Royal Hearts : When Eyes First Met
chapter 3
The sun rose heavy and golden over Mumbai’s skyline, bathing the crumbling Victorian facades and restless sea in molten light. The city was already awake — trams rattling down Colaba streets, hawkers calling out, and the scent of frying puris curling through the humid air.
At exactly 6 AM, Dhruv’s black Buick purred to a stop outside Arjun’s house.
Rohan Sisodia
(groaning, stepping out with a small suitcase):
God help us all. Only Dhruv Malhotra would plan an art heist this early
Kunal
from the back seat, grinning):
Quit whining, barrister sahib. The adventure’s just begun
Sameer Vinay
(half-asleep, with a scarf tied over his eyes):
Wake me when we find treasure. Or ghosts
Rohan Sisodia
(checking his pocket diary):
“Train leaves at 9. Dhruv said he’s waiting at the station with the tickets
By 7:30, they reached Bombay Central. The station was a riot of sound and color — porters shouting, families bidding tearful goodbyes, travelers with canvas trunks and rolled-up bedding. Amid the chaos, Dhruv stood apart.
Leaning against a pillar, a rolled-up newspaper in one hand, cigarette in the other, Dhruv Malhotra looked every inch the rakish prince of the city.
Dhruv Malhotra
(smirking as the boys approached):
“Took you long enough. I was starting to think I’d have to buy the train myself.”
Arjun Sinha
“Wouldn’t put it past you.”
Sameer Vinay
(yawning):
“Is there tea on this thing? Or are we expected to survive on our youthful charm?”
Dhruv Malhotra
Tea’s on me. And so’s lunch. Now move it — the 9 AM express waits for no man
The Bombay Baroda Express was a long, gleaming serpent of metal, hissing impatiently at the platform. Their compartment, a first-class berth with worn leather seats and wooden paneling, smelled faintly of old rain and new beginnings.
The train lurched forward, leaving behind the city’s familiar hum.
Kunal
(grinning as the city blurred past the window):
“This… this is the life.”
Sameer Vinay
(already digging into a box of sweets):
“To Jaipur, gentlemen. May we find ghosts, gold, or glory.”
Arjun Sinha
“Or all three.”
Rohan Sisodia
(flipping through an old book on Rajasthani legends):
“You know… legend says Diwan Haveli was cursed by a spurned lover. That anyone who seeks its treasures loses something of their own.”
Dhruv Malhotra
(leaning back, eyes half-closed):
“Good. I’ve got things to lose.”
Kunal
“That’s the Dhruv Malhotra spirit. Always flirting with danger.”
As the train cut through fields of swaying cane and sleepy villages, none of them noticed how the wind began to shift. How old stories whispered through the desert sands ahead. How fate, silent and waiting, had already begun to write its own tale.
Because in Jaipur, a princess woke from a restless dream — of strangers arriving, of a boy with storm-dark eyes, and a name she didn’t yet know but would never forget.
It had begun.
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