Nawab's Tigress | 18+

007 ♔ Roohani Aziyat

Follow me on Instagram for story-related updates, some creative content and to rant your heart out - handle is- suganthii.writes

--

Vote. share. COOOOOMMMENTTT! (I've reduced the update days from three to two. Depending on your response, this could change; I might decrease it to once a week or increase it back to three days. It entirely depends on you, it's your call now.)

--

"Farhan?" Xavier questioned, "As in Farhan Siddiqui?"

Alisha nodded, "As in Nawab Farhan Siddiqui."

The mention of that title sent a jolt through her.

Yes, she had kept a tab on him. Alisha couldn't help but peek into his world. Her heart, a stupid traitor in her chest, wouldn't let him fade entirely. In moments of vulnerability, she surrendered to the urge, Googling his name, desperate for a sliver of his life after her.

The results had hit her like a wave.

He had been bestowed the title of Nawab just the previous year. News articles and social media overflowed with images of Nawab-the newly crowned ruler of Shehribad-a vision of aristocratic elegance. Headlines screamed "Most Eligible Bachelor" boasting of his vast wealth, influential connections, and the cherry on top-royalty. The media spun a narrative of a man with everything at his fingertips, seamlessly transitioning into a life of both privilege and duty. They fawned over his charisma, his composure, the image of a perfect ruler in the making.

Farhan's life dripped with opulence. His ancestral palace boasted Mughal grandeur and modern flourishes, while his wardrobe overflowed with bespoke suits, gold-threaded sherwanis, and designer casual wear. He cruised around in a fleet of luxury cars-a Rolls-Royce for effortless gliding, a Bentayga for rugged elegance, and a Ferrari for bursts of speed. Private jet, yacht, extravagant vacations-wherever he went, his wealth, his bodyguards, and his wooers followed.

The media often captured him attending high-profile events: charity galas, international film festivals, and state banquets. He was frequently photographed with celebrities, politicians, and other royals, his charismatic smile and confident demeanor making him the center of attention.

But for Alisha, none of it mattered.

She couldn't feel anything about his fame. All she could think about was how easily he had shed his past with her, how effortlessly he had moved on with his life. The images of him attending grand events, surrounded by admirers, were like daggers to her heart.

Beneath the public adulation lay a man who had seamlessly moved on to the future, leaving behind any trace of the past they-or maybe just she-envisioned. How easily he had taken on the title, embraced the limelight, and never once looked back. Never once did he come back to check on her, to see if she was okay.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

She had once believed he had a heart that beat for her, that their connection was something special. How naive. How foolish to still cling to those embers of affection. A part of her, a stubborn part, still cared. It clung to their memories, a painful echo in the face of reality. It was a part she wished she could silence. But reality was a harsh reminder that she was nothing more than a chapter in his past, a past he had left behind without a second thought. She had left her to die or to live, it didn't matter to him.

And then, thinking back to the first time he had kissed her without any preamble, without any concern for the years that had passed, she realized he hadn't cared. Nor had he spared a single second in that secluded elevator, the second time, to ask about the new designs she had been so proud of or how her work had finally gotten noticed. He had never shown any interest in who she had become since they had parted ways.