Suhana's POV

I was elbow-deep in color palettes and layout boards when my phone vibrated sharply on the glass tabletop beside me. My mother. Again.

I stared at it, hoping it might stop if I ignored it. It didn’t.

With a resigned sigh, I wiped my hands on my kurta and answered. “Hello, Ma,” I said, forcing a cheer I didn’t feel.

“Suhana! Finally!” Her voice pierced through the speaker, slicing through what was left of my concentration. “You’re not picking up now? What are you doing—designing the moon?”

I swallowed the sigh rising in my throat. “I was in a meeting. There’s a film set I’m finalizing—”

“Suhana!” Her voice sharpened, brooking no delay. “I hope your bags are packed. I expect both my daughters to be there.”

“I have three client meetings this week, Ma. One’s with a production house—”

“Cancel them.” Her tone was absolute. “Your cousin Vihan is getting engaged. The palace is being opened. Your father and Sagar uncle are flying in from Delhi. Do you really think your sets matter more than this?”

Now wasn’t the time to explain I was designing a full replica of 18th-century palace.

“Ma,” I tried one last time, my voice softer now, pleading. “You know I have back-to-back projects. The shoot, that restoration in Gujarat—”

“I don’t care if you’re restoring the Taj Mahal,” she said briskly. “Pack your bags. Both of you. You’re reaching Jodhpur by Friday. And don’t make me call again to remind you. We’ll send the chopper if we must.”

I’ll try my best,” I said softly, knowing it wasn’t enough.

“You won’t try,” she snapped. “You will come."

Of course.

There it was. The royal decree.

Daughters of Manyata Malhotra didn’t say no. Especially when she wasn’t just our mother, but a celebrated fashion photographer and a princess—whose husband was now stepping into politics after reigning over Rajasthan’s real estate empire.

She hung up before I could reply, the call ending with a crisp click, like the snap of an expensive clutch.

I sat still, the silence deafening. Through the window, Mumbai shimmered—chaotic, anonymous, perfect. It gave me distance. Illusion. Normalcy.

Jodhpur was the opposite—open spaces, sharp eyes, tradition, and family. Watching. Questioning.

My stomach knotted. I’d always known this day would come—a family event I couldn’t dodge.

The phone buzzed again. It was Sanya this time.

“You got scolded too?” I asked.

“Obviously! I heard Ma yelling before she even called me,” she groaned. “It’s like her voice travels across dimensions.”

Just hearing my twin’s voice eased something inside me. “What do we do, San? How can I go there?"

" But we have to."

" We?? Both? No! Are you even thinking what you are saying? We can’t both go.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“So, you’re not coming?”

“I have a shoot,” she admitted. “The brand team’s flying in. But I can't ignore mom's order, so I’ll make it on the day of the engagement. Smile for the photos, then fly back before anyone notices.”

My chest tightened. “How am I supposed to handle this alone? You know what’s at stake.”

“Calm Down!! We’ve handled situations worse than this,” she said gently. “We’ll manage this too.”

“I’m not so sure this time.” I stared down at my trembling hands. “Everything feels exposed. The whole family will be there. What if something slips?”

“You won’t let it. You never have.”

“I hate this,” I whispered. “The lying, the pretending, the weight of this secret—it’s exhausting.”

“I know, this needs to stop.” she said softly.

“ Hmm! But I also know that with half the royal families in Rajasthan attending and Papa showing off his political image, we can’t afford to crack.” I said.

"Right, but after this is over, I think you should come out with your secret. For how long you are going to hide it, Suhana?” she asked “How long can we keep walking this tightrope?”

“As long as it takes,” I answered. “Until I’m ready to tell them.”

“Why not now?”

“You know what’ll happen. Dad, Sagar uncle, Bhai—it’ll explode. And I can’t survive that storm. Not yet.”

“You’re not alone, Suhana. You have me.”

" I know!! " My throat tightened. Sanya never pushed. Never judged. She knew the truth—even if she didn’t know all of it. She never asked about the parts I couldn’t say aloud. She just… stood by me.

“I can’t breathe when I think about repercussions,” I admitted, the words spilling out like a confession. “The people, the questions... I feel like I’m being hunted.”

“You’re just scared,” she said gently. “That’s okay. But you’ve kept everything together for years. Trust yourself.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Nothing! That's why God sent me with you. See you always mess up your eyeliner. Forget your passwords.” she teased me.

I laughed—my first real laugh that day.

“You walk into that palace like you own it—because you do. You’re Suhana Malhotra. The girl who redesigned three wings of Udaipur’s oldest haveli and the haveli featured in the top interior magazine. The girl who built her life from scratch in another city.”

“But I’m also the girl hiding the biggest truth of her life from everyone who claims to love her.”

“And you’re the girl who survived it all. That counts.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’ll keep my bag packed. I’ll fly on the day of the engagement. Just keep me updated. If anything feels off, call me.”

I nodded, already feeling the weight of her absence.

When she disconnected, I walked to the window, folding my arms tight.

Below, Mumbai pulsed like a living jewel. But in my chest, Jodhpur was already rising—like a shadow. Heavy with memory, duty, and danger, because many things were at stake.

I would go. Because I had to.

I would smile. Because I must.

But I had a feeling that this time, the secret was closer to the surface than ever before.

And I didn’t know if I could keep it buried much longer.