Page 103 of Scars and Crowns

The room dissolves into fresh laughter. I glance sideways at Anamika. She's trying so hard not to smile. Her lips twitch despite herself.

God . . . She's beautiful when she's embarrassed. Especially because she never realises it. "It's simple, Mumma." Sara shrugs like she's explaining basic arithmetic. "You look happy." She studies her mother's face another second. "Properly happy." Then she asks. "Are you finally going to be happy now?" The question lands so gently that the entire room seems to exhale around it.

She pauses. "I mean . . . " Her little nose wrinkles. " . . . really happy."

"Not the pretend kind." Silence settles over the table. Even Kairav stops smiling. I feel Anamika go completely still beside me. I don't look at her immediately. Instead, beneath the table, I reach for her hand. Our fingers meet almost instinctively. She startles for the briefest second before turning her palm over and threading her fingers through mine.

I squeeze gently. Nothing more. Just enough for her to know she's not answering alone anymore. She looks at me then. Her eyes are still damp from laughing. Still pink around the edges. Something soft passes between us.

No words.

None needed.

When she turns back to Sara, her smile is different somehow. Less careful. Less borrowed. "Yes." The answer is quiet. Certain. "Properly happy."

Sara's entire face lights up. Not with surprise. With satisfaction. As though this was simply the answer she'd been waiting to hear all along. "I knew it." She nods once, completely pleased with herself, and immediately returns to eating her breakfast as if she'd just finished ticking the last item off a very important list.

Conversation resumes almost instantly. Kairav, naturally, appoints himself narrator of events. "I'd just like everyone to know," he announces dramatically, "that I predicted this weeks ago."

"You did not," Maa says.

"I absolutely did."

"You predicted they were secretly planning to overthrow the palace kitchen because they kept disappearing together after dinner."

"Same difference."

"It is not remotely the same difference."

"I was spiritually correct."

Amish laughs so hard he has to lean away from the table. "You were just making things up."

"I call it intuition."

"It's called gossip."

Before Kairav can defend himself further, a neatly rolled napkin sails across the table and bounces cleanly off his forehead. He stares at Anamika in mock betrayal.

"You assaulted a prince."

"You deserved worse."

"I agree," Maa says serenely, reaching for another paratha.

"You encouraged him."

"I raised him."

"Exactly."

The table erupts again. Sara giggles so hard she nearly slides off her chair. Amish is laughing openly now. Even the staff quietly serving breakfast are smiling to themselves. I sit there listening to it all.

The overlapping voices. The laughter. The teasing. The familiar chaos.

Anamika's hand is still resting comfortably inside mine beneath the table. Every now and then her thumb brushes lightly against my knuckles without either of us acknowledging it. Such a tiny thing. It somehow feels bigger than every council meeting I've ever attended. I look around the dining room. Years ago this table felt impossibly large.

Breakfast meant silence. A newspaper folded beside my plate. Reports balanced against the water jug. Staff moving quietly enough that the scrape of cutlery became the loudest sound in the room.