traitor. My world spun. I never thought they’d want to erase me so completely. I was preparing excuses to leave, but Amit came first, saying we would return to his hometown academy. Would I go with him? I couldn’t have asked for more.

He didn’t question me, didn’t force truths I couldn’t share. His faith was something I could lean on when storms came. So, I hid in a remote town for three years. When Amit went to Delhi for exams, I finally dared to step outside.

The city—with its rickshaws, flower stalls, and distant temple bells—felt both strange and achingly familiar after so long indoors.