It had been a week since the grand wedding, but tonight felt like the true beginning.

Avantika sat still in the middle of the enormous bed, her legs folded beneath her, her knees tucked up to her chest, her arms loosely wrapped around them. The red and golden dupatta still draped over her head, shadowing her face like a delicate veil of moonlight. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest it was a miracle it hadn't woken the whole palace.

The room was glowing in the warmth of golden lamps. Soft rose petals blanketed the sheets. Fragrant jasmine strands dangled from the canopy, swaying gently with the breeze. The air smelled of sandalwood, rosewater, and the faintest hint of cardamom—someone had thoughtfully placed a silver tray of warm saffron milk on the side table.

It was supposed to be romantic.

It was romantic.

But Avantika felt like a tightly coiled spring. Not because of fear, but because of everything. The weight of a whirlwind wedding, of a new last name that felt foreign on her tongue, of the knowledge that beyond the doors of this suite, the world now saw her as a princess.

And inside the room... she was a nineteen-year-old girl sitting on a bed full of rose petals, wondering how she went from Delhi classrooms to Udaipur's royal chambers.

The door creaked.

Her head snapped up.

There he was.

Abhimanyu.

Wearing an ivory kurta and soft cotton pyjamas, his turban gone, hair slightly damp from a shower, and a warm, almost nervous smile on his face. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Their eyes met.

He didn't speak immediately. He simply walked slowly toward her, each step echoing across the quiet room. She watched him like a deer would a flame—drawn in, but cautious, unsure of what the heat would do.

When he reached her, he stood still for a moment, then slowly sat down beside her on the edge of the bed.

He didn't reach for the veil. Not yet.

"Hey," he said softly.

Her lips twitched. "Hey."

"You look..." He hesitated, searching for a word. "Like a secret I want to spend the rest of my life unraveling."

Avantika bit her lip.

She wanted to roll her eyes. Or maybe laugh. But the truth was, her throat was too tight.

"I know this feels big," he said, voice gentle, thumb grazing the edge of her dupatta near her cheek. "And it is. But I want you to know something very clearly, Avantika—"

She blinked at him.

He leaned closer. "You don't owe me anything tonight. You never will."

Her eyes welled up instantly.

Why was he always like this? Always reading her silences better than she understood her own words?

"I'm not scared," she whispered.

"I know."

"I'm just... overwhelmed."

"I know that too."

They stayed like that in silence for a moment. Then, with slow, reverent fingers, he lifted her veil.

She let him.

The lavender fabric slipped off her hair and shoulders, pooling around her. Her long curls spilled over her back, her skin glowing under the dim lights, a flush creeping across her cheeks.

His breath caught.

She was beautiful. Not in the "royal bride" way, but in the Avantika way. In the way that made his chest ache.

"You're staring," she murmured.

"I know," he admitted.

Then, smiling a little, he picked up the silver tray from the bedside table and handed her the glass of milk.

She laughed softly. "Seriously?"

"Tradition," he grinned. "Come on, take a sip. Or I will."

She narrowed her eyes but accepted the glass. She took a long, lazy sip. "Ugh. Sweet. Like diabetes."

"Good," he said, taking the glass from her hand and finishing the rest. "Let our marriage start with sugar highs."

She giggled again, the laughter melting away the tension in her shoulders.

They sat side by side in companionable silence. Her fingers picked at the rose petals absently. His hand brushed hers. Then stayed there.

"You still overwhelmed?" he asked.

She nodded.

"But I still want to kiss you."

His breath hitched. "Yeah?"

She turned to face him. "Yeah."

He didn't rush.

He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft, tender kiss to her lips. She inhaled sharply—not because of the kiss, but because of everything it made her feel.

This wasn't like the kisses they'd shared before.

This was new. This was sacred.

He kissed her again, this time slower. Her hands slid up his arms to rest against his chest. His fingers brushed the skin of her waist—bare under the choli—and she gasped softly.

"Okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, cheeks flaming. "Touch me. But... softly."

His hands skimmed over her back, over her arms, before they reached her belly. He rested his palm flat there, over the navel he loved teasing so much, and looked into her eyes.

"Still okay?"

She reached down, covered his hand with hers, and whispered, "Yes."

He pushed her gently down into the rose petals.

Their bodies moved in slow rhythms, hesitant, exploring, learning each other. There was no rush. No expectation. Just breath, skin, and heat.

At one point she laughed when he tried to undo her jewellery and it got tangled in her hair.

At another, she cried a little—not from pain, but from the weight of it all—the intimacy, the closeness, the love.

He kissed every tear.

Held her after.

Pulled the sheets over them as they lay tangled, heartbeats synced.

And when she rested her head on his chest, drawing soft patterns over his skin with her fingers, she whispered something she hadn't dared to say aloud till now.

"I love you."

His arms tightened around her.

"I've loved you since the day you almost threw me into the lake," he murmured against her hair.

They fell asleep just like that.

Wrapped in jasmine and rose petals.

Wrapped in each other.

Wrapped in a beginning that was only just unfolding.