One 'Hidden Secret' In The Palace

Vote, Comment, Follow & Keep motivates me !!!

Flashback Continue

The faint clinking of utensils and the soft hum of the blender filled the morning stillness. Nandini moved swiftly around the kitchen, her hands expertly preparing pasta and fresh juice. Her loose strands stuck to her forehead as steam clouded her vision, but she didn’t stop. This was her routine—every morning, every meal—crafted with care, hoping it would bring a smile to the one man who never asked for it, yet expected it all the same.

“Nandini!”

His voice echoed from the living room.

“Yes... It's almost done.” she called back, wiping her hands on the edge of her dupatta as she finished plating.

With a deep breath, she balanced the tray and stepped into the living room. Manik was lounging on the couch, eyes glued to football match highlights flashing across the TV screen. His presence filled the room—commanding, relaxed, yet distant.

Nandini quietly placed the tray on the center table and handed him the plate of pasta and a tall glass of juice, her lips curving into a soft smile.

But that smile didn’t last.

“Nandini, I don’t want to eat pasta and juice every day. Baba make something spicy,?” he said offhandedly, not even sparing her a glance.

Her smile faltered.

“B-but… Yuvaraj, a little while ago you said you wanted this for breakfast, so I—”

“Okay, fine. But now I don’t feel like it. I want to eat something else.” he interrupted, casually, eyes never leaving the screen.

Nandini looked down at the plate she had so lovingly prepared—now unwanted. Her heart sank, but her lips remained sealed. She picked up the tray silently and turned to leave.

“Nandini, listen... make aloo paratha.” his voice followed her, softer this time—but not apologetic.

Manik and his changing moods. One moment he craved something, the next he rejected it. But this wasn’t new. Nandini had grown used to his whims. The sting of his casual dismissals had dulled over time, but not disappeared. His casual refusals no longer surprised her, though they still hurt.

Yet she never complained. She never questioned him.

She didn’t complain. Never did.

Walking back to the kitchen, she rolled up her sleeves and began preparing his favorite—aloo paratha. The dough clung to her fingers, flour dusted her hair, but she worked with focus. Quiet, patient, enduring.

From the living room, the sound of cheering echoed. Manik was fully immersed in the match. He was lost in his own world. After days of hectic shoots, media appearances, and endless flashing cameras, he had finally stolen a moment of peace.

Here, in this small house—far from his stardom, away from the blinding lights of glamour and fame—he was just Manik. Not the arrogant Rockstar the world loved to hate.

He longed for peace—and here, he found it.

Here, he wasn’t a name trending on social media, not the tabloid headline. He was just… him.

Here, no one judged him.

No flashing cameras. No gossip. No rumors. No scandal.

No masks. No expectations. No judgment.

Just Manik.

Because here was Nandini.

His safe space. His silence in the noise. The only one who saw through the layers and loved what lay underneath.