In an extraordinary twist of fate, the soul of a modern-day young woman named Aarna finds itself inexplicably swapped with that of a princess from the 9th century, wedded to none other than the formidable Rajadhiraja Yashwardhan Rao. Yashwardhan fal...
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My heart raced wildly as I occupied the bed of Yashwardhan, a space that technically belonged to me also. The impending arrival of Aarna Yashwardhan Rao's parents left me in a tumultuous sea of confusion, contemplating whether to accept them as my own. The gravity of this decision hung in the air, clouding my thoughts.
Suddenly, a woman's voice pierced through the room, disrupting my internal turmoil. I lifted my head to witness a bedazzled lady, draped in a dark green lehenga that, in my eyes, appeared nothing short of dreadful. Her melodramatic entrance was accompanied by tearful eyes, yet the authenticity of her emotions remained questionable.
"My baby, what has happened to you?" she cried, her hands reaching out to cup my face. Uncomfortable, I instinctively recoiled from her touch, unable to embrace the notion of her being a motherly figure. The discomfort intensified as her actions seemed alien and unnatural.
The entrance of a manly voice marked the arrival of Aarna's presumed father. As he uttered my name, he made a move to touch my head. Instinctively, I withdrew, halting his advance. His halted gesture, coupled with a concerned expression, only added to the growing discomfort.
Frowning at the unfolding awkwardness, I clutched the bedsheet tightly, seeking solace in its fabric. The distant sound of jingling jewels announced the arrival of Yashwardhan ji. Turning my head towards him, I felt a wave of relief. "Yashwardhan ji," I uttered, gripping the bedsheet even more tightly. Sensing my need for his presence, he gracefully took a seat beside me.
Moving back on the bed, I reached for his arm, finding an unexpected source of comfort in his proximity. Though not my husband, at that moment, no one else felt as reassuring as Yashwardhan ji. The irrationality of it struck me, but the truth remained undeniable.
Tightening my grip on him, he touched my hand, prompting a question. "Do you remember them?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on me. Remember? The truth resonated within me—I had never seen them before. They emitted a negative energy that I couldn't ignore, cultivating a sense of aversion within me.
"I've never seen them," I admitted quietly, my throat parched with discomfort. Yashwardhan sighed, subtly rubbing my hand away from Aarna's parents, as if shielding me from their perplexing presence.
"We'll talk with vaidji(doctor) once again. Hope to find any solution for her illness," Yashwardhan declared, his words hanging in the air. Their unwavering stares intensified, with Aarna's father displaying a visible state of unease. Not directed towards my body, but rather reflecting confusion and a touch of disgust at my behavior, adding another layer to the already complex situation.
"We would like to talk with our daughter, privately," the man declared, sending a shockwave through me. Alone with them? Absolutely not!
While I considered myself a brave girl, unafraid of anyone except my parents, the realization hit me – these weren't my parents, and I was grappling with a century-switching soul exchange conundrum. The mere thought of being alone with strangers, excluding Yashwardhan ji, made me profoundly uncomfortable.
