Close To My Love

Empress

Music recommendation: Ikk kudi (slowed version)
Or
God is a Woman

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Every success tells the story of hard work, pain, depression, and many sleepless nights, with numerous sacrifices. But that appreciation is a one-day good. Because your success is not a part of their hard work. For sure you inspire to write a new story.

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Pratiksha Rathore perched her feet in her dream college of medicine for' MS in the cardiology department, which she got after clearing "uuf, not so difficult", in her relative words. NEET PG. Oh! But to be honest, that wasn't an effortless task; she had to work her ass off to achieve this. The aphotic blue waxed with grey walls of skyrocket buildings coalesced together with uncountable rooms, fulfilling the dreams of millions of students and teachers who stood proud. Success teeming from each departmental board of the little medical world.

 As the heir of the most powerful clan exited the car the eyes of appreciation lined up to catch the sight of the aristocrat, the face capable of raging war. For her was it tolerable? No! Can she do anything to change? Except for cleaning the road red, none! The empress found the appealing but lot resting to satiate her mind by simply knocking off breath at the bait, but she knew the question would rise to her father, and she couldn't afford it. To help the situation she took a deep breath as if drifting herself in the weight of the premises sauntering off all the bad amalgamation set in her brain. Perhaps the empress was cruel and had a lot of violent ways that drifting to meditation, feel sorry for her part.  Her father was standing near the professor, convincing the old man of his not being so safe for others- safety for his daughter. Being the only heir of the Hukum sa (Emperor) of Rajasthan, he couldn't afford to let danger be the subject of the regal throne's owner.

His hawk-like eyes ferret towards his daughter, calling her to assemble in front. He probed, "Laado!" His voice was calm and sedate. Much to world escape, much to his dictatorship rules, deceiving all the warrior victory he made. Which, to be honest, for her was a flout: "Remember, you are our maan." She chants the same spiel with her father, "You have to make us proud, and please take care of yourself and always protect yourself." The parasite to her unbridled freedom- maan, her honor.

The rebellious princess was anything but devout, being termed maan and protecting her honor was nothing more than the subordinate in her nomadic wave. The piousness of not-so-elegant society needs to hear: A woman doesn't need to protect unless a man knows to check. To be precise men stop thinking women are born in the world they have created. She wonders, why no fairytales were written of how brave the queen was fighting against jackals and wolves. 

Listening to these words, both of them chuckled. She composed her father while rising to the bait, covertly manipulating the tactful words in the mortification of fun, "Papa Hukum sa, you don't need to worry. Your Laado is anything but an imbecile girl. She knows how to override things in her hands." She bent, her undertone threading to mockery, "Be safe, yeah!"

Her father frowned, inquisitiveness flowing in his eyes, fraying the nerves of his brain. He speculated, "Why are you telling us to be safe?"

She trailed off with a wave of her hand, replying derisively, "Don't forget Maa sa Hukum is not only the Hukum rani sa (wife of the Emperor) but also a twenty-first-century Hitler. Her rules are thousandfold more strict than Nazism's rule," and they both laughed sharing the jubilation out of habit.

While the chat continued in gainsay, Shreedha Chauhan came hitting Pratiksha's back.

"Bitch! Couldn't you keep your feet slow?" Shreedha retaliated.