Morning arrived gently at the Shekhawat haveli.
Sunlight spilled through carved jharokhas, turning the sandstone walls a soft shade of gold. Peacocks called somewhere in the gardens, and the faint sound of temple bells floated in with the cool desert breeze.
This was the hour the Shekhawat household truly came alive.
Veer Pratap Shekhawat stood on the balcony outside his room, coffee in hand, dressed not in power but comfort—an easy kurta, sleeves rolled up. At twenty-four, he ruled boardrooms with an iron spine, but mornings like these belonged to the boy raised within these walls.
Below, the courtyard buzzed with familiar chaos.
"Veer bhaiya!" a voice called out.
He looked down just in time to see Yuvraj Shekhawat, his younger cousin, nearly trip over his own feet while racing across the marble floor.
"Walk," Veer said calmly. "You're not being chased."
Yuvraj grinned. "Not yet."
Behind him, Aditya Shekhawat followed at a steadier pace, carrying a book even at this hour. He glanced up, nodded respectfully, then returned to reading as he walked—earning a fond shake of the head from Veer.
From the other side of the courtyard,
laughter rang out.
Nandini Shekhawat, the youngest, spun in a half-circle, her dupatta flying dramatically.
"Bhaiya, tell him," she said, pointing at Yuvraj, "that if he breaks one more vase, I'm telling chachi it was him on purpose."
Yuvraj gasped. "Betrayal runs deep in this family."
Veer's lips twitched. Not quite a smile—but close.
Inside the dining hall, breakfast was already underway.
Kavita Shekhawat supervised the table with practiced ease, ensuring everyone had eaten at least something. "Veer, don't skip breakfast," she said without looking up. "Power runs better on food."
"I had coffee," he replied, taking his seat.
She raised an eyebrow. He sighed and reached for a paratha.
Across from him, his father, Rajendra Singh Shekhawat, folded the newspaper and smiled faintly. "One day, the boardroom will fear your mother more than you."
Kavita smiled sweetly. "As they should."
At the head of the table, Thakur Uday Singh Shekhawat sat in dignified silence, his presence commanding even when he said nothing. Age had slowed his body, not his authority. Beside him, Rajmata Padmavati Shekhawat sipped her tea, her eyes warm as they followed the younger ones.
"This," she said softly, "is how a house stays alive."
Veer met his grandmother's gaze. Something about her words lingered.
Footsteps approached, light and unhurried.
Padma Shekhawat, Veer's bua, entered carrying a small plate of sweets. "Morning traditions," she announced. "Don't argue. I made them myself."
Yuvraj reached instantly. "I love traditions."
Padma laughed, swatting his hand away.
"After breakfast."
She turned to Veer and touched his shoulder gently. "You slept well?"
He nodded. "Better than usual."
She smiled as if that mattered deeply.
From the doorway, another voice joined in—smooth, amused.
"Look at you all," Vikram Singh Shekhawat said, stepping in with his wife Renu Shekhawat. "Anyone would think we're a normal family."
Renu chuckled. "Don't ruin the illusion so early."
The cousins exchanged looks. Normal was a flexible word in this house.
Breakfast continued with teasing, small arguments, and laughter that bounced off walls older than most cities. Stories from the past were retold—some exaggerated, some softened with time.
Veer mostly listened.
He watched how his grandfather corrected Yuvraj gently, how his grandmother slipped extra sweets onto Aditya's plate, how his mother noticed everything without hovering, how his father smiled more in silence than in speech.
This was the side of the Shekhawats few ever saw.
After breakfast, the family slowly dispersed—college schedules, meetings, errands pulling them in different directions.
Veer lingered in the courtyard.
Padma joined him, standing beside him in the sunlight. "You carry this house on your shoulders," she said quietly.
"It carried me first," he replied.
She nodded, satisfied with the answer.
As Veer walked toward the gates, the haveli behind him glowed—full of life, love, and loyalty.
What he didn't know yet was that mornings like these were fragile.
And that soon, this peace would be tested by a name no one spoke aloud in happiness.
For now, though—
The Shekhawats were whole.