The evening light had begun to fade, and the golden sky melted into shades of soft lavender. The laughter of children echoed faintly through the meadows near Mahair's capital, where the royal children still played among the fields and trees. The cool breeze carried the fragrance of marigolds and wild jasmine.
Vivaan and Hinaal stood a little apart from the others, watching as Reyansh, Arish, and Vihaan chased each other around, shouting and laughing. Hinaal glanced at them — her lips curved in a secretive smile.
"They're too busy playing," she whispered, her eyes glinting mischievously. Then she looked up at Vivaan. "Come, I'll take you to a special place."
Vivaan raised an eyebrow, a soft smile playing at his lips. "A special place? Is it a special place of this capital — or your special place?"
Hinaal laughed lightly, the silver of her anklets chiming. "It's my special place," she said proudly, "and I'll only show you — because you're my special friend."
Vivaan's heart warmed at her words, though he kept his composure. "Then let's go," he said softly.
They walked together, leaving behind the laughter and noise of the others. The path was narrow, shaded by neem trees, and the golden dust shimmered under their feet. The air grew quieter, the only sound that of rustling leaves and the distant murmur of the city.
After a short walk, they stopped near a small, cave-like hut hidden between overgrown bushes. The entrance was half-covered with vines, so well concealed that one could have walked by without noticing it.
Hinaal smiled proudly and turned to him. "This is my special place. When I'm angry or hurt, I come here. Nobody can find me here."
Vivaan looked around — the space was small but peaceful. The evening light slanted through the cracks, casting patterns of gold on the rough stone walls. He smiled gently. "It's perfect," he said.
They both ducked slightly to enter and sat inside. Vivaan lowered himself onto a flat stone, his eyes exploring the tiny cave — the faint scent of clay and paint lingered in the air. Beside him, Hinaal sat down eagerly, her energy bright even in the dim light.
"I'll show you something," she said excitedly. She bent down and lifted a piece of cloth from the ground. Underneath were a few brushes, some half-filled bowls of dried color, and a rolled piece of parchment. Carefully, she unrolled it.
It was a painting — the portrait of Maharaj Ranbeer, her father.
Vivaan's lips parted slightly, his expression softening. "You paint?" he asked with genuine surprise.
Hinaal nodded proudly, her eyes shining.
"It's beautiful," Vivaan said quietly, his voice filled with admiration.
At his praise, her face lit up — a pure, innocent smile that made her seem like sunlight itself. "Come," she said suddenly, standing up with a burst of energy. "I'll show you something else."
Before Vivaan could respond, she reached down, caught his hand, and began to run.
Vivaan froze for a moment — his breath caught at her touch. The warmth of her small hand in his made the world blur for a heartbeat. He didn't even realize when his feet started moving with hers.
They ran through the narrow path, laughter echoing faintly behind them, until they reached an open expanse — a place so breathtaking that Vivaan stopped in his tracks.
Before them lay a vast flower garden — fields of color stretching endlessly. Roses, lilies, lotuses, jasmine, and hundreds of blooms he didn't even know the names of. The air was thick with their fragrance. And just beyond, the faint shimmer of a mountain waterfall could be seen glistening in the fading light.
Hinaal spread her arms wide, her face glowing with joy. "Look, Vivaan! This is the flower garden. You know, it's the biggest one in the whole kingdom. And see — from here you can view the mountain fall. Isn't it beautiful?"
Vivaan blinked, momentarily lost between the garden's beauty and the sight of her standing there, radiant under the evening sky. He looked around and finally said softly, "Yes… it's beautiful."But in his heart, he knew he wasn't just speaking of the garden.
They both walked forward and sat under a large tree whose branches bent low, offering shade and stillness. The air was cool, scented with roses. Fireflies began to appear in the distance, flickering like tiny stars.
Hinaal laughed suddenly, looking toward the horizon. "Oh, my friend and his two monkey brothers will never know where we are!" she said playfully.
Vivaan smiled. "Why do you tease them both so much?"
Hinaal huffed, folding her arms. "I don't like them. They're my enemies. They bully my friend."
Vivaan chuckled softly. "Your friend?"
"Yes — you brother!" she said quickly, turning to him with a small pout. "They bully your small innocent brother, so I don't like them."
Vivaan's eyes softened. "Can I say something to you, Hinaal?" he asked gently.
"Yes, you can. Why are you hesitating?" she said, playing with a small stone near her foot, her tone light but curious.
Vivaan looked toward the horizon for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "In court… why did you defend me that day? At that time, I wasn't even your friend."
Hinaal froze a little at the question. Her hands stilled. Then she looked away toward the flowers, her voice quiet but firm.
"I didn't defend you," she said softly. "I just couldn't listen to nonsense. You also know they were all incapable — but they couldn't accept it because of their ego. If you're at fault, you should take it, not blame others and degrade them. That… I cannot bear."
Vivaan listened silently, a small, knowing smile forming on his lips. "I know," he thought quietly to himself, "but I also know that wasn't the only reason you spoke that day."
He didn't say it aloud. Instead, he only smiled — that calm, rare smile that reached his eyes.
The garden was silent now except for the soft whisper of wind through the flowers. The moon had risen — pale silver light spreading across the field. Hinaal sat gazing at the blossoms, lost in thought, while Vivaan leaned against the tree, his eyes lifted toward the moon.
Both were silent — yet both were thinking of each other.
Two hearts, young and innocent, connected not by words but by a feeling neither could name — a quiet beginning to something timeless.