Vidhart Singh Ranawat

Vidhart Singh Ranawat has the commanding presence that comes with his royal heritage. Standing at a tall, imposing height, his build is lean but muscular, the kind that hints at discipline and strength. His face carries the sharpness of his lineage, with high cheekbones and a chiseled jawline, accentuating the rugged elegance he inherited from his family. His deep-set, dark eyes hold a quiet intensity that often seems like they're observing the world from a distance, calculating, but also carrying the weight of untold stories. His skin is a warm, honeyed bronze, often sun-kissed from his time outdoors, whether riding horses across the sprawling estates or engaging in the traditional rituals of his royal family. His dark hair, thick and slightly wavy, is always kept neatly groomed, sometimes falling slightly over his forehead in a way that adds to his brooding allure.

In his formal attire, Vidhart carries the regality of his title-whether it's a tailored suit or traditional Indian wear, his presence commands respect without the need for excessive ornamentation. A subtle hint of arrogance in the way he carries himself matches his sharp wit and keen intellect. His demeanor, at times stoic, can shift with the slightest change in emotion-revealing a side of him that's both passionate and vulnerable beneath the surface.

POV: Vidhart Singh Ranawat

Four years.

That's how long it had been since I saw her-the girl in the Blue kurti, barefoot on the temple grounds, surrounded by children, her laughter lost among the chaos, while she remained untouched by it all. She hadn't noticed me. Not once. But I-I had memorized her smile, the way her dupatta fluttered in the mountain breeze, the delicate arch of her neck as she tilted her head, the innocence in her eyes.

Some faces stay with you longer than others. Hers... hers stayed with me like an unfinished melody, a half-sketched memory, and I couldn't shake it. I wanted to complete it. But life moved on. And I buried that moment, locked it away, letting time erase what it could. But it never fully faded.

"Are you sure about this?"

Dadaji's voice broke through the quiet of the old study, a room filled with the fragrance of sandalwood and leather-bound books. The deep history of my family soaked the walls, the legacy of generations past whispering softly around me. Yet, it felt somehow too small, too confined for the words I was about to speak.

"I am," I replied, pouring him a cup of chai, the steam swirling in the air like the tangled thoughts in my mind.

Dadaji's sharp eyes never left me. He wasn't a man who easily trusted. He watched me as if searching for signs, clues, anything that might betray uncertainty in my voice. But there was none. Not this time.

"You've refused every rishta we brought. For years," he said, his voice steady, the weight of unspoken history between us.

"And now, you want to marry a girl from Dehradun you've never even spoken to?"

"No... Never," I said, leaning back, crossing my arms.

The words felt like an ache in my chest-an unspoken truth that had lived with me, gnawing at me all this time. I had seen her only that once, in a fleeting moment that had no meaning to her. But to me? To me, it had meant everything.

Dadaji stirred his tea slowly, his gaze never faltering, as if he were trying to decipher me, piece by piece.

"What do you know about her?"

I swallowed hard, the picture of her still fresh in my mind-those eyes, that smile. The way she had been completely unaware of my existence. The way she had stood there among the children, radiating warmth and kindness that seemed too rare in the world I came from.

"Enough," I said quietly.

"She works at an NGO. She stood up to a politician last year, defending those who had no voice. Her father's a bank manager. Her record is clean. She doesn't chase influence or money."

My words came out faster now, a rush of feeling that I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge before.

"She doesn't belong to our world, Dadaji. But she makes me want to build a new one."

Silence settled in the space between us, thick and heavy. Dadaji's eyes softened for just a second, a fleeting glimpse of something that resembled understanding. Then he smiled faintly. It was rare, that smile. A glimpse of his younger self, before the weight of responsibility had clouded his every thought.

"You sound like your father when he met your mother," he said, his voice carrying a quiet fondness that made my heart tighten.

"Mad. Unreasonable. Hopeful."

I didn't answer. The hope part still frightened me. It always had. Hope was a dangerous thing.

"Send the proposal," Dadaji said after a long pause, his voice stern.

"But if she says no-"

"Then we leave her be," I finished, my words firm.

"No pressure."

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

"Good. Because no matter how much we come from kings and stories, a woman's 'yes' is the only crown that matters."

Later that night, I found myself staring at her photo again. The one taken during a recent tree-planting drive. Her face was sun-kissed, her hands dirty with the work of planting life in the earth. A smile so wide and wild, as if nothing in the world could dim it. She didn't look like a queen. She didn't look like royalty at all. She looked like someone who would burn the whole palace down and still plant flowers in its ashes.

And I wanted to be there to see it.

So, I sent the proposal.

That night, sleep didn't come easily. I lay awake in my room-the one that hadn't changed since I was a teenager. The ceiling fan above me creaked softly, the old wood groaning with every slow revolution. I stared at the shadows dancing on the walls, trying to remember more than just the fleeting image of her smile. I needed to remember her essence, the way she had made me feel in that brief moment.

There were other things: how she had spoken with the children, how her hands moved animatedly as she taught them, how her voice had softened when she comforted a crying girl. But all of those memories felt so distant, like something I had only dreamed up. In my world-where power, wealth, and legacy were the currencies that mattered-those qualities, that softness, didn't belong. I didn't know how to fit her into the life I had built.

"Vidhart beta, you still awake?"

It was Maa. I sat up quickly as she stepped into my room, a tray of warm milk in her hands. The creamy, saffron-tinted milk was a comfort I hadn't realized I needed until now. It was one of the small traditions that had never left, no matter how much time passed or how far I traveled.

"Can't sleep?"

she asked gently, her voice soft, like the lull of a lullaby.

I shook my head, forcing a smile.

"Too much on my mind."

She handed me the glass and sat at the foot of my bed, her presence steady and calming.

"You've never asked us for anything like this before. I wanted to say... thank you. For trusting us with your choice."

I smiled faintly, the bitterness of uncertainty still lingering on my tongue.

"I don't even know if she'll agree."

"If she doesn't, it'll hurt," she said softly,

"But at least you'll know you tried."

Her words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of my thoughts. She paused, then added with a knowing smile, "You know your Dadaji wasn't easy to convince either."

"He still isn't."

Maa laughed, a sound so familiar and warm it made my chest ache.

"True. But he respects your decision. We all do."

I sipped the milk slowly, letting the warm comfort seep into my body. In this haveli full of tradition, family, and heavy history, she would be a storm. She would change everything. But sometimes, old places needed strong winds to breathe again.

The next morning, I received a message from our family's legal advisor in Dehradun:

Proposal delivered. Family receptive. Girl surprised. Awaiting formal response. Meeting fixed with family.

I read it over and over, the words sinking deeper with every glance. I had built empires out of negotiations, mergers, and flawless timing. But this? This was different. This was the first time my heart was truly on the line.

Still, if she was the same girl I remembered-the one who smiled like sunlight after rain-then she was worth the risk.

And if she said yes...

God help me, I'd spend the rest of my life earning that yes every day.

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