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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As I stepped into the chamber, a palpable silence enveloped the room, echoing like the hush of a library at midnight. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows, intertwining with the ethereal glow of the moonbeams filtering through the window, creating an aura of eerie serenity. Despite the grandeur of the setting, it failed to soothe the ache festering within me.
My gaze gravitated towards the bed, where she lay, her form turned away, nestled upon her stomach, with pillows cradling her head and supporting her leg. A soft chuckle escaped my lips at the sight of her peacefully sleeping, her innocence radiating even in slumber. However, the memory of her cutting words swiftly erased any traces of amusement.
Approaching cautiously, I settled beside her on the bed, studying her countenance. A furrow formed between my brows as I noticed the telltale signs of distress – her cheeks stained with rouge, tear tracks glistening in the faint light. What turmoil had beset her? Was it our earlier exchange that prompted her tears?
A sharp intake of breath caught my attention. Was she not asleep? Another sniffle, and my heart constricted at the sight of her silent suffering. She muttered incomprehensible phrases, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room.
Leaning in, I strained to catch her words, "I'm so... s-sorry, Yash... ji," she murmured, my own breath hitching as her apology reached my ears, fractured and disjointed amidst her slumber. Her voice laden with remorse, repeating the phrase in a heartbreaking cadence.
Why did she beg forgiveness when she bore no fault? Was it my wounded pride that spurred her tears? It seemed likely, yet the notion offered scant comfort. I loathed witnessing her anguish, a visceral ache gnawing at my insides.
Her plea reverberated in my mind, a stark reminder of her wishes. If she desired distance, then distance she shall have. Though every fiber of my being rebelled against the notion, I resolved to honor her request. If her solace lay in solitude, then I would not deny her that sanctuary.
Rest eluded me as her cries echoed through the chamber, a haunting melody that pierced the silence of the night. Despite the hour growing late, the thought of her distress tethered me to wakefulness, rendering sleep a distant dream. The urge to console her, to offer solace in her moment of anguish, tugged at my heartstrings, yet the boundaries between us remained steadfast.
With a heavy heart, I abandoned my futile pursuit of slumber and retreated to the couch that had become my makeshift bed in recent nights. I settled upon its unforgiving surface, closing my eyes in a futile attempt to summon the embrace of sleep. But as the minutes stretched into eternity, the echoes of her sorrow persisted, a relentless reminder of her pain.
A resigned sigh escaped my lips as I conceded defeat, the need to assuage her suffering overpowering my own weariness. Rising from the confines of the couch, I treaded softly towards the bed where she lay ensconced in troubled dreams. With a silent prayer, I lowered myself onto the mattress, arranging the pillows to provide support as I drew her trembling form into my embrace.
