The Man Who Forgot How To Feel
«“Kuch log toot kar bikhar jaate hain… aur kuch toot kar pathar ban jaate hain.”»
The golden sunrise spread across the lakes of Udaipur like molten gold, painting the entire city in warmth and beauty.
The calm waters of Lake Pichola reflected the first rays of sunlight, while the old palaces and havelis slowly awakened beneath the golden sky.
Temple bells echoed through the distance.
The sound of morning prayers floated through the cool air.
Boats moved quietly across the lake.
Udaipur looked peaceful.
Almost perfect.
But there was one place where warmth had stopped reaching years ago.
Rathore Palace.
The massive palace stood proudly beside the shimmering lake, its white marble walls glowing beneath the early morning light.
It was more than a home.
It was a legacy.
Generations of Rathores had walked through those corridors.
Every wall carried history.
Every painting carried a story.
Every room reflected power.
Servants moved silently through the long corridors while fountains whispered softly in the royal courtyard.
Everything inside the palace was beautiful.
Perfect.
Disciplined.
And painfully cold.
Just like the man who ruled it.
Yuvraj Veer Pratap Singh Rathore.
At twenty-nine, he was the heir to the Rathore legacy.
The future Maharaj.
The man whose name alone was enough to make people straighten their backs.
Businessmen respected him.
Politicians knew his influence.
Enemies feared his silence.
Women admired him from a distance.
But nobody truly knew him.
Because Yuvraj had stopped allowing people close to him years ago.
Seven years ago.
After London.
After her.
After the one mistake that had taught him never to trust his heart again.
---
The clock in his private chamber struck 5:30 AM.
Exactly.
Yuvraj stood before the enormous mirror, adjusting the cufflinks of his black shirt with precise movements.
His reflection stared back at him.
Sharp jawline.
Broad shoulders.
Dark, unreadable eyes.
Perfectly styled black hair.
A face powerful enough to intimidate anyone without effort.
There was no softness in his expression.
No sleepiness.
No laziness.
No sign that he'd just woken up.
He looked ready to face the entire world.
Because Yuvraj didn't believe in waiting for the world to become ready for him.
He believed in controlling it.
His expensive watch reflected the faint morning light.
5:30.
Exactly on schedule.
His life was built around routines.
Wake up.
Workout.
Breakfast.
Business.
Meetings.
Family obligations.
Work again.
Sleep.
Repeat.
There was no room for anything unnecessary.
Especially emotions.
He picked up his phone from the bedside table.
Several notifications covered the screen.
Missed calls.
Emails.
Business updates.
Messages from his assistant.
He glanced at them once.
Then locked the phone.
They could wait.
Nothing was more important than his morning routine.
Yuvraj walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he paused for half a second.
His eyes fell upon a small framed photograph on the side table.
It showed the Rathore family from years ago.
Everyone was smiling.
He was younger.
Different.
Almost unrecognisable.
A faint crease appeared between his eyebrows.
He looked away.
The photograph had been there for years.
But he never looked at it for long.
Some memories were better left untouched.
He opened the door.
---
The moment Yuvraj stepped into the corridor, two servants immediately lowered their heads.
“Pranam, Rana sa.”
A small nod.
Nothing more.
Respect was expected.
Emotions were unnecessary.
He continued walking.
His footsteps echoed against the polished marble floor.
No servant dared to speak again.
Not because he had ever asked them to be afraid of him.
But because his presence naturally demanded silence.
There was something intimidating about the way he carried himself.
He didn't need to raise his voice.
He didn't need to threaten anyone.
One look was enough.
The palace gym overlooked the eastern gardens.
Unlike the traditional interiors of the palace, the gym was modern and minimalistic.
Large glass walls allowed the morning light to enter.
The eastern gardens stretched beyond them, covered in dew.
Yuvraj walked inside.
His trainer immediately straightened.
“Good morning, Rana sa.”
Yuvraj simply nodded.
He picked up his gloves.
Within seconds, the sound of his fists hitting the heavy bag filled the room.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
The bag swung backward.
Yuvraj followed it.
Another punch.
Harder.
THUD.
His breathing remained controlled.
The trainer watched silently.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Yuvraj didn't stop.
Sweat rolled down his forehead.
His black shirt clung to his back.
His knuckles began turning red beneath the gloves.
Still, he continued.
“Rana sa…”
No response.
The trainer hesitated.
“Aap subah se continuously training kar rahe hai.”
Another punch.
“I’m aware.”
“Thoda rest le lijiye.”
The punch stopped.
Yuvraj slowly turned.
His dark eyes locked onto the trainer.
“Did I ask for advice?”
The trainer immediately lowered his head.
“Nahi, Rana sa.”
Yuvraj stared at him for a moment.
Then turned back toward the punching bag.
Another punch.
THUD.
For him, workouts weren't discipline anymore.
They were punishment.
Every punch buried memories deeper.
Every ache distracted him from the emptiness inside.
Every bruise gave him something else to focus on.
Pain was simple.
Pain could be controlled.
Memories couldn't.
A sudden image crossed his mind.
A girl laughing beneath the rain.
Warm eyes.
Soft smile.
Her fingers intertwined with his.
Her voice promising forever.
For a second, Yuvraj's breathing changed.
Then another memory came.
Her betrayal.
Her laughter.
Her words.
“You really thought I'd choose love over ambition?”
His jaw clenched.
THUD!
The bag shook violently against its chains.
He stared at it.
Seven years.
Seven years.
And yet a single sentence could still drag him back to that night.
His eyes darkened.
THUD!
“Bhai sa!”
The cheerful voice broke through the silence.
Yuvraj closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
Yashvardhan.
The only person in the entire palace who had absolutely no fear of irritating him.
Yash walked into the gym holding two protein shakes dramatically.
“Subah subah murder practice?”
Yuvraj removed his gloves.
“Tumhari.”
Yash gasped.
“Rajmata sa!”
He shouted toward the hallway.
“Dekho, bhai sa mujhe marne ki dhamki de rahe hai!”
A servant standing nearby immediately turned his face away, desperately trying not to laugh.
Yuvraj picked up a towel.
“You're irritating.”
“And you're emotionally unavailable,” Yash replied proudly.
He held out one protein shake.
“Balance.”
Yuvraj stared at the bottle.
“I don't want it.”
“It's protein.”
“I know.”
“Then drink it.”
“No.”
Yash sighed.
“Bhai sa, ek din aapko meri importance samajh aayegi.”
“Unlikely.”
Yash placed a hand over his heart.
“Heartless.”
Yuvraj gave him a blank look.
“Correct.”
Yash blinked.
For a second, he didn't know whether to laugh or worry.
Then he grinned again.
“See? That's why I like you.”
“You have terrible taste.”
“And you have terrible personality.”
Yuvraj finally took the protein shake from his hand.
Yash smiled victoriously.
“Ha! I won.”
“You didn't.”
“I did.”
“You're still talking.”
Yash opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Yuvraj raised an eyebrow.
Yash pointed at him.
“Fine.”
He took a breath.
“I'll be quiet.”
Two seconds passed.
“Bhai sa—”
Yuvraj closed his eyes.
“Yash.”
“Okay, okay.”
A tiny flicker appeared in Yuvraj's expression.
Barely visible.
But real.
Yash immediately pointed at him.
“YOU SMILED.”
“I didn't.”
“You literally did.”
“No.”
“I saw it.”
“You imagined it.”
“Bhai sa, I've known you my entire life.”
Yuvraj turned away.
“Then you should know better than to argue.”
Yash laughed.
For a moment, the atmosphere felt lighter.
Almost normal.
But Yash's smile slowly faded as he looked at his older cousin.
“Bhai sa…”
Yuvraj didn't answer.
Yash's voice became quieter.
“Kab tak aise rahoge?”
Yuvraj's fingers tightened slightly around the bottle.
Only for a second.
Then—
“I’m fine.”
The same answer.
Always.
Yash looked away.
Everyone in the palace had heard those words.
I'm fine.
Whenever Yuvraj skipped sleep.
Whenever he trained until his hands hurt.
Whenever he stared into nothing for hours.
Whenever someone mentioned London.
I'm fine.
But everyone knew.
He wasn't.
Yash swallowed.
“Hum sab jaante hain ki aap fine nahi ho.”
Yuvraj's expression hardened.
“Don't.”
“Bhai sa—”
“I said don't.”
Yash stopped.
The silence returned.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Yuvraj walked toward the changing room.
Before leaving, he paused.
Without turning around, he said,
“Some things are better left in the past.”
Yash watched him disappear.
He knew exactly what Yuvraj meant.
London.
Seven years ago.
The woman who had changed everything.
The betrayal that had changed him.
---
Breakfast at the Rathore Palace was grand enough to resemble a royal ceremony.
The massive dining hall glowed beneath crystal chandeliers.
Sunlight entered through the enormous windows, falling across the polished wooden table.
Servants moved quietly, placing silver dishes filled with breakfast.
Rajmata Devyani Singh Rathore sat elegantly at the head of the table beside Maharaj Harshvardhan Singh Rathore.
She watched the clock.
7:00 AM.
Exactly.
The dining room doors opened.
Yuvraj entered.
Not a minute late.
Never late.
“Pranam.”
He greeted calmly before taking his seat.
Rajmata studied him carefully.
His hair was perfectly styled.
His shirt was freshly pressed.
His posture was straight.
His expression unreadable.
Perfectly composed.
Perfectly empty.
Her eyes moved toward his hands.
The redness around his knuckles hadn't gone unnoticed.
“You were training again?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Enough.”
Rajmata sighed.
“You always say that.”
Yuvraj picked up his tea.
He didn't respond.
Rajmata wanted to say something.
She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to punish himself every morning.
That he was allowed to rest.
Allowed to smile.
Allowed to be happy.
But she knew her son.
If she pushed him too much, he'd close himself off completely.
So she tried another subject.
“Yuvraj…”
He looked up.
“You're leaving for Delhi tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Three-day conference?”
“Two.”
“And after that?”
“Back to Udaipur.”
Short answers.
Cold answers.
The silence stretched between them.
Until suddenly—
“GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL ROYAL FAMILY!”
Yash entered dramatically.
Rajmata closed her eyes.
“Yash…”
“Good morning, Rajmata sa.”
He sat beside Yuvraj and immediately stole toast from his plate.
Yuvraj stared at him.
“That was mine.”
“Sharing is caring.”
“You should try caring less.”
Yash grinned.
“And you should try feeling something.”
Dada sa coughed slightly to hide his amusement.
Rajmata shook her head.
Yuvraj continued eating as though he hadn't heard anything.
Yash leaned toward him.
“By the way, bhai sa…”
“What?”
“You smiled in the gym.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“I have witnesses.”
“Who?”
“The punching bag.”
Yuvraj stared at him.
Yash smiled.
“See? Even he knows.”
For the first time, Dada sa laughed softly.
Yuvraj shook his head.
The laughter faded quickly.
Rajmata slowly placed her teacup down.
“Yuvraj.”
He looked at her.
“Ek rishta aaya hai.”
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Yash stopped smiling.
Dada sa lowered the newspaper.
Yuvraj remained still.
“Shaadi ka.”
His expression hardened.
“I already answered this discussion years ago.”
“And I ignored it for years,” Rajmata replied calmly.
“But not anymore.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Zindagi akela nahi guzarti beta.”
Yuvraj's jaw tightened.
“I'm not alone.”
Rajmata looked at him sadly.
“You are.”
Silence.
Yuvraj looked away.
“Some people are better alone.”
Rajmata's eyes softened.
“Or maybe some people are simply afraid to be loved again.”
Yuvraj's gaze immediately returned to her.
Pain flashed through his eyes.
Quick.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
“Don't.”
Rajmata didn't move.
“Yuvraj—”
“I said don't.”
His voice remained controlled.
But the warning was clear.
Rajmata slowly lowered her gaze.
She knew.
Her son wasn't refusing marriage.
He was refusing love.
Again.
And perhaps that was the saddest part.
Because somewhere beneath all that anger and coldness—
her son was still the same boy who had once believed promises were meant to be kept.
But that boy had been left behind in London.
Seven years ago.
And Yuvraj had never gone back for him.
The dining hall slowly emptied.
One by one, the servants collected the silver dishes and carried them toward the kitchen.
Rajmata remained seated for a while, her eyes fixed on the doorway through which the Yuvraj had disappeared.
She knew her son.
Better than anyone.
She knew that beneath the perfectly controlled exterior was a storm he refused to acknowledge.
And she knew exactly when that storm had begun.
Seven years ago.
London.
The study on the first floor was quiet.
Lake Pichola shimmered outside the enormous windows, sunlight dancing across the water.
Yuvraj stood near the window, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers.
His phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He finally answered.
“Yes.”
His secretary's voice came through.
“Rana sa, Delhi conference ke documents mail kar diye hain. Also, London investors have requested your presence for the next phase of negotiations.”
“Cancel London.”
There was a brief silence.
“Sir?”
“I said cancel it.”
“But the investors specifically—”
“I'll handle it from Delhi.”
“Yes, Rana sa.”
The call ended.
Yuvraj placed the phone on the desk.
London.
Even hearing the name was enough to bring back memories he had spent years trying to bury.
His eyes moved toward the drawer.
The same drawer he had avoided opening for months.
Maybe years.
He stared at it.
Then slowly—
he pulled it open.
Inside was a faded envelope.
No name.
No date.
Just a memory.
His fingers hovered over it.
He didn't pick it up immediately.
For seven years, he had convinced himself that the past didn't matter.
That people changed.
That love was nothing more than an illusion created by weak people.
That trusting someone had been his biggest mistake.
But the human mind had a cruel habit.
It remembered what the heart desperately wanted to forget.
His eyes closed.
And suddenly—
he was twenty-two again.
Seven years ago.
London.
Rain poured heavily against the tall glass windows of the hotel suite.
The city outside was glowing beneath countless lights.
Yuvraj stood near the balcony, smiling.
Actually smiling.
There was no coldness in his eyes then.
No distance.
No walls.
He had loved someone.
Completely.
Without conditions.
Without fear.
She had been the only person who could make him forget his responsibilities for a few hours.
The only person who could make him laugh when nothing seemed funny.
The only person who had seen the real man behind the Rathore name.
He had trusted her with everything.
His dreams.
His insecurities.
His future.
His heart.
And she had promised him forever.
He remembered holding her hand.
“You'll stay?”
She had smiled.
“Always.”
He had believed her.
Because at that age, Yuvraj still believed that promises meant something.
He had even imagined bringing her home one day.
Introducing her to Rajmata.
Watching his mother's face soften.
Building a life that belonged to them.
For the first time, he had allowed himself to imagine a future without duty controlling every breath.
Then one evening—
everything changed.
He had walked into a room expecting to surprise her.
Instead—
he became the surprise.
She wasn't alone.
There were people around her.
Laughter filled the room.
And the moment she noticed him—
her expression changed.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
Amusement.
Someone had asked her,
“So you actually made him believe you loved him?”
She laughed.
That laugh.
Yuvraj remembered it even after seven years.
“Of course.”
His heart had stopped.
She continued speaking.
“He's exactly the kind of man who thinks his surname can buy loyalty.”
Someone laughed.
Then came the sentence that destroyed whatever remained of his trust.
“You really thought I'd choose love over ambition?”
Yuvraj had stood there silently.
Listening.
Every word cutting deeper than the last.
She had seen him.
She knew he had heard everything.
Yet she didn't run after him.
Didn't apologize.
Didn't explain.
She simply looked away.
As though seven years of trust meant nothing.
Yuvraj had walked out.
He didn't remember reaching the hotel.
He didn't remember how long he had stood beneath the rain.
He only remembered one thing.
The feeling of being completely humiliated by the person he had trusted the most.
That night had changed him.
Permanently.
Yuvraj opened his eyes.
The study returned around him.
Lake Pichola.
The palace.
The silence.
His fingers slowly curled into a fist.
He shut the drawer.
Hard.
“No.”
His voice was low.
Final.
“I don't need anyone.”
The empty room remained silent.
But somewhere deep inside—
he knew that wasn't completely true.
Because if he truly didn't care anymore...
why did the past still hurt?
A knock came at the door.
Yuvraj immediately straightened.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Maharaj Harshvardhan entered.
For a moment, father and son simply looked at each other.
“You're leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Delhi?”
“Yes.”
Maharaj nodded.
He walked toward the window.
“You're working too much.”
“I have responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities will never end.”
Yuvraj remained silent.
His father turned toward him.
“Life bhi kabhi jee lena.”
Yuvraj's expression didn't change.
“I am living.”
“No.”
Maharaj's voice was calm.
“Tum bas waqt kaat rahe ho.”
The words struck somewhere deeper than Yuvraj wanted to admit.
He looked away.
Maharaj sighed.
“I won't force you into marriage.”
Yuvraj looked back at him.
“But?”
“But I won't watch you destroy yourself either.”
Silence.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Finally, Yuvraj said,
“I know what I'm doing.”
Maharaj gave him a long look.
“That's what worries me.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“Your mother isn't asking you to forget the past.”
Yuvraj's expression hardened.
“She is asking you to stop allowing the past to decide your future.”
The door closed.
Yuvraj stood completely still.
Those words remained in the room long after his father had left.
Evening slowly settled over Rathore Palace.
The sky turned orange before fading into shades of purple.
The palace courtyard came alive beneath hundreds of hanging lanterns.
Servants prepared for dinner.
The sound of distant laughter echoed through the corridors.
Yuvraj walked downstairs wearing a charcoal-black kurta.
His sleeves were folded slightly, exposing the expensive watch around his wrist.
The moment he entered the courtyard, a few servants stepped aside.
“Rana sa.”
He nodded.
Near the fountain, little Meher was practicing dance steps.
She noticed him immediately.
“Bhai sa!”
She ran toward him.
Yuvraj barely had time to react before the six-year-old crashed directly into him.
He automatically steadied her.
“Careful.”
Meher looked up at him with an offended expression.
“You missed my dance practice again.”
“I was working.”
“You're always working.”
Yuvraj raised an eyebrow.
“That's because I have work.”
Meher crossed her tiny arms.
“I don't like your work.”
Nearby, Yash smirked.
“Finally, someone brave enough to say it.”
Meher nodded seriously.
“You know what mamma says?”
Yuvraj looked down at her.
“What?”
“That you look scary…”
She paused dramatically.
“…but actually have a soft heart.”
Absolute silence.
The servants nearby froze.
Yash covered his mouth.
Rajmata, standing near the entrance, tried desperately not to smile.
Yuvraj stared at Meher.
The little girl stared back fearlessly.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then—
Yuvraj slowly placed his hand on her head.
“Your mamma talks too much.”
Meher giggled.
Yash immediately placed a hand over his heart.
“Rajmata sa…”
He whispered loudly.
“Miracle ho gaya.”
Yuvraj turned toward him.
“Yash.”
“I’m silent.”
“You're breathing too loudly.”
Yash immediately stopped breathing dramatically.
Meher burst into laughter.
Even Maharaj smiled.
For a few minutes, the palace felt warm.
Normal.
Alive.
And Yuvraj—
for the smallest moment—
looked human.
Not the Yuvraj.
Not the businessman.
Not the future Maharaj.
Just a man standing with his little sister-like cousin while she laughed.
But the moment didn't last.
It never did.
Because eventually, Yuvraj always returned to his silence.
Later that night, the palace became quiet.
Most of the lights were turned off.
Servants disappeared into their quarters.
The laughter faded.
The fountains continued whispering softly in the courtyard.
Yuvraj stood alone on the palace balcony.
Udaipur stretched endlessly before him.
The city lights reflected over Lake Pichola.
A cool breeze brushed against his face.
He placed both hands against the marble railing.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the sleeping city.
Seven years.
He had built an empire in those seven years.
He had expanded Rathore Enterprises.
Taken control of projects twice his age.
Earned respect from people who once doubted him.
He had become everything his family expected him to become.
Powerful.
Successful.
Untouchable.
Yet somehow—
none of it had filled the space inside him.
His eyes closed.
The memories returned again.
Rain.
London.
Her voice.
Her betrayal.
His younger self.
The boy who had believed in love.
The boy who had trusted someone completely.
That boy was gone.
At least, that's what Yuvraj told himself.
His hands tightened around the railing.
“Mujhe kuch nahi chahiye.”
His voice disappeared into the night.
“Na rishta.”
A pause.
“Na pyaar.”
His voice sounded unbreakable.
Final.
Cold.
But the silence that followed felt strangely different.
Because somewhere inside the man who claimed he needed nothing—
there was still a heart.
Buried.
Bruised.
And waiting for something he didn't even know he was missing.
Yuvraj opened his eyes and looked toward the horizon.
Tomorrow he would leave for Delhi.
Another meeting.
Another negotiation.
Another day of pretending that nothing could touch him.
He had no idea that his carefully controlled life was already moving toward a turning point.
But for tonight—
he remained alone.
The Yuvraj of Udaipur.
The future king.
The man who had forgotten how to feel.
And the man who had convinced himself that he would never love again.
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