Accueil / Romance / The Palace of Buried Names / Chapitre 1 - Chapitre 8

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The Bride Who Ran

The desert seemed endless at night.Beneath a sky scattered with cold stars, the dunes stretched in every direction like waves frozen in time, their pale surfaces glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. The landscape was beautiful in the way certain things became beautiful only after dark-vast, lonely, and indifferent to human suffering.Meera Rathore barely noticed any of it.Her breath tore painfully through her lungs as she ran, gathering handfuls of her bridal lehenga to keep from tripping over the heavy fabric. Gold embroidery scraped against thorn bushes. Bangles clashed noisily against one another with every frantic movement. The jewelry that had looked exquisite beneath ballroom chandeliers now felt more like chains fastened around her wrists, neck, and ankles.Hours earlier, dozens of people had admired her appearance.Now she would have traded every diamond she wore for a pair of running shoes.Ahead, a narrow road cut through the darkness. Beyond it lay possibility. A passin

The Wedding

The wedding began before sunrise, though for Meera it felt like it had never truly ended.Sleep had been impossible after her failed escape. Every time she closed her eyes, she found herself back in the desert, running barefoot through the sand while freedom shimmered just beyond reach. She would wake moments later to the oppressive reality of her circumstances, trapped once again inside the sprawling Rathore estate while an entire army of people prepared for the most important day of her life.Or so everyone kept calling it.Outside her bedroom windows, the palace grounds had transformed overnight. Floodlights illuminated gardens still wet with morning dew, while workers hurried between courtyards making final adjustments to decorations that had already taken weeks to complete. From a distance, the estate looked less like a family home and more like the setting of an extravagant dream.A dream she wanted no part of.By six o'clock, her room was overflowing with people.Makeup artists

The Space Between Strangers

The first thing Meera noticed about marriage was that it was far less dramatic than she had imagined.For years she had watched films and listened to stories told by relatives who spoke about marriage as though it were a single moment capable of transforming an entire life overnight. According to them, everything changed the moment a bride crossed the threshold of her husband's home. New priorities appeared. New loyalties formed. New feelings emerged.The reality was considerably less poetic.The morning after her wedding, Meera woke up feeling exactly like the woman she had been the day before. She still resented her father. She still hated the circumstances that had brought her to Singh Palace. She still intended to leave the first chance she got.The only difference was that she now lived in a palace that belonged to someone else.And shared a surname she had never asked for.The realization settled heavily over the days that followed.Life inside Singh Palace operated according to

The Shape Of Home

By the second month of her marriage, Meera had begun to notice something she wished she hadn't.It started innocently enough. A glance across the breakfast table when she entered the dining room each morning. A brief search through a crowded gathering to see whether he had arrived yet. An unconscious expectation that he would appear whenever the palace became too overwhelming.The realization embarrassed her.She had spent years believing that love made people foolish, and now she found herself looking for her husband in every room she entered.She told herself it meant nothing.People grew accustomed to routines.That was all.Rudra had become part of her routine.Nothing more.The lie worked for exactly three days.On the fourth day, Rudra left for Jaipur to attend a series of meetings, and Meera discovered that the palace felt strangely empty without him.She noticed it during breakfast when nobody interrupted an uncomfortable conversation to rescue her. She noticed it during lunch

The Distance Between Breaths

There are moments in a person’s life that do not announce themselves with clarity, nor do they arrive with the kind of dramatic force that forces immediate understanding; instead, they slip in quietly, like a change in air pressure, like the moment just before rain begins when the sky has already decided but the earth has not yet been informed, and Meera recognized, without fully admitting it to herself, that something inside her had already changed long before she had the courage to name it.It had begun in fragments that were too small to question.A glance held a second longer than necessary across a crowded dining table.A voice she began to recognize even before she saw the face attached to it.The way her body, without instruction, started turning slightly whenever Rudra entered a room, as if it had learned a rhythm her mind was still refusing to accept.And what scared her most was not that these things were happening, but that they were beginning to feel natural.That morning,

The Edge Of Almost

The rain did not ease as the night deepened; instead, it settled into a steady, surrounding presence that made the world beyond the pavilion feel as though it no longer existed in any meaningful way, and Meera found herself increasingly aware that the space she occupied was no longer defined by architecture or weather or even time, but by the fact that Rudra was standing close enough that she could no longer pretend she did not feel him.It was not a dramatic closeness.It was worse than that. It was ordinary closeness that had slowly become charged without permission, the kind of nearness that did not announce itself but accumulated over time until it became impossible to ignore without effort.She could hear him breathe.Not loudly.Not intentionally.Just the simple, steady rhythm of someone who had stopped pretending the moment required performance.And for reasons she could not articulate, that steadiness made her more aware of her own breathing, as though her body had suddenly r

Yearning

The decision to send Rudra away did not arrive like something that could be questioned or negotiated, because it was not presented as a possibility at all but rather as something already finalized long before anyone in the room had been invited to respond, and when his mother finally spoke, seated with calm precision in the formal sitting room where every object seemed arranged to reflect control rather than comfort, her voice did not rise or soften or waver in any way that would suggest uncertainty, because she spoke as someone who believed structure could correct emotional imbalance before it had the chance to grow into something inconvenient.“You will travel for some time,” she said, as though the matter was not open to interpretation but only acknowledgment.And there was no immediate resistance in the room, not because the decision was welcomed but because it was delivered in a way that made resistance feel almost irrelevant, and Meera, who was not part of that conversation but

Rudra's POV

Distance did not take her away from Rudra; it only changed the way she arrived to him, because now she did not come as presence but as remembrance, and remembrance, he discovered, was far more persistent than reality had ever been.She came in the smallest things first, the kind no one thinks would matter until they begin to hurt in their absence-the way she would wake in the morning and sit at the edge of the bed for a moment before standing, as if even the act of beginning a day required quiet negotiation with herself; the way her hands would search for her slippers without looking down, trusting memory more than sight; the way she would adjust the folds of her clothes without urgency, as though even stillness had dignity when she performed it.And then she came in softer, more unbearable fragments.The way she stepped out after bathing, hair still damp, not fully dried, carrying that faint, unplaceable freshness that never belonged to perfume alone but to something more intimate, s

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