The Princess

I wore my red silk saree and stared emotionlessly at the huge mirror. I looked back to my days as a struggling employee at a telecommunication centre, with meagre fees that couldn't even sustain my food expenses. I remembered how I survived in my dilapidated shelter, burning in the hot summer and shivering in the cold rains. I used to wear baggy, torn clothes; even a beggar could have worn better attire. 

But I had never hidden my talent for writing and storytelling. I wrote with what I could find. The walls of my house became my canvas, and the coal stones I had became my writing tools. But no one would hear from this poor beggar, My stories make me look mad in front of human eyes. 

Ah, luck is a playful little kid: It never gets bored. It played with my life in a fortunate way after a long time. A man happened to cross my dishevelled, dingy cottage. He had been attacked and fatally wounded: it was the election period back then, and riots were common. He urged me to save him and promised me a huge sum I couldn't refuse. I needed that money, and I decided to nurse him. That's when I turned human. 

The bond between us grew stronger; It was natural. We talked and shared our life memories. He said he was a member of a leading political party, and the riots against the opposition party had gone wild. And now, he was here. 

While nursing his shoulder wound, I noticed him smiling and staring at me. I gave him a small grin. He lifted his left hand and placed it on my cheek. 

"Ravi, you are still wounded, you shouldn't move much. You need rest," I scorn him. 

He didn't say a word. He kept smiling and tried to pull himself closer. I let out a small gasp of concern.

"Ravi! I said don't move!" 

But that small movement made me land on top of his chest. We were facing each other, eye to eye, a silent love tale starting to blossom. 

"Those eyes speak a million words, Savithri," He beamed "I want to listen to your hidden stories all my life,"

"We both know it's impossible, Ravi," I lower my eyes. He doesn't hesitate and purses my lips against his. We wanted to live that moment of sheer magic, peace, and paradise. When we parted our lips, he never let go of his smile. 

"Come with me. Princess," he urged "What would you do here? You can live in the best mansions, have the best vacations, the best dresses, everything! I can guarantee you that, please, come!"

You know what I said. 

...

And here I was, staring at my reflection, decked in a red silk saree my husband labelled 'beautiful'. It was time to accompany Ravi to the balcony to greet his fans outside. I was now the wife of a man who was just a political party member, now the leader. 

I heard someone open the door. I knew who it was. I didn't turn. He came towards me. 

I saw his reflection in the mirror. His beard was hiding his thirsty smile. He hugged my back tight and made me turn back towards him. He sucked my neck with his lips. I obliged to every move of his lustful desire. His fingers trailed towards my hipline, and he was enjoying my little twitches. 

"You are beautiful, Princess," He moaned as he played with my saree "I'll make a meal out of you soon,"

He held my hip towards him as we walked to the balcony. Fans were roaring for their leader. They never suspected the mask he carried. The same mask was his trump card to buy me. 

I waved my hands to the crowd, with millions of thoughts in my head. I was a beggar and free before. Now I am nothing less than a Queen. But do I have all that I need? 

Short stories are a fun way to capture the essence you want to share and spread the message more efficiently. "The Princess" conveys the importance of protecting and cherishing your independence and rights. 



As a Storymirror Author and Literary Colonel, I proudly announce the imminent arrival of a new series dedicated to short stories! The title and the cover page will be released on OCT 31st or NOV 1 as a DIWALI festive special. STAY TUNED!