London Heathrow Airport - 06:30 AM

The early morning haze clung to the runway like a secret waiting to be whispered. Inside the glassy terminal, amidst boarding calls and clattering luggage wheels, stood a girl whose eyes shimmered like the monsoon sky before it poured. Her name - Yashwika Rajvansh.

Not everyone could look like poetry in a simple white kurta and denim jeans, but Yashwika wasn't everyone. She had the charm of spring, the warmth of an old soul, and the elegance only royalty carried in their bones. Her laughter-bubbly, soft-could melt the hardest of silences, yet her self-respect was carved deeper than any crown she ever wore.

Four years in London had given her degrees, memories, independence-and two soul sisters she never knew she needed.

"Bro, can we please go now before I pass out from the emotional melodrama of departure?" came the dramatic groan from beside her.

Bhawana Shekhawat, fierce eyeliner, high ponytail, attitude louder than her neon jacket, looked like she'd punch anyone who even sneezed on her suitcase. She was the fire that danced without permission-unfiltered, untamed, unbreakable. But deep down, she had the heart of a lioness - wild, loyal, and aching to protect the pack. She stands among the world's Top 10 fashion designers and owns her very own luxury brand, IVARA - Where Power Meets Elegance.

"And can we not get into airport security trouble again?" added a soft voice, gentle like fresh rose petals.

Mahenoor Qureshi, had eyes that never knew how to hate. Born from grace, wrapped in innocence but she's fierce, she was the calm to both Yashwika's chaos and Bhawana's storm. A quiet girl who had somehow walked into their university library-and never walked out of their hearts. She is the undisputed owner of the world's fastest-rising jewelry brand, Elira - Crowned in Light. No one knows this secret except her closest friends. To the world, she appears soft and innocent, but behind that delicate smile hides a sharp, cunning businesswoman one who knows exactly how to rule in silence.

The trio was chaos and calm stitched into one inseparable bond.

"I can't believe we're going back," Yashwika whispered, eyes tracing the horizon through the glass. "Four years... I almost forgot how home smells."

"Or how your throned family breathes down your neck," Bhawana smirked.

Yashwika chuckled. "That too."

Truth be told, she hadn't visited India once in those four years. Not for holidays. Not even during breaks. Something in her resisted-maybe the weight of the palace, the expectations, the velvet chains tied with royal blood. She wanted to build herself first. Before anyone could define her again.

But now... she was ready.

Boarding was called. The flight to Delhi awaited.

.

Somewhere over the skies between London and Delhi...

Yashwika sat by the window, watching clouds pass like dreams fading into new ones. Her fingers traced circles on the foggy glass.

"I wonder if they'll recognize me now," she murmured.

Bhawana stretched beside her, earbuds in. "You? Please. You'll walk off that plane and the wind will do a slow-mo just for you. Main toh keh rahi hoon, sabko chakkar aa jayenge."

Mahenoor giggled from the other side. "I'm nervous. I've never been to India. I mean, properly. Not like this."

Yashwika turned to her and smiled, squeezing her hand. "India is... intense. It smells like mitti and memories. It can hurt you and heal you at the same time. But don't worry, Noor. You're with me."

"And me," Bhawana added with a wink. "As long as no one makes me wear a saree or ask me to sit 'like a proper girl,' we're good."

The three of them burst into laughter, like they had a million times before. But somewhere deep inside Yashwika, a seed of tension rooted itself.

She was going back to the Rajvansh Palace.

To the dynasty.

To the legacy her name was inked into, whether she liked it or not.

.

Indira Gandhi International Airport - Arrival Gate, New Delhi

The door opened. The heat hit them like a forgotten embrace.

Yashwika stepped out, her suitcase rolling behind her, and her past waiting just beyond the glass walls of immigration. Her heart beat a little louder. Her skin tingled.

Somewhere far from this crowd, someone would soon know...

The Princess is back.

Not as a pawn.

Not as someone's daughter.

But as herself.

And this time-she wouldn't be caged.