The palace was alive with celebration that evening. Lanterns glowed along the courtyards, music echoed through marble halls, and nobles laughed over wine and poetry. But in one quiet garden, far from the noise, two souls sought refuge in each other.
Anarkali sat by the fountain, her fingers trailing through the cool water. The reflection of the flames danced across her face, fragile and luminous. She wore no jewels tonight, only a simple veil—but to Saleem, she was more dazzling than any queen.
He came silently, yet her heart always knew when he was near. She turned, and their eyes met.
"You should be at the feast," she whispered, her smile faint.
"I would rather starve than eat without you," Saleem replied, sitting beside her.
Her laughter was soft, but tinged with sorrow. "You speak like a poet, not a prince."
"And you," he said, brushing his hand against hers, "make me wish I were neither prince nor poet—just a man, free to love you without chains."
Their fingers intertwined. For a long moment, the world outside the garden ceased to exist.
Anarkali's voice trembled when she finally spoke. "Every time you touch me, I forget the danger. But when you leave… reality returns. Your father knows, Saleem. I feel it. His eyes follow me, even in silence."
Saleem clenched her hand tighter. "Let him watch. Let him rage. I will not surrender you."
Her tears glistened under the lantern light. "And if he forces you to? If he puts a sword to my throat? What then, my prince?"
Saleem's jaw hardened. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing to hers. "Then I will lay down my crown, my name, my life—everything. I will not live in a world without you."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to believe. She wanted his words to be a shield. Yet deep in her heart, she knew the empire was stronger than love.
"Don't promise me eternity," she whispered. "Promise me tonight. Promise me this moment is ours."
Saleem pulled her into his arms. His kiss was fierce, desperate, as though sealing a vow no kingdom could break. His hands trembled against her face; hers clutched at his robe, unwilling to let go.
The garden seemed to pulse with their fire. The fountain, the roses, the night sky—everything bore witness to a love that should never have existed.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Saleem murmured: "If love is a sin, let us burn in its flames together."
But fate was cruel.
The sound of footsteps shattered their dream. Heavy, deliberate, echoing through the marble arches. Anarkali froze, her eyes wide with dread. Saleem spun, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at his belt.
From the shadows emerged not Akbar—but a messenger. Pale, shaking, bowing low before the prince.
"Your Highness," he stammered, "the Emperor summons you. At once."
Saleem's grip on Anarkali's hand tightened. He could feel her trembling, could hear the fear in her silence.