The first morning in Sultan Haveli didn't arrive with a whisper, it arrived with a symphony. Almara woke up to the distant sound of a peacock's cry and the rhythmic clinking of porcelain from the courtyard below. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, dancing on the intricate carvings of the ceiling. For a moment, she forgot the dread of the previous night.
Today was different. For the first time, Almara decided to embrace her roots. She stepped out of the bath and slipped into a silk shalwar kameez, a deep emerald green that shimmered like the Malaysian rainforest she had left behind. The fabric felt cool and royal against her skin, making her feel like a different person, someone more connected to the ancient Walls of this house.
Downstairs, the haveli was a whirlwind activity. Servent hurried across the marble floors, their footsteps echoing as they prepared for the day. The smell of freshly made prathas, spicy omeletes, and a sweet cardamom tea filled the air. The dinning table was a feast, and the laughter was even louder than the night before. Jibran looked most relaxed, though his eyes still darted toward the door whenever it opened, while Shehriyar was already busy winning over the heart of the younger cousins with stories of his university pranks.
After breakfast, the haveli was flooded with guests. It seemed as if half of Lahore had come to the welcome "returning royals."
Almara met aunties who pinched her cheeks and uncle who patted her head, all of them marveling at how much she had grown. But amidst the sea of faces, she felt a restlessness.
"Enough of these stuffy rooms"! One of her cousins, a boisterous boy, named Rehan, announced. "Let's show you the real Punjab. The fields are calling!"
Almara, Daim, and Shehriyar followed by the group of cousins out toward the edge of the family estate. The transition from the structured luxury of the Villa to the raw, sprawling beauty of the fields was breathtaking. Emerald green crops swayed in the breeze, stretching as far as the eye could see under the vast, blue sky. The walked along the narrow dirt paths, the scent of crushed grass and blooming jasmine filling their lungs.
"I've never seen anything like this," Almara whispered, trailing slightly behind the group. The beauty the land was hypnotic. She felt a strange pull, as if the soil beneath her feet was trying to whisper secrets to her.
Lost in her thoughts, she wandered a bit further ahead than the others. Suddenly, a Cold shiver raced down her spine. The air around her seemed to turn heavy, and the cheerful chatter of her cousins felt miles away. She turned around abruptly convinced that someone was standing right behind her.
There was no one. Only the tall stalks of grain bowing in the wind.
"Almara! Come look at this!" Daim called out from the distance.
She took a deep breath, shaking off the unease, and ran to join them. But as they turned a corner near a cluster of ancient banyan trees. She stopped dead in her tracks.
Standing in the distance, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, was a haveli. But it wasn't like theirs. It was ivory-white, its pillars draped in climbing roses, and its balconies crafted with such delicate lace-like stonework that it looked like a shimmering merige. It felt mesmerising, standing there in solitary grandeur, separate from the race of the world.
"What is that palace?" Almara asked, her voice filled with awe. "It's.... it's beautiful."
Rehan looked over her and shrugged, his expression turning strangely blank. "That? Oh, it's just an palace. We don't go there. I don't even know who lives there now".
Almara didn't look away. Her eyes scanned the white balconies until they landed on a figure.
Standing near the edge of the haveli's porch was a boy. He was a dressed in pristine white shalwar kameez, slowly folding his sleeves, his jet-black hair contrasted sharply against the pale stone of the pillars. He was standing perfectly still, his gaze fixed directly on her. Even from this distance, Almara felt the intensity of his stare. It wasn't a look of curiosity; it was a look of recognition.
She blinked, squinting to see his face clearly. For a split second, she thought he was looking past her, toward something hidden in the trees. But when her eyes met his again, the world seemed to tilt.
"Almara, let's go! Grandma will be waiting for lunch!" Rubab, another cousin, pulled at her arm.
Almara looked back for one last time, but the porch was empty. The boy in the white was gone, as if he had never been there at all.
The walk back was filled with more laughter and stories, but Almara was silent. When they returned to the haveli, Grandma was waiting on the porch, her sharp eyes scanning their faces.
"So? Did the city kids survive the sun?" She teased, though her eyes lingered on Almara.
"It was amazing, Granny!" Shehriyar exclaimed, launching into a detailed description of the fields.
Almara forced a smile and nodded along, but her mind was still at that white haveli, trapped by the memory of the 'boy' she kept seeing those piercing black eyes that silent figure in white. Who was he? And why did it feel like seeing him was the first real thing that had happened to her since they landed?
She retired to her room early, emerald silk of her suit now feeling heavy against her skin, as if weighted by secrets. Fate was beginning to deal its cards. And Almara Sultan was the prize at the center of the table. Whether she was ready or not, the game had begun.