The world that once glittered with silks, roses, and music had been stripped away. Now, Anarkali's universe was stone walls, iron bars, and the bitter smell of damp earth. The dungeon beneath Fatehpur Sikri was built to erase joy, to swallow hope—but it could not silence her heart.
She sat in the corner of her cell, her veil torn, her anklets silent. Moonlight crept in through a small barred window high above, falling across her face like a blessing from the heavens. She held her knees close to her chest, trembling—not from the cold, but from the weight of memories.
Every moment with Saleem replayed in her mind: the roses, the stolen kisses, his fierce vows. She closed her eyes, pressing her palms against her chest as if to hold those moments inside, afraid the dungeon's darkness might steal them away.
Her lips moved in a whisper, though no one was there to hear.
"Saleem…"
The name echoed like a prayer, like defiance.
A guard's footsteps approached, heavy and cruel. She straightened, pulling her torn dupatta around her. The man peered through the bars with a sneer.
"Your beauty won you a prince, but it will not save you from the emperor."
Anarkali did not answer. She had learned that silence was her only shield.
The guard chuckled darkly and left. Yet, as the footsteps faded, another softer sound followed—a rustle, almost like a secret being carried on the air. Anarkali frowned, leaning forward.
From the shadows, a small folded paper slipped under the bars of her cell. Her hands shook as she grabbed it quickly, hiding it beneath her veil.
Her heart pounded. A message.
With trembling fingers, she unfolded it. The handwriting leapt at her—sharp, hurried, yet familiar.
My Anarkali,
The walls may keep us apart, but nothing can chain the heart. I breathe your name in every moment, and I will not rest until I see you free. Hold on—for me. For us.
—Saleem
Tears blurred her vision. She pressed the note to her lips, her soul aching with both joy and pain. He had not abandoned her. Even in this abyss, his love reached her like light piercing darkness.
But she also knew the risk. If this letter were discovered, not only would she be executed sooner—but so would he.
Her body shook with the torment of it. To love him was to endanger him. And yet, she could no more deny that love than she could deny the breath in her lungs.
The dungeon door creaked open suddenly, and she hurriedly tucked the note beneath her dress. A figure entered, cloaked and hooded. Her heart seized—was it an executioner?
But the voice that spoke was soft, urgent.
"Anarkali, don't be afraid. I am a friend."
She blinked, trying to make out the face in the shadows.
"Who… who are you?"
The hooded figure stepped closer, revealing a young court maid she vaguely remembered seeing in the palace halls. Her eyes darted nervously around the dungeon.
"I serve quietly… and I have heard the whispers. I know the prince loves you. I know he will fight for you. But alone, he cannot win. You will need allies—even among shadows."
Anarkali's voice cracked. "Why risk yourself for me?"
The maid lowered her gaze. "Because once, I too loved someone the emperor's laws forbade me to love. I lost him. I will not watch you lose the prince."
Anarkali's heart ached at the confession. This girl was like a mirror of her fate—only broken sooner.
The maid pressed a small bundle into Anarkali's hands: bread, a flask of water, and another folded scrap. "I cannot stay long. But remember—you are not alone in this."
And then she was gone, swallowed by the shadows.
Anarkali held the bundle tightly, tears slipping down her cheeks. For the first time since her capture, she felt a spark of something other than despair. Not hope—not yet—but the faint beginning of it.
That night, she lay on the cold stone floor, staring at the moonlight that stretched across her cell. She clutched Saleem's letter to her chest, whispering the words again and again.
"I will not break," she swore softly. "Not while he still breathes. Not while our love still burns."
Her eyes closed, and in her dreams she was back in the garden. Saleem's arms wrapped around her, his lips brushing hers, his voice promising eternity. The roses swayed, the stars watched, and for a moment, the world was whole.
But when she woke, the dungeon greeted her again—the stone, the silence, the endless waiting. And yet, her heart whispered defiantly against it all:
This is not the end.
For somewhere above, Saleem was alive. And as long as he loved her, Anarkali would endure—even if it meant walking through fire itself.
---