Rukmini sat still on the edge of her bed, fingers tightly knotted in her lap.
Nine days since Krishna had walked out the palace gates with a breezy smile and a vague “I’ll be back soon.”
No letter. No message. No news.
Her maids tiptoed around her. Her sisters tried to distract her. Even her prayers felt hollow, each chant carrying the ache of what if he doesn’t return?
Had something happened? Was he hurt?
Her heart was a battlefield of worry, anxiety, longing—and the most painful of them all—helplessness.
A rush of hurried footsteps.
“Devi!” A maid burst through the doorway, breathless and wide-eyed. “Our Lord… he’s—he’s in the kitchen!”
Rukmini’s eyes snapped up. “What?”
“Yes! The royal kitchen! He’s—he’s cooking something!” The maid replied unsure.
Rukmini shot to her feet so fast her pallu nearly flew off her shoulder. She didn’t stop to fix it.
She sprinted through the corridors, silk brushing past carved pillars, heart hammering.
He was here? Now? In the kitchen?!
She turned the last corner—and there he was.
Hair tousled. Tunic dusted in flour. Forehead dotted with syrup. Hands carefully forming round, soft rasgullas and dropping them gently into a pot.
And grinned. “Ah. My loveliest wife arrives.”
Her breath caught. For a second—just one heart-wrenching second—she couldn’t move.
He was real. He was here. He was fine.
Tears prickled her eyes—but she blinked them back with a vengeance and stormed toward him.
He held up a syrup-dripping spoon. “Before you yell, taste this.”
“I know,” he said, setting the rasgulla down and raising both hands like a criminal caught mid-theft. “I deserve it. Yell. Scream. Throw something.”
“You were gone!” she snapped, voice cracking. “For over a week! No message, no sign—do you know what that did to me?!”
He looked down. “I was summoned unexpectedly. Things escalated at the border, and I had to move quickly. I thought I’d return before nightfall... and then it turned into days.”
She stared at him, jaw trembling. “You could’ve sent someone. I thought— I didn’t know if—!”
He stepped closer. “Rukmini, I’m so sorry. I should’ve sent a word. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“And now you’re making sweets?”
He tried to smile. “Your favorite ones. To make up for being the worst husband in the three realms.”
“You’re insane!" she muttered.
She stared at him, then her eyes flicked down to his hand. “You have your hands burnt.”
“A little accident,” he said, brushing it off. “I poured syrup too fast.”
She grabbed his wrist, inspecting the red patch on his fingers. “You’re hopeless! Does it hurt a lot?" Wait let me bring in the antiseptic paste-"
Before she could leave , he pulled her into a hug—gentle, firm, and so full of relief it nearly broke her resolve.
“I’m fine,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m here. And I’m sorry.”
She clutched the back of his tunic, the floodgates barely holding.
He slowly pulled back, cupped her cheek, and smiled. “Now, shall we test the quality of my apology?”
He picked up a warm rasgulla, soft and soaked, and gently brought it to her lips.
She hesitated—just a second.
Then she opened her mouth and took the bite.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “It’s too sweet.”
“Good. That’s how I want you to remember this moment. Sticky, dramatic, and filled with love.”
She rolled her eyes through a tearful smile.
He grinned, placing another one in her hand. “Forgive me?”
She sniffled. “Only if you promise never to disappear like this again.”
“I promise. If I do, you have full permission to drag me back by the ear in front of the entire kingdom.”
And as the rasgulla melted on her tongue, so did the week-long ache in her chest.
All that remained was the man before her—flour-streaked, mischievous, burnt-handed, utterly maddening—and entirely hers.
Lmao just a quick thought of my parents looking at this picture and also the Rath Yatra coming in soon so-
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
romaincrisis
