Royal Hearts : When Eyes First Met
chapter 1
A dimly lit, sea-facing verandah at Dhruv Malhotra’s Malabar Hill bungalow. The sound of waves in the distance. The smell of rain on earth. Cups of steaming chai on a low wooden table
India, 1950.
The air was different in those days. Cities still carried the scent of fresh freedom, mingled with old dust and new dreams. Mumbai had begun to wear its new skin — trams clattering, jazz spilling from smoky cafés, and young men speaking of futures they were finally allowed to own
And among them was Dhruv Malhotra — the boy with too much money and not enough rules, a lover of ancient things in a world chasing the new.
That evening, a soft drizzle left the streets glistening under the gas lamps. At the top of Malabar Hill, the verandah of Dhruv’s sprawling bungalow looked out at a restless sea. The scent of wet earth mingled with strong, spiced chai. It was here, as always, that Dhruv and his closest friends gathered.
The boys sit together, laughter rising and falling like the tide
Arjun Sinha
You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? Running off to Jaipur for a dusty old haveli and some forgotten paintings?
Dhruv Malhotra
smirking*
Not dusty , priceless Diwan Haveli holds one of the last untouched private collections since Partition. And one piece in particular — The Flame of Jaipur. I need it.
Sameer Vinay
Didn’t they say that painting’s cursed? You want to bring home bad luck too now?
Rohan Sisodia
(laughing ) Since when did Dhruv believe in curses? It’s always about the art with him, never the stories.
Dhruv Malhotra
(gazing out at the misty sea):
“Maybe this time… it’s both
Kunal
(leaning back, stretching his legs):
Alright, sahib, what’s the grand plan then?
Dhruv Malhotra
We leave at dawn. My driver’s picking you lot up at 6. Bombay Baroda Express, 9 AM. We reach Ajmer by nightfall. From there, a car to Jaipur. I’ve sent a wire to the haveli’s caretaker. The deal’s as good as done.
Arjun Sinha
And where’s our royal lodging? Please don’t tell me some falling-apart guest house.
Dhruv Malhotra
(a sly grin):
Rajvilas Guest House. Quiet. Private. Old-world charm. You’ll survive
Sameer Vinay
(raising his cup in mock toast):
“To haunted paintings and dying young.
Laughter rippled through the verandah. The wind picked up, making the lanterns flicker.
Arjun Sinha
Jokes aside… this trip feels different
Kunal
Good different or ‘we-might-not-make-it-back’ different?
[A sudden gust of wind makes the lantern flicker. The city hums below. Silence hangs for a moment.]
Arjun Sinha
(raising his chai)
To Jaipur.
Dhruv Malhotra
(voice low, as though speaking to the wind):
Some stories aren’t left behind. They find you
Arjun Sinha
(raising his cup):
“To Jaipur.”
Everyone, together:
“To Jaipur.”
None of them knew what awaited in those pink-stoned streets. even Dhruv Malhotra — the boy who chased the past — would never escape it.
It had begun.
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