In Love With The Prince
How can they be rehearsing waltzes when I feel like I’m preparing for a funeral?
I stand and pace the room, my mind chasing itself in circles.
Run.
Stay.
Fight.
Give in.
Every option tastes bitter.
I stop by the window, pushing the curtain aside. The night air is cool, brushing my face like a whisper. Beyond the palace walls, the world looks free, dark streets, flickering lanterns, open sky. Out there, no one would call me “Your Highness.” Out there, I could be just a man.
But here… here I’m a prince. And princes don’t get to choose.
Bab Populer