As the grand ballroom erupted in a flurry of congratulations and applause, Shruti's eyes widened in shock, her gaze fixed on her father, King Amrit Singh. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut, her breath knocked out of her. How could her father do this to her? How could he announce her engagement to Aryan without even consulting her?
But her father was too busy basking in the praise and admiration of their guests to notice his daughter's distress. He smiled and laughed, shaking hands and accepting congratulations, completely oblivious to Shruti's turmoil.
As the evening wore on, Shruti felt like she was trapped in a nightmare. She went through the motions, smiling and thanking the guests, but her mind was reeling with anger and frustration.
Finally, the party came to an end, and the guests began to depart. Shruti made her way back to her room, feeling like she was walking through a fog. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the window, pushing it open to let in the cool night breeze.
As the wind caressed her cheeks, Shruti felt a sense of calm wash over her, but it was short-lived. Her anger and frustration soon resurfaced, and she found herself pacing back and forth in front of the window, her mind racing with thoughts.
How could her father do this to her? Didn't he care about her feelings? Didn't he know that she had her own dreams and aspirations?
As the minutes ticked by, Shruti's frustration grew. She couldn't just sit back and do nothing. She needed to talk to someone, to express her feelings and concerns. And the only person she could think of was her mother.
With a newfound sense of determination, Shruti turned away from the window and made her way to her mother's chambers. She was going to have it out with her mother, to demand answers and explanations. She was going to make her voice heard, no matter what it took.
As Shruti reached her parents' chambers, she saw her mother, Queen Jyotsana Singh, sitting in front of a large, ornate mirror, admiring her reflection.
When Shruti entered the room, her mother caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and turned to face her. "Shruti, beta, congratulations! I'm so happy for you," she exclaimed, her voice dripping with warmth and enthusiasm.
But Shruti's expression remained somber, her eyes cast downward. She didn't share her mother's excitement, and her silence spoke volumes.
Queen Jyotsana's smile faltered, and she sensed that something was amiss. "Shruti, what's wrong? You seem upset," she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Shruti took a deep breath before speaking her mind. "Maa, I don't want to get married yet. I'm not ready," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Queen Jyotsana's expression softened, and she attempted to reassure her daughter. "Shruti, you have six months to think about it. It's not like the wedding is tomorrow. You'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea," she said, trying to placate her.
But Shruti's concerns ran deeper. "Maa, it's not just about the wedding. I want to follow my passion for art. I want to study and learn more about it," she said, her eyes pleading for understanding.
Queen Jyotsana's expression turned stern, and her voice rose in anger. "Shruti, you can't just pursue your hobbies and forget about your responsibilities! You're the only heir to the estate, and you have a duty to fulfill. You can't just abandon your royal duties for the sake of art!" she exclaimed, her words cutting deep.
Shruti felt a surge of frustration and hurt. She had expected her mother to understand her, to support her dreams. But instead, she was met with anger and disappointment.
The argument escalated, with both mother and daughter raising their voices. But in the end, Shruti felt defeated, her dreams and aspirations crushed by the weight of her royal responsibilities.
With tears streaming down her face, Shruti turned and ran out of the room, leaving her mother's angry words echoing behind her. She fled to the safety of her own room, where she collapsed onto her bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
As the emotional turmoil of the day finally began to subside, Shruti's exhaustion caught up with her, and she drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the comforting silence of her room.
The next day, Shruti woke up with a newfound sense of determination. She decided to take matters into her own hands and sent a letter to Aryan, requesting a meeting with him. She needed to talk to him, to know his thoughts and feelings about the sudden announcement of their engagement.
As the afternoon sun cast its warm rays over the palace gardens, Aryan arrived at the designated meeting spot, looking every bit the handsome prince that he was.
As they sat down together on a bench, surrounded by the vibrant flowers and towering trees of the garden, a long silence ensued. Shruti was hesitant to break the silence, unsure of how to broach the sensitive topic that weighed heavily on her mind.
Finally, she took a deep breath and asked the question that had been plaguing her since the previous day's announcement. "Aryan, did you know about the wedding? Was it a shock to you too?"
Aryan's expression was one of genuine surprise, and he shook his head in denial. "No, Shruti, I had no idea. It was a complete shock to me too."
Shruti's eyes welled up with tears as she recounted the conversation she had with her mother the previous night. Aryan listened attentively, his face etched with concern and empathy.
"Don't take too much stress, Shruti," he advised, his voice soft and soothing. "We'll figure something out."
But Shruti was beyond consolation. "How can I not take stress, Aryan? You know I love my passion for art. It's who I am," she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.
Aryan took her hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "Think about it with a calm mind, Shruti. We have six months to figure things out. And if we do get married, I promise you, I'll support you in pursuing your passion for art. You'll never have to give it up."
Shruti's eyes overflowed with tears as she looked up at Aryan, her heart filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Aryan," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Aryan smiled and patted her head, trying to lift her spirits. "You look funny while crying, you know that?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Shruti laughed despite herself, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. She playfully hit Aryan's shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort and reassurance in his presence.
After a few days of emotional turmoil, Shruti had finally begun to settle into a routine. She was sitting in her room, immersed in the pages of a book, when a soft knock at the door broke the silence. She looked up, slightly startled, and said, "Oh, come in."
The maid, a quiet and unobtrusive presence, walked towards Shruti and handed her a letter. "This is for you, Your Highness," she said, with a gentle curtsy, before turning and leaving the room.
Shruti's curiosity was piqued as she took the letter from the maid. She turned it over in her hands, studying the envelope, which was made of high-quality paper and bore the crest of the Rai estate. She hadn't received many letters from the Rai estate before, and she wondered who could have sent it.
As she opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, a smile spread across her face. The words on the page were like a balm to her soul, praising her painting and acknowledging her talent. The letter was from someone who had seen her artwork at the charity exhibition, and they were lavish in their praise.
Shruti's eyes sparkled with happiness as she read the letter again and again, savoring the words. It was the first time someone had written to her solely to praise her art, and it felt wonderful to be acknowledged and appreciated.
As she finished reading the letter, Shruti's gaze fell on the signature at the bottom of the page. But to her surprise, there was no name, only two words: "Your fan." Shruti's curiosity was piqued, and she felt a sudden urge to meet the person who had written such a kind and generous letter.
She decided then and there that she would try to find out who had sent the letter. She felt a sense of excitement and anticipation, wondering who this mysterious fan could be and what they would be like in person.
