Rhea’s eyelids fluttered open to the warmth of sunlight streaming through tall, arched windows. She blinked against the light, the silk canopy above her shifting into focus. Golden embroidery glimmered faintly as the morning breeze ruffled the pale curtains. The smell of lavender lingered in the air.

For a long, suspended second, she couldn’t move. Her body felt foreign, as if it didn’t belong to her. She wasn’t in her apartment, wasn’t curled up on her messy bed with a half-eaten snack beside her laptop. She was lying in a bed far too soft, beneath sheets far too expensive, and… was that a crown on the bedside table?

Her heart skipped a beat.

“What the…” she whispered, her own voice sounding strange—softer, richer, like a melody. She pushed herself upright, and her hair spilled over her shoulders in dark waves that weren’t hers.

Panic surged. This wasn’t a dream. She could feel the warmth of the sunlight, the cool marble floor beneath her bare feet, the weight of the golden nightgown clinging to her frame. Everything was real.

Then her gaze caught on the tall mirror standing in the corner. She froze.

The girl staring back at her wasn’t the twenty-year-old writer who had fallen asleep at her desk last night. She was someone else entirely—someone impossibly beautiful, with flawless skin, delicate features, and eyes that shimmered like amber under the sun. A golden pendant rested against her collarbone, engraved with an unfamiliar crest.

Her breath hitched. “No way… No. This can’t be—”

A knock at the door cut her off.

“Your Highness?” A soft voice floated through, hesitant yet respectful.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Your Highness.

Before she could answer, the door creaked open, revealing a young maid with neatly braided hair and a nervous expression. She curtsied deeply.

“Princess Rhea, the King Rudradev Vashisht requests your presence in the throne room.”

Princess Rhea.

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and memories stirred in fragments. A name, a castle, a kingdom on the brink of something dark… and a story. A story she had once written, late into the night, fingers flying across the keyboard as she shaped this very world.

Except now, she couldn’t remember the plot. Not all of it. Just flashes—faces, emotions, half-written scenes. And one horrifying realization settled over her like ice: she didn’t know how this story ended.

She forced a shaky smile at the maid. “Of course. I’ll be there shortly.” Her voice sounded calm, steady, but her heart was in chaos.

~

By the time she had dressed—a deep crimson gown chosen by the maid, fitted with golden embroidery that glimmered under the chandeliers—Rhea had begun piecing together scraps of memory. This was the Kingdom of Rajasthan, a land of Rajputs, The Brave Warriors, and Ancient Politics. She remembered that much. She also remembered the King, her father, a man loved by the people but surrounded by enemies in his own court. And her brother, Prince Raghunath Vashisht, who was always smiling, always charming… but in her draft notes, there had been something sinister about him.

She just couldn’t remember what.

The walk to the throne room was dizzying. Guards in polished armor lined the marble halls, bowing as she passed. Servants curtsied. Everyone treated her like she belonged here.

Maybe she did.

The throne room doors opened, revealing her father seated upon the high seat, his presence commanding yet warm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver in his beard and a kind smile that softened the sharpness of his features.

“Rhea,” he greeted, standing to embrace her as she approached. “You slept well, I hope?”

She stiffened slightly at the unfamiliar affection but nodded, smiling politely. “I… yes, Father.”

It felt strange calling him that, but the word came naturally, like she’d been doing it her whole life.

The King’s smile deepened, and he held her at arm’s length to study her face. “You’ve grown so much. Sometimes I forget how strong you’ve become.”

Before Rhea could respond, the doors opened again. Footsteps echoed through the hall, firm and measured. She turned her head—and her breath caught.

Ishan Kaul

He was exactly as she had imagined him when she wrote him: tall, with sharp, unreadable eyes the color of storm clouds, his dark hair falling neatly over his forehead. Dressed in a black tunic lined with silver, he moved with quiet confidence, a sword strapped to his side.

And he looked at her like she was a stranger.

“Your Majesty,” Ishan said, bowing to her father, his voice deep and steady. “You summoned me.”

“Yes,” the King said, smiling at him fondly. “Rhea, you remember Ishan, don’t you? Son of my late advisor, General Lakshay Kaul. He’s been training under the royal guard since childhood.”

Memories flickered. Two children racing through palace gardens. Laughter. A boy holding her hand when she scraped her knee. She remembered writing those scenes.

But in the present, Ishan’s expression was distant, formal.

Rhea nodded, trying to mask her confusion. “Of course. It’s… good to see you again.”

He inclined his head politely, but his gaze flickered briefly—softening, just for a heartbeat, before it shuttered again.

The King gestured for them both to step closer. “There are matters of security I want you both involved in. Rhea, I trust you’re ready for more responsibility. Ishan will be assisting you in your training.”

Her pulse quickened. Training? Responsibility? This wasn’t part of her plan. She had no idea how to navigate palace politics, let alone whatever dangerous storyline she had written for herself.

But she nodded, masking her panic behind a calm smile. “Of course, Father. I’ll do my best.”

~

Later, after the meeting ended, Rhea found herself walking through the castle corridors with Ishan trailing a step behind. The silence between them was heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Finally, she turned to him. “You’re awfully quiet.”

He glanced at her, expression unreadable. “I speak when necessary, Princess.”

“Princess,” she repeated, arching a brow. “You used to call me Rhea.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but it vanished just as quickly. “That was a long time ago.”

Her heart ached unexpectedly. She remembered their closeness as children, the way she had once trusted him completely. Now, he was cold and distant, like a shadow of the boy she knew.

“Did I… do something?” she asked softly.

Ishan’s jaw tightened. “No, Princess. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

But the way he said it made her wonder if that was true.

~

That night, Rhea sat in her chambers, staring at her reflection. She couldn’t shake the unease coiling in her stomach. Her brother Kael had visited her earlier, his smile warm and teasing as always. He had hugged her, joked about their father being too protective, and invited her to ride with him the next morning.

Yet, something about his gaze had unsettled her. It was too sharp, too calculating, like he was studying her every move.

Her memory of the story nagged at her. She knew she had written Raghunath something more than a charming prince. Hadn’t she planned a betrayal?

She buried her face in her hands. “Why can’t I remember?”

There was a knock on her door.

“Come in,” she called, straightening quickly.

The door creaked open, and Ishan stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Princess. I wanted to ensure you’re safe before retiring for the night.”

His voice was formal, but there was an undertone of concern.

“I’m fine,” she said softly. “But… can I ask you something?”

He hesitated. “Of course.”

“Why did we stop being friends?”

Ishan froze, his gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer.

Finally, he said quietly, “Because the world changed. And I needed to change with it.”

She frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

He glanced up, and for a heartbeat, his expression softened—pain flickering in his eyes. “It’s the only one I can give you.”

And before she could say anything else, he bowed again and left.

~

Rhea sat there in silence, her mind spinning.

She was living in a story she couldn’t remember. The boy she once trusted was now a stranger. Her brother’s smile felt wrong. And her father… her father looked at her like she was his only hope.

Somewhere deep inside, she knew this world was a puzzle, and she was missing all the pieces.

But one thing was certain: if she didn’t remember the plot soon, she might not survive to see the ending.

That night, as Rhea drifted to sleep, she thought she heard a whisper—soft, like the rustle of paper.

“The story has begun.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and then everything went dark.

~

Rhea woke in the dead of night, heart pounding. The whisper lingered in her ears, echoing like a warning. She pushed herself up, scanning the dark chamber.

And that’s when she saw it.

On the polished desk near her bed, lit only by moonlight, lay a single sheet of parchment. She hadn’t left it there.

Her hands trembled as she reached for it.

The words were written in her handwriting.

"Beware the one who wears the crown. Blood will spill before dawn."

She gasped, dropping the note. Her eyes darted toward the door—and froze.

A shadow moved in the hall.

Steel flashed briefly in the moonlight.

Before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Quiet, Princess,” a low voice murmured in her ear.

Ishan.

Her heart leapt, relief flooding her—until she felt the dagger pressed lightly to her ribs.

“Trust me,” he whispered sharply. “If you want to live, don’t make a sound.”

Her breath hitched. She nodded, terrified.

Ishan eased his grip slightly, his storm-grey eyes scanning the hall. Then he dragged her away from the window just as an arrow shattered the glass where her head had been moments earlier.

Someone had tried to kill her.

“Move,” Ishan hissed, gripping her arm.

They sprinted through the dark corridor, his steps swift and sure, her pulse hammering so loud she thought it would wake the entire palace.

“Ishan—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Not now.”

They darted into a side passage, descending a hidden staircase. She stumbled against him, fear twisting in her chest.

“I don’t understand—”

“You don’t have to,” he growled softly. “You just have to survive.”

Her breath caught at the raw desperation in his tone.

And for a moment, as torches flickered along the hidden corridor, Rhea thought she saw guilt flash in his eyes.

But before she could ask, voices echoed behind them.

Raghunath ’s voice.

“Find her. She dies tonight.”

Rhea froze.

Her brother.

The world tilted violently, the pieces of the puzzle snapping into place too late.

Ishan’s grip on her hand tightened.

“Run.”

They darted through the shadows, footsteps pounding against cold stone. Torches blazed in pursuit, and every breath she took burned in her chest.

“Why would Raghu—” she choked, but Ishan yanked her forward, his face grim.

“Later.”

The tunnel narrowed, twisting, suffocating. A crash echoed behind them—closer now. Panic clawed at her ribs.

Then, a glint of steel. A whisper of movement. Pain.

The world tilted, and Rhea felt herself falling backward into a void.

The last thing she saw was Ishan reaching for her, his expression raw with fear.

Then—

Blackness.

She woke up.

Back at her desk.

Her laptop glowed softly, displaying a single sentence she didn’t remember writing:

The circle is incomplete, yet it begins tonight.

And in the corner of the screen, a faint reflection of gray eyes stared back at her.

____________________________________

✦ Author's Note ✦

Hey readers! ✨

This is a one-shot story I wrote especially for this contest. “The Circle is Incomplete” was inspired by the idea of a world where fiction and reality collide—where the story you write might just come alive in ways you never imagined.

Rhea’s journey is one of mystery, trust, and survival, with twists I hope will keep you on the edge of your seat. Writing this story was a thrilling experience, and I tried to capture the tension, emotions, and the adrenaline rush of a world that feels both familiar and dangerously unpredictable.

If you enjoy stories with strong heroines, mysterious worlds, and unexpected betrayals, this one’s for you. 🖤

I’d love to hear your thoughts—every comment, vote, or share really means the world!

Thank you for taking this journey with me, even if it’s just for one night.💫