The night was thick with silence as Aarifa walked the halls of the Red Fort, her footsteps soft on the marble, the cool air brushing against her skin. Her thoughts were tangled in knots, just as the threads of her loom had been earlier in the evening. The melodies from the mehfil (royal gathering) still echoed in her mind, the way Khurram had looked at her, not with the cool distance of a prince, but with something deeper and darker.
Aarifa stopped before a window, the moonlight spilling across her face, its pale glow mingling with the shadows that seemed to grow longer with every passing moment. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the night pressing against her, the secrets she was beginning to understand swirling within her chest.
She had never imagined that a glance, a word spoken in passing, could stir something so primal, so intense within her. And yet, when Khurram had looked at her that way; eyes burning with an unspoken promise—she had felt it. Something shifted inside her, something she couldn't ignore.
She wanted to deny it, to tell herself that she was just another woman in the court, lost in the intricate politics of the Mughal Empire. But she knew, deep down, that the attraction between them wasn't just a passing moment. It was something more.
The sound of footsteps drew her from her thoughts, and she turned to find Zahra standing at the far end of the corridor, a questioning look in her eyes. Zahra had always been able to read her like an open book, but tonight, Aarifa felt more exposed than ever.
"You've been gone for hours," Zahra said softly, her voice carrying the weight of concern.
Aarifa met her gaze, but didn't speak for a moment. She didn't know what to say. How could she explain what had happened? How could she explain the way Khurram's presence seemed to consume her?
"I had to clear my mind," Aarifa finally replied, her voice low.
Zahra stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "You met him, didn't you?"
Aarifa flinched, but nodded. "Yes. We spoke."
"And?"
Aarifa took a deep breath, trying to steady the racing of her heart. "He... he sees things. Things no one else does."
Zahra's brow furrowed. "What things?"
Aarifa's fingers brushed the fabric of her shawl. "He saw the falcon. The flame."
Zahra stared at her for a long moment, then reached out to grasp her hand. "Aarifa, you have to be careful. The prince is dangerous. He's not just a man; he's power, he's ambition, he's everything that can break you if you're not careful."
Aarifa shook her head, pulling away. "It's not like that. There's something between us, something that neither of us can deny. I can feel it."
Zahra looked at her with concern. "I know what you're feeling, but this is not some simple romance. This is the heart of the empire. The court will tear you apart if you get too close to him."
"I know," Aarifa said softly, her gaze drifting away. "But I don't know if I can walk away."
Zahra sighed, her voice quieter now. "Just don't lose yourself in it. Remember who you are. You're more than just a woman caught in his gaze."
Aarifa didn't answer. She couldn't. Because deep down, she knew Zahra was right. She had to be careful. But she also knew that the pull she felt toward Khurram was something that couldn't be easily ignored. It wasn't just about desire—it was something far more dangerous. Something that could change everything.
Later that evening, as Aarifa lay in bed, the room around her seemed to close in. The moonlight that had once been a calming presence now felt oppressive, like it was bearing down on her. She closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. Instead, she saw Khurram's face, saw the way he had looked at her, that dangerous fire burning in his eyes.
His words echoed in her mind: "I see things I shouldn't. It's why I recognized your work. Why it felt like memory."
Memory. It haunted her. She could almost feel it like a thread from the past, weaving its way into her present. But what was it? What was this connection between them?
Her hand moved to the edge of her bed, fingers brushing the delicate silk of her gown, feeling the soft texture beneath her skin. The silk felt like a symbol of everything that was slipping away from her: her life, her destiny, everything she had known before Khurram had come into it.
And then, without warning, she heard the sound of the door creaking open. Aarifa's heart stopped. She didn't move, didn't breathe. A shadow moved across the floor, and a figure stepped into the room.
Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized him.
Khurram.
He stood there, silhouetted against the faint light from the hallway, his presence filling the room like a storm. His gaze met hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick with tension, the silence stretching between them, pulling tighter with every passing second.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hushed. "You couldn't sleep either."
Aarifa didn't know what to say. She should have told him to leave, should have demanded to know why he was here. But all she could do was look at him, her pulse racing in her veins.
He stepped closer, the scent of his ittar (traditional perfume) mixing with the scent of the night air. She could feel his presence, like fire licking at her skin. His eyes never left hers.
"I had to see you," he said, his voice thick with something she couldn't name.
Aarifa swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. "Why?"
His lips curled into a faint smile, one that held a thousand unspoken promises. "Because I can't stop thinking about you. About this. About us."
She shook her head, trying to deny it. "This isn't real. This can't be real."
Khurram reached out, his fingers grazing the side of her face, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's real. And it's dangerous."
Aarifa felt her body tremble at his touch, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. Not when everything inside her was screaming for more. More of him. More of this.
His thumb brushed her lips, and she closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his touch sear through her. She wanted to speak, to say something—anything to break the tension that was building between them. But no words came. There was only the pull. The temptation.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But I can't stay away."
Aarifa's heart thundered in her chest. "Then don't."
His lips met hers then, soft at first, as though testing the waters. But the moment they touched, everything changed. The room seemed to spin, the world around them fading away as their kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. Aarifa's hands found their way to his chest, her fingers trembling as they slid over the fabric of his robe, feeling the heat of his skin beneath.
It was everything. It was nothing. It was both.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. Khurram pulled away, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, his eyes dark with something unreadable.
Aarifa stood there, her body still trembling, her mind reeling from the intensity of what had just happened. She couldn't speak. Couldn't think.
He looked at her one last time, his expression a mix of longing and regret. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Aarifa standing there, her heart torn between the desire that burned inside her and the fear that it would consume her.
The next day, Aarifa found herself once again sitting at her loom, the silence of the Red Fort around her like a suffocating weight. She couldn't focus. Her hands trembled as they moved over the threads, but the patterns no longer made sense. They were chaos—unraveled, tangled, just like her thoughts.
She had been warned. She had been told to stay away, to guard her heart, to remember who she was. But the pull between them was too strong. Too dangerous.
And she didn't know if she could resist.