The night sky over Agra was painted with the glow of torches, the Red Fort echoing with the sound of royal festivities. Yet, amidst the glitter and laughter of nobles, Anarkali stood in the shadows of the courtyard, her anklets silent, her eyes heavy with secrets she could never voice.
Saleem's gaze had been following her the entire evening, though he never dared step forward openly. Every smile she offered to others felt like a dagger in his chest, yet every flicker of her glance towards him reminded him she belonged to him in ways the world could never understand.
But in the Mughal court, love was both a rebellion and a sin.
Saleem clenched the goblet in his hand, his knuckles turning white. The wine tasted bitter tonight—not because of its strength, but because Anarkali's beauty burned more intoxicatingly than any drink. Her laughter, the way her dupatta brushed the marble as she walked, the way her eyes seemed to call out to him when no one was watching—he could no longer bear it.
As the music of the royal mehfil reached its peak, Saleem excused himself, slipping away from the crowd. His steps were quick, restless, as if his heart would explode if he did not see her alone.
Anarkali knew he would come. She always knew. Beneath the arches of the hidden corridor, she stood waiting, her dupatta drawn close, her heartbeat louder than the drums inside.
When he appeared, his eyes ablaze, she whispered, "Shehzade, yeh paagalpan humein barbaad kar dega…"
But Saleem silenced her with a step forward, his voice raw, heavy with pain.
"Barbaadi tab hogi, Anarkali, jab main tumhe kho dunga. Har roz darna, har din chup rehna… main is qaid ko aur nahi jhel sakta. Tum meri ho. Sirf meri."
Her eyes glistened, torn between fear and desire. "Aur Shahenshah? Aur taaj?"
Saleem's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Taaj ka kya hai? Aaj mere sir pe hai, kal kisi aur ke. Lekin tum—tum meri rooh ka hissa ho. Aur main apni rooh ko kisi ke haath nahi de sakta."
The silence stretched, the weight of their forbidden love pressing against the cold marble walls. Anarkali trembled, her tears slipping free, yet her heart betrayed her. When Saleem's hand brushed against hers, she didn't pull away. Instead, she let her fingers entwine with his, as if even fate could not pry them apart.
The moment burned with longing. For the first time in weeks, they allowed themselves to breathe, to simply exist in each other's arms. The sound of the mehfil faded; the world blurred.
But destiny had ears sharper than any guard. A pair of eyes watched from the shadows—a loyal informer of Emperor Akbar. His heart raced at the sight before him, for he knew what this meant. A secret that could shake the throne itself.
Back in the courtyard, Akbar's laughter echoed, unaware that the seed of rebellion was being watered by love in the hidden corridors of his own palace.
And so began the night that would change everything.