Myra's gaze lingered on the spot where Ranvijay had just stood, his intense eyes still etched in her mind. There was something in the way he looked at her—something that made her chest tighten.
Not anger.
Not quite affection.
But a storm brewing just beneath his surface. One that whispered mine without a single word.
She swallowed hard and turned her face away, pretending to focus on the flowers in her lap. Shiv had already gotten up, murmuring something about duty and disappearing toward the training grounds, leaving her alone in the garden again. Yet her peace was already stolen.
Why did his gaze affect her like that?
Why did her heart race as if it was about to leap out of her chest the moment he looked at her like she belonged to him?
She sighed, gently brushing her fingers across the soft petals of a white rose, her thoughts tangled in the mess of feelings she refused to name.
He's just possessive, she told herself. Not… not loving. That's not love.
But her breath caught in her throat.
Because deep down, some part of her didn't believe that.
Suddenly, a flutter of color pulled her attention.
A butterfly—delicate and pale blue—drifted lazily in front of her, dipping and twirling over the flowerbed. Myra blinked, momentarily dazed by its softness, its freedom. She watched it land on a marigold bloom, wings pulsing gently like a heartbeat.
A small smile touched her lips. She hadn't seen a butterfly in so long.
When she was little, her mother used to say butterflies carried wishes. That if one landed near you, it meant the universe had heard something your heart hadn't spoken out loud yet.
She leaned forward, careful not to startle it, her voice barely a whisper.
"Did you hear mine?"
The butterfly remained still for a moment, then lifted off gently, dancing away toward the sun.
Myra closed her eyes. And for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to breathe—not as a girl caught between fear and confusion—but as someone who dared to dream of more.
Not of escape.
Not even of Ranvijay.
But of freedom… in her own heart.
The butterfly hovered a moment longer, its wings fluttering softly like a secret waiting to be told.
Myra slowly closed her eyes, her lashes brushing against her cheeks as a tender whisper left her lips—one only the butterfly could hear.
"Tell me… what's my heart yearning for? What's the wish that you know… and I don't?"
For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
The hush of wind through leaves.
The faint rustle of petals.
Then, something shifted in the air.
Her lashes fluttered open, expecting nothing—but her breath caught in her throat.
Ranvijay stood in front of her.
Still, commanding, intense.
As if summoned by her soul.
Her lips parted in surprise, her heart stuttering as if it had skipped a beat just to catch up with his gaze. She hadn't heard him approach. She didn't even know how long he had been standing there.
But it was the butterfly that made her freeze.
Because instead of flying away, it gently circled around him—once, twice—dancing around his shoulder, brushing close to his chest, before it soared into the sky, as if it had delivered its message.
A silent answer.
Him.
She stared at Ranvijay, unable to form a word. There was something unreadable in his eyes, like he had heard everything she whispered to the wind.
Like he knew.
Ranvijay took a step closer, but didn't speak. His gaze dropped to the flowers in her lap, then returned to her face.
His voice was low, husky. "Talking to butterflies now, Sweetheart?"
She blinked, flustered, caught between the magic of the moment and the weight of his presence. "I… I didn't know anyone was watching."
"I wasn't watching," he replied, stepping even closer. "I was… listening."
The garden seemed to grow quieter around them, as if nature itself leaned in, waiting to see what would unfold next.
Myra's fingers curled into the fabric of her saree, grounding herself. "Did you hear what I said?"
Ranvijay's gaze softened, just a flicker. "I heard everything I needed to."
Her chest tightened.
She didn't know what to say.
Didn't know if she should run, or stay, or ask him why fate kept pulling him closer every time she tried to build a wall.
But she didn't move.
Neither did he.
Only the ghost of a butterfly remained between them, its path still echoing in her heart.
Just as the silence stretched between them, delicate and golden in the garden's stillness, a sudden POP! broke the moment.
A loud gurgle followed—and then chaos.
The old water pipe near the flowerbeds burst open, shooting a stream of water into the air like a playful fountain. Before either of them could react, the droplets splashed across the garden—and the burst triggered the automatic sprinklers.
Within seconds, rain showered down from all sides, catching Myra and Ranvijay in the middle of the unexpected storm.
Myra let out a startled gasp, instinctively shielding her face with her hands. Water soaked through her soft saree in seconds, the delicate fabric clinging to her skin as she looked up in shock, blinking against the cool droplets.
But something in the air shifted again.
Sunlight broke through the clouds above the garden, casting a golden warmth across the sudden downpour. The raindrops glittered like diamonds.
And then—a rainbow appeared, arching across the garden sky, soft and surreal.
She stood still, drenched, heart racing—not just from the shock of water, but from the way Ranvijay was looking at her now.
Water ran down his jawline, his shirt soaked and darkened, sticking to the hard lines of his chest. Yet he didn't flinch, didn't move—he just stared at her, eyes locked onto hers as if the world around them had ceased to exist.
The rainbow curved behind him. The butterfly's answer still whispered in her mind.
He was the wish her heart hadn't voiced.
He was the answer.
She slowly lowered her hands, the rain softening against her skin, washing away everything except the moment. Her gaze met his, and for the first time, she didn't look away.
Ranvijay stepped closer. His voice, even in the rain, was steady. "You look like a dream right now."
Her breath hitched.
"You always do," he added, softer, almost reverent.
She opened her mouth to reply—but no words came.
And for once, maybe words weren't needed at all.
They stood under the rainbow rain—two souls soaked, the past still clinging, the future uncertain, but the moment? Unforgettable.
Myra turned to leave, but the moment she took a step, Ranvijay's hand slipped around her waist—bare, wet, trembling from the chill of the water and the storm within her.
His hold tightened, not in force, but in possession.
She gasped, her breath catching as his fingers pressed into her skin, pulling her gently yet firmly against him. Her saree clung to her like a whisper, the thin fabric no match for the heat surging between them.
"Don't run," he said, his voice deep and husky, roughened by the ache in his chest. "Not from me."
His other hand reached up to her face, brushing the drenched strands of hair that stuck to her cheeks, tucking them softly behind her ear. The water trickled down her neck, and his knuckles grazed her collarbone like a silent promise.
Myra's hands hovered between them—wanting to push, wanting to pull, unsure which side of her heart to listen to.
"You shouldn't touch me like this," she whispered, eyes fluttering shut. "I still hate you."
His forehead rested against hers, his breath mixing with hers as the rain painted them into a moment out of time.
"But your soul," he murmured, "never does."
"I've tried to stay away," he confessed against her lips, "to give you space, to not scare you off."
Myra's eyes fluttered shut at his nearness. "Then why don't you?"
He exhaled a shaky breath. "Because it's impossible. Because every time I look at you, I forget every reason I gave myself."
That's when the butterfly returned—drifting down from the sky like a note sent from the heavens. It fluttered around them, circling once, then landed softly on his shoulder again.
Myra opened her eyes, stunned.
Ranvijay didn't notice it at first. He was too busy watching her.
And when she didn't pull away this time, he whispered, "You were made for storms, Myra. But I'll be the one to hold you through every one of them."
His grip on her bare waist tightened, pulling her even closer—closer when they were already chest to chest, heart to heart, skin to skin.
Myra's breath hitched again, the air between them thick with unsaid words and suppressed feelings. Her hands pressed lightly against his chest, but she didn't push him away. She couldn't. Not when his touch seared into her skin like a brand, not when his eyes—those dark, smouldering eyes—looked at her like she was the only thing he'd ever needed.
His possessive gaze roamed over her face, down to her trembling lips, then back to her eyes.
"You're mine," he said lowly, voice barely above a whisper, but it struck her deeper than any shout could have. "Every heartbeat, every inch of you… is mine, Myra."
The rain fell harder now, surrounding them like a veil of silver. Her saree, soaked and clinging to her curves, left little to imagination, and Ranvijay's jaw clenched as if he were restraining something primal within him.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, eyes searching his, her voice fragile. "Why won't you just let me go?"
His hand moved up from her waist, slowly, reverently, fingers brushing over the wet silk covering her back until they rested at the nape of her neck. He tilted her head gently, making her look into his eyes—into the storm swirling inside them.
"Because I've let you go once in a dream," he murmured. "And I woke up empty. I won't do it again."
The butterfly still sat on his shoulder, unmoving—as if watching, approving. The sunlight behind the clouds broke through, casting a faint rainbow just behind them. As if nature itself was siding with fate.
Myra's lips parted, but words wouldn't come. Her heart beat so loudly she wondered if he could hear it too. Everything in her told her to pull away, to retreat into the walls she'd built so carefully over the years.
But her body… her soul… they betrayed her. They leaned in.
And he felt it.
Ranvijay leaned in just a fraction, so close his lips nearly brushed hers. But he didn't kiss her.
Not yet.
Instead, he whispered against her mouth, " You are just burning me up"
Just as his whisper faded against her trembling lips, Ranvijay felt her body shudder slightly in his arms. Not from fear this time… but from the chill. The rain had soaked her completely, and though the fire in their proximity burned strong, the breeze had turned cool, brushing against her bare skin through the damp saree.
A small frown appeared on his face as he felt another shiver course through her. Without a word, he slid one hand beneath her knees and the other cradled her back as he lifted her into his arms in one swift, fluid motion.
"Ranvijay—" she gasped, startled, hands flying to his chest.
"Shh," he murmured, eyes fixed ahead as he started walking toward the palace. "You're freezing. I won't let you fall sick, Myra."
The raindrops still danced around them, the butterfly now gone—but the echo of that magic moment clung to the air between them. Myra rested her cheek lightly against his shoulder, breathing in the warmth of his scent, her heartbeat thudding in confusion and chaos.
He didn't speak again, but his hold never loosened. If anything, it grew firmer—as though he were scared that if he loosened his grip even slightly, she might disappear from his world again.
As he entered their bedroom, the dim lights cast a golden hue across the soft white sheets. He walked over to the bed and gently placed her down. For a moment, he just stood there, gazing down at her—her wet hair splayed across the pillow, saree clinging to her like a second skin, eyes wide with emotion.
He turned away then, walking to the wardrobe and pulling out a warm, thick shawl. Coming back to her, he knelt at the edge of the bed and without asking, wrapped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her skin.
Myra's throat tightened. She looked at him—not as the arrogant, possessive prince she'd always tried to escape from—but as a man who, despite her hatred and confusion, kept showing up for her in the most unexpected ways.
"Why do you keep doing this everytime?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
Ranvijay looked up, the same intensity in his eyes—but now softened with something more vulnerable.
"Because you're mine," he said again, gently. "i'll do everything even if you never love me."