Traded My Heart for the Crown Prince / Chapter 4: The Wounds Beneath the Surface
Traded My Heart for the Crown Prince

Traded My Heart for the Crown Prince

Author: Sai Patel

Chapter 4: The Wounds Beneath the Surface

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Yuvraj ki haveli wapas aaya, Arjun Sanskrit ke shlok likh raha tha, chhote se smile ke saath.

Agarbatti ki dhuan, sandal ki mehak. Ek alag hi shanti thi uske chehre par. Kuch pal ke liye subah ki hungama bhool gaya.

Mujhe dekhte hi, fir se woh mask pehen liya—thanda, door.

Pen nahi ruka, aankh upar se neeche—ek pal ke liye, phir wapas kagaz par.

"Sab theek ho gaya?"

Awaaz sookhi, jaise kuch hua hi nahi.

Maine sab bata diya, aakhri mein bola:

"MLA ke bete ki taang toot gayi. Doctor bolta hai, ho sakta hai zindagi bhar langda rahe. MLA chhodega nahi, Your Highness."

Khushi chhupane ki koshish ki, par Arjun ki aankh tik gayi—ek pal ke liye chinta dikhi, par chhup gayi. Dawa ka dabba pakda, phir chhod diya.

"Amit, uss waqt haalaat alag the. Mera iraada nahi tha."

Awaaz dheemi thi, lagbhag maafi jaisi. Pen ka dhakkan ghuma, aankh milayi nahi.

Maine socha—iraada nahi tha? Har gali-mohalle ki ladai mein yahi suna hai: "Maine socha nahi tha." Dard toh dard hai, chaahe iraada ho ya nahi.

Bandage ka safed kona phata hua kurte se jhaank raha tha. Dard sust ho gaya tha, yaad tez thi.

Hans ke taal diya. "Koi baat nahi, Your Highness."

Smile banayi, jaise kuch bhi nahi hua.

Arjun ne aankh mein aankh dali. "Naraaz ho mujh se?"

Uski nazar teekhi thi, jaise kuch dhoondh raha ho. Sawaal hawa mein latka tha.

Main bhi chup nahi raha.

Bachpan ke din, neem ke ped ke neeche baatein, rasoi se laddoo churana—sab yaad aa gaya.

Dhalti shaam thi, uski aankh ke mole par sooraj ki kiran—aur bhi sookha lag raha tha.

Baraf wali pahaadi yaad aa gayi—Arjun ki aankhein laal, meri baaju pakad ke rota tha.

"Amit, tu mat marna. Bahar nikle toh jo chahe, de dunga."

Us waqt woh raja nahi, ek dara hua bachcha tha.

Arjun ka mood tez badalta hai.

Halki hansi aa gayi, kandhe mein dard ke saath. "Dil ka badshah, dimaag ka bachcha," maa kehti thi.

Andar hi andar saans li, kadam peeche kiye. "Main kaun hota hoon, naraaz hone wala?"

Kuch pal khamoshi thi. Pen ki kharash hi awaaz thi.

Aankhon ke saamne taare naach gaye, himmat kar ke bola:

"Aur kuch hukam hai? Nahi toh, main chalta hoon. Dard zyada hai, lagta hai behosh ho jaunga."

Awaaz kamzor thi, par muskuraya. "Aap toh jaante hain, Your Highness. Dard zyada ho raha hai."

Arjun hans pada.

Halki si hansi, asli wali. Ek pal ke liye, purana Arjun wapas aa gaya.

"Amit, dard se kab darr gaya? Uttar mein kitni maar khai thi mere liye, kuch nahi bola. Ab natak kahan se seekh liya?"

Sir hila diya, aankh mein pyaar. Room ke log chup, par smile chhup nahi sakte.

"Theek hai, aaj toh tu jealous lag raha hai..."

Jealous, haan! Nazar andhera ho gaya, behosh ho gaya.

Aakhri soch thi—"Jealous? Mera toh bas laddoo chhinn gaya, that’s all!" Phir sab kuch andhera.

Girne se pehle Arjun ki desk pakad li, paintings aur ink sab khinch liya.

Gir ke bhi sukoon mila—inkpot ki awaaz, mere girte hi. Dekhte hain, ab kaise banata hai painting.

Sapne mein Arjun ka chehra bigda hua tha, main hans raha tha.

Jaane se pehle socha—kya ab woh mujhe waise hi dekhega jaise pehle dekhta tha?

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