Being stuck in a burning building makes you admit things.
Admit things to the other soon-to-be burning person beside you. Something along the lines of 'I'm actually a spy' or 'I never liked my fiance' and sometimes even 'I wish I could date you', and the burn stings so hard you can't stop yourself from replying 'me too, fuck the customs, let's date in the afterlife and eat a shit ton of pani puri and use unethical curse words like I am right now, and do many other unethical things, with and to eachother'. And though these are quite some scandalous things to admit, especially as you're bound by the pressure of being desi royalty, it's all quite okay because in the next few minutes you'll suffocate to death, along with the bearer of your secrets.
Except you don't.
You're living and breathing and you're very much alive right now.
And the holder of everything confidential about you is living, breathing, and functioning right beside you.
And you have never wished death more on a lover before.