Morning arrived slowly in the mountain village.
Golden sunlight crept down the snowy peaks before reaching the green valleys below. The sound of goats bleating and wooden carts rolling over stones filled the narrow village paths.
Rajula was already awake.
Not because she wanted to be.
Because she had fallen out of a tree.
A loud thud echoed in the quiet morning air.
"Ow…"
Rajula sat up on the ground, rubbing the back of her head. Above her, several apples still hung from the branches she had been trying to reach.
She stared up at them with narrowed eyes.
"You win this time."
A nearby villager who had witnessed the fall shook his head.
"Most people climb trees to pick fruit," he said.
Rajula stood up and brushed dust from her clothes.
"I did pick fruit."
She held up one apple proudly.
The man stared at it.
"You fell for one apple?"
Rajula took a bite.
"It's a very good apple."
The man sighed and walked away.
Rajula grinned and continued toward the village.
The morning market had already begun.
Travelers rested near the well while merchants prepared their caravans for the long roads ahead. Horses stamped impatiently as traders argued over prices.
Rajula loved mornings like this.
It meant new stories had arrived.
She leaned against a wooden post near a group of travelers who were drinking tea and talking loudly.
One of them was describing the royal capital with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"I'm telling you," the traveler said, waving his hands dramatically, "the palace towers are so tall they touch the clouds."
Rajula raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds inconvenient."
The men laughed.
"You've never seen the capital, have you?" another traveler asked.
Rajula shook her head.
"No. But I've climbed mountains taller than clouds."
"That's not the same," the man replied.
Another traveler joined the conversation.
"The prince lives there now. Prince Malushahi."
Rajula listened quietly while pretending to focus on her apple.
"They say he's the finest swordsman in the kingdom," one traveler said.
Another laughed.
"And yet he refuses every marriage proposal brought to him."
"Maybe he's waiting for someone," a third man joked.
"Waiting for who?"
"The girl from that old promise."
Rajula stopped chewing.
"…Promise?"
The travelers looked at her.
"You've never heard the story?" one asked.
Rajula shook her head slowly.
"A long time ago," the man explained, "the king promised his son would marry the daughter of a merchant."
"Really?" Rajula asked.
"Yes," he said casually. "But no one knows where the girl is now."
The group chuckled.
"Probably living in some quiet mountain village."
Rajula didn't laugh.
Something about the story made her uneasy.
It felt strangely familiar.
That evening the sky turned orange as the sun began sinking behind the mountains.
Rajula found her father sitting outside their home, repairing one of his trading saddles.
She sat down beside him.
"Father," she said carefully.
Sunapati glanced up.
"Yes?"
Rajula tried to sound casual.
"Did you ever visit the royal court?"
Sunapati paused.
"Many times," he said.
Rajula rolled a small pebble between her fingers.
"Did you ever make… promises there?"
Sunapati slowly stopped working.
The silence between them grew heavy.
"Where did you hear that?" he asked.
Rajula looked up at him.
"So it's true."
Sunapati sighed.
"I hoped you wouldn't hear about it."
Rajula leaned forward slightly.
"What promise?"
Sunapati looked toward the distant mountains.
"Before you were born," he said slowly, "I visited the royal court."
Rajula listened closely.
"The king and I made a deal."
Her heart began beating faster.
"If my child was a daughter… and his was a son…"
He hesitated.
"They would marry."
Rajula blinked.
"…A prince?"
Sunapati nodded.
"The prince's name is Malushahi."
For several seconds Rajula said nothing.
Then she burst out laughing.
"You're joking."
Sunapati didn't laugh.
Rajula slowly stopped smiling.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
Rajula stared at the ground.
"That means…"
"You were the daughter," Sunapati finished quietly.
The evening wind moved through the village.
Rajula looked toward the distant mountains.
"So somewhere out there," she said slowly, "there's a prince who's supposed to marry me."
Sunapati shook his head firmly.
"That promise means nothing now."
"Why not?"
"Because kings forget things," he said. "And life is not a story where promises magically come true."
Rajula didn't respond.
But her eyes were still fixed on the mountains.
That night Rajula couldn't sleep.
Moonlight filled the small room while the village remained quiet.
She kept thinking about the story.
A prince.
A promise.
A life she had never imagined.
Finally she sat up.
"Well," she whispered to herself, "there's only one way to find out."
Rajula quietly packed a small bag with bread, dried meat, and a water flask.
She stepped outside into the cool night air.
The mountains stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight.
Somewhere beyond them stood the royal capital.
Rajula looked back once at her village.
Then she tightened the strap of her bag.
"If there really is a prince waiting for me," she said with a small grin, "he should at least say hello first."
And with that, Rajula began walking toward the mountains.
Far away in the royal palace, Prince Malushahi stood alone on a balcony.
The same moon shone above him.
He stared at the distant peaks with a strange feeling he couldn't explain.
Somewhere deep inside, it felt as if something in his life was about to change.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But the mountains had already begun guiding their paths toward each other.