Third Person
The atmosphere in the office shifted the moment Krisha pushed open the heavy oak doors of her sanctuary. She expected the comforting aroma of the espresso and the sight of her neatly organized desk, but instead, she was met with a chilling, electric tension that made the hair on her arms stand up.
Someone was sitting in her chair. From the back, she could only see a crown of dark hair and broad shoulders draped in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. The high back leather seat faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the city skyline like a throne.
Who the hell is this?
Before she could process the intrusion, a deep, velvety voice drawled through the silence. "So... finally you came."
The chair swiveled slowly. Krisha's breath hitched, her fingers white knuckled around the strap of her bag. As his face came into view, her blood turned to ice.
It was Dhairya Singh Shekhawat. The man was a living nightmare for his rivals, a shadow wrapped in a mystery and currently, he was the last person she expected to see in her private space.
"Miss Krisha, You're late for our meeting." He rumbled, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes scanned her from head to toe. She looked breathtaking, her crop top and skirt set hugging her perfectly, her hair pulled into a sharp, neat high ponytail.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a shard of glass, masking the tremor in her heart with a cold demeanor.
Dhairya didn't answer. Instead, he stood up, his towering frame casting a long, intimidating shadow. He began to walk toward her. With every predatory step he took forward, Krisha took an instinctive step back, her heels clicking nervously against the floor until, thud. Her back hit the cold wall.
He leaned in, his presence suffocatingly close, his shadow completely enveloping her. He tilted his head, whispering near her ear in a mock childish tone, his breath fanning her skin. "That's bad. You're the boss here and you come late to the office? This is not acceptable, Ms. Krisha."
The mockery fueled her fire. Despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs, she glared up at him.
"It's my office, so main jab marzi aau, jab marzi jau. It's none of your concern, Mr. Shekhawat." She placed her hands on his chest to push him back, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn't even flicker. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in a firm grip to stop her.
"I thought you were just a temporary CEO here... is that right?"
The words hit her like a physical blow. Her breath hitched. No one knew the specifics of her contract, it was a closely guarded secret. How did he have every little detail of her life?
"How do you—" she started, but then gritted her teeth, jerking her wrist away with a burst of strength. She shoved him back, and this time, he finally took a step away, a dark, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "This is none of your business!" She spoke.
The heavy silence was interrupted by a sharp knock on the cabin door. Dhairya gave her one last lingering glare a look that promised this conversation was far from over before he brushed past her.
Karan entered the cabin just as Dhairya was exiting, looking utterly bewildered by the sight of the Shekhawat heir leaving Krisha's private office.
"What was that?" Karan asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he placed a stack of files on her desk. He looked at Krisha, noticing her slightly disheveled state and the flush on her cheeks. "Are you okay?"
Krisha took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady her racing pulse as she stared at the empty doorway. "I don't know..." she whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and fury. "I don't know what the hell he was."
The conference hall was thick with professional tension and the hum of high-end machinery. Krisha took a deep, grounding breath before pushing open the double doors. This was her territory, her battlefield.
Inside, the heavyweights were already seated. Her trusted senior employee, Mr. Naman, sat alongside Karan and a few other key team members. But the air seemed to condense around the man sitting directly opposite the head of the table. Dhairya Singh Shekhawat. Beside him sat Reyansh Mittal, both looking like they belonged on the cover of a business empire magazine.
Krisha took her seat at the center, the power position. Her chin was high, her arms resting elegantly on the mahogany table. She looked every bit the queen of her domain.
"So, as we made a deal, this is a monumental project for my firm as well as yours," she began, her voice steady and commanding. "It's an international venture. My team is here, they are experienced, specialized, and the best in their respective fields."
As she spoke, she couldn't help but notice Dhairya's gaze. He wasn't looking at the documents he was looking at her. His eyes were intense, unreadable, and constant.
"My team has prepared the initial designs and a full presentation," Krisha added, standing up with a grace that commanded silence. "If you have any objections, raise your hand. I will handle the refinements personally."
She moved to the large projector, connecting her laptop. As the slides began to flicker across the screen, Krisha transformed. She was a poet of architecture and strategy. Her hands moved gracefully through the air, punctuating her points, her voice flowing with the confidence of someone who knew her worth.
"Any doubts?" she finally asked, turning back to the room.
Her eyes landed on Dhairya. Her blood began to simmer. While everyone else was looking at the screen in awe, Dhairya was casually scrolling through his phone intentionally. He hadn't looked up once during the climax of her presentation. The disrespect was a physical sting.
Her jaw tightened. "MR. SHEKHAWAT," she snapped, her voice dripping with mockery and suppressed fury. "Can you tell me if you have any doubts? Or is your phone more interesting than a multi-million-dollar international deal?"
Dhairya finally looked up. His face was a mask of ice, zero expression, zero warmth. He met her angry glare with a gaze so cold it could have frozen the room.
He didn't apologize. He didn't even acknowledge her effort.
"Well, we'll see. We have to go now," he said simply, his voice a low rumble. He stood up in one fluid, powerful motion. Beside him, Reyansh followed suit.
Krisha's mind raced. What the hell? After all that work, he was just... leaving? Unable to stomach being the last one left in his presence, Krisha didn't wait for a formal goodbye. She gathered her things and stormed out of the hall first, her heels clicking a sharp, angry rhythm against the floor.
Dhairya stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the door where she had just vanished. Beneath his cold, detached exterior, a flicker of something else stirred. Her confidence, her seamless presentation, the way she stood up to him, she had been perfect. He was impressed, deeply so, but he would never let her see the crack in his armor.
He adjusted his blazer, the shadow of a smirk almost, almost, touching his lips before he vanished into the hallway.
Dhairya and Reyansh stepped out of the glass fronted office building, the afternoon sun glinting off the polished chrome of Dhairya's thar. As they reached the vehicle, a lethal, predatory smirk played on Dhairya's lips.
"Bas ab zyada time nahi bacha tumhe apna banane mein," Dhairya murmured under his breath, his voice a low, gravelly promise intended only for the wind.
(Just a little more time left before I make you mine.)
They climbed in, the heavy thud of the doors sealing them in an expensive leather scented vacuum. Dhairya gripped the steering wheel, but before he could even shift into gear, Thud.
The entire car jolted violently as something slammed into their rear bumper. The force threw them forward against their seatbelts.
"What the—!" Reyansh snapped, his neck snapping back as the car stabilized.
Dhairya's eyes darkened, a flash of pure coldness crossing his face. Without a word, he hit the brakes.
Reyansh didn't wait he stormed out of the passenger side, his temper already at a boiling point. Standing behind their thar was a dented sedan, and sitting on driving seat it was a man in his late 40s, looking utterly dazed.
Reyansh marched over, the sheer aura of his rage making the air around him vibrate. He ripped the man's car door open and hauled him out by his collar. The stench of cheap alcohol hit him instantly. The man was swaying, barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Abe Madarch*d! Jab jheli nahi jaati toh pii kar gaadi chalana zaruri hai kya?" Reyansh roared, his knuckles turning white as he bunched the man's shirt in his fist.
(If you can't handle your drink, is it necessary to drive drunk?)
The man blinked, trying to regain some misplaced sense of bravado. "Aeee... awaz niche rakh kar bol!" he shouted back, trying to jerk away. (Keep your voice down!)
Reyansh's grip didn't even flicker. If anything, it tightened until the man's toes were barely touching the pavement.
"BHENCH*D! Tu hai kaun jo mujhe batayega ki mujhe kaise baat karni hai aur kaise nahi?"
(Who the hell are you to tell me how to talk?)
"Chodh mujhe! Tu jaanta nahi hai kaun hoon main!" the drunk stammered, attempting to puff out his chest and take a step closer to Reyansh's face.
(Let go of me! You don't know who I am!)
That was the final straw. Reyansh released his collar only to wind up a massive, bone crunching punch. CRACK. The man's head snapped back as he hit the dirt.
"Sala mujhe batayega kaun hai yeh? Nikal yaha se!" Reyansh spat, delivering one more punch for good measure as the man scrambled up and bolted toward the nearest alleyway, abandoning his car in fear.
(The bastard is going to tell me who he is? Get out of here!)
Reyansh stood there for a second, huffing, as he straightened his rolled-up sleeves and adjusted his watch. He climbed back into the car, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled.
"Madarch*d sala harami... pata nahi kaise kaise log hote hain. Saare mood ki dhajiya uda di bkl ne," Reyansh hissed, his chest still heaving.
(Filthy bastard... don't know what kind of people exist. He ruined my entire mood.)
"Relax," Dhairya said, his voice eerily calm compared to Reyansh's fire. He restarted the engine, his own grip on the steering wheel tightening until his veins began to pop.
"Relax? Hatt! Kahe ka relax?" Reyansh turned on him, his frustration shifting targets. "Ek toh tune fasa rakha hai apne saath. Pata nahi kya hai usme aisa jo uske piche pada hua hai... la*de lage pade hai!"
(Relax? Forget it! What kind of relax? You've trapped me with you. I don't know what's so special about her that you're chasing her... everything is going to hell!)
Dhairya didn't blink. He pulled the car into the lane, his gaze turns towards Reyansh with a terrifying look. "Maine nahi bola tujhe ki mere saath rahe. Aur nahi rehna toh wapis chala ja, mujhe kuch fark nahi padega."
(I didn't tell you to stay with me. And if you don't want to stay, go back. It won't make a difference to me.)
Reyansh glared at his friend's profile, the coldness in Dhairya's tone finally hitting him. He leaned back into the leather seat and rolled his eyes hard.
"Aage dekhke gaadi chala... marna nahi hai mujhe abhi," Reyansh grumbled, looking out the window.
(Watch the road and drive... I don't want to die yet.)
Back in the solitude of her cabin, Krisha sank into her leather chair, the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock the only sound filling the room. Her mind was a chaotic chessboard, she was already several moves deep into a plan to dismantle this wedding. She didn't want this, she couldn't do this. A sharp knock shattered her train of thought.
"Come in," she said, her voice professional and clipped.
The door swung open, and for the second time that day, Krisha froze. It wasn't a predator like Dhairya this time, but the man who was supposed to be her future. Advik.
Krisha stood up instinctively, her posture rigid. "Hey, Krisha," Advik said, his voice laced with an awkwardness that seemed to fill the entire room. He wouldn't meet her eyes directly, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
She let out a quiet sigh, trying to soften her edges. "Hi... hi," she replied hesitantly, gesturing toward the chair across from her. "Please, sit."
"No... I mean, I want to talk to you," he said, rubbing his forehead as if trying to soothe a headache. The discomfort radiating off him was palpable.
"Oh. Then go ahead," she said, forcing a small, tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Actually... not here. Can we go to the terrace?" He asked, the hesitation in his voice making him sound almost plea like.
Krisha paused, then nodded. "Oh... okay."
They walked in silence, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. Once on the terrace, the city wind whipped around them. They sat on a stone bench, maintaining a perfect, sterile distance from one another. For ten minutes, neither spoke. The silence was agonizing.
Finally, Advik broke. "Krisha... are you really okay with this? Are you being forced into this marriage, or what?" He turned to her, his eyes searching hers for a flicker of the truth. He needed to know if her heart was in this.
Krisha looked out at the skyline, her expression hardening into a mask of indifference. "No, I'm not forced. And I'm not happy either. But I have to do this," she said. She couldn't tell him the real reason the shadows of her house, the debt she felt she owed Dadi but she also didn't want to feed him a lie that would give him false hope.
"But why, Krisha? If you don't want to—"
She cut him off before he could finish, her voice turning icy. "I'll do this marriage for business. And that's it."
"Tum aise kaise kar sakti ho? Woh bhi sirf business ke liye?" Advik recoiled slightly, a look of pure disbelief and concern washing over his face.
(How can you do this? And that too just for business?)
"Maine bas puri zindagi bhar yehi sikha hai, Advik. Paisa, business, power. That's all matter." Krisha turned to him, her gaze vacant, hiding the storm of emotions swirling inside her.
(I've only learned this my whole life, Advik. Money, business, power.)
It was a lie. A beautiful, tragic lie to keep him at arm's length.
"Krisha, tum in sabke liye apni zindagi barbad nahi kar sakti," he argued softly, his goodness shining through like a beacon she didn't feel worthy of.
(Krisha, you can't ruin your life for all of this.)
Something flickered in her chest a sharp, stinging pain. She knew he was a good person, but in her world, being good was just another way to get hurt.
"Meri zindagi thi kab jo barbad hoyegi?"
(When was my life ever mine to be ruined?)
The words slipped out before she could stop them. She saw the shock in his eyes and immediately retracted into her shell. "I mean... it doesn't matter, Advik. I said yes to this marriage, and that's all I have to say. I think I have to leave now."
Before he could utter another word or reach out to stop her, she turned on her heel and practically fled from the terrace, leaving him alone with the cold wind and the echoes of her broken truth.
The moment Krisha stepped off the terrace, a suffocating weight settled in her chest. Every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass. This wasn't just a business deal anymore it was a minefield of emotions.
Advik wasn't just some stranger he was Kashvi's brother. Kashvi, the only person who had pulled her back from the edge of darkness. How could she build her escape on the wreckage of their hearts?
I have to do this, she thought, her jaw tightening. With Karan by her side, the planning was in motion, but whether it would lead to her freedom or her ultimate destruction was a gamble she was forced to take.
When she arrived at the mansion she refused to call it home, the air was thick with a celebratory energy that made her stomach churn. The Rajvansh family was there. Even Kashvi was seated near Dadi, her face a mix of excitement and lingering worry.
As soon as she stepped into the hall, Dadi stood up, her eyes misty with joy. She hurried over and took Krisha's cold hand in hers, pulling her toward the center of the room.
"Dekh Krisha, tere sasural wale aaye hain shagun lekar. Kal shaadi hai na teri... mujhe toh yeh koi sapna lag raha hai," Dadi whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
(Look Krisha, your in-laws are here with the pre-wedding gifts. You're getting married tomorrow... it feels like a dream to me.)
For Dadi, this was the ultimate security. She didn't know the storm her granddaughter was brewing.
Kavya Rajvansh (kashvi's mother), stood up with a warm, maternal grace. She held out a stunning red-colored bridal lehenga, the intricate gold embroidery shimmering under the chandeliers. Matching jewelry sets lay in velvet boxes beside it.
"Krisha, yeh dekho shaadi ka joda. Kaisa hai?" Kavya asked, her eyes searching Krisha's face with such genuine purity and hope that Krisha felt a pang of guilt.
Krisha didn't even look at the fabric. Her eyes were vacant, her heart a block of ice. She reached out and took the heavy outfit from Kavya's hands, her face a blank canvas, no smile, no blush, no excitement.
The silence in the room was deafening until a sharp, venomous voice cut through it.
"Yeh kya sada sa muh bana rakha hai? Tameez nahi hai mehmano ke samne kaise behave karte hain?" Urmila snapped, crossing her arms.
(What's with this rotten face? Don't you have any manners on how to behave in front of guests?)
She never missed a beat. Every opportunity to poke at Krisha's wounds was a victory for her.
Krisha's head snapped toward Urmila. The coldness in her eyes shifted into a blazing, incandescent rage. She didn't care who was watching. She was done playing the silent victim.
"Bolne se pehle socha kijiye, aur mere samne toh bilkul mat bola kijiye, Aapki awaaz se mujhe ghinn aati hai." Krisha said, her voice low and dangerous, vibrating with pure disgust.
(Think before you speak, and especially don't speak in front of me. Your voice makes me nauseous.)
The room went deathly silent. Kashvi's eyes widened, and the Rajvansh family looked on in shock, but Krisha didn't back down. She held Urmila's gaze until the older woman visibly flinched.
Turning back to the room, Krisha clutched the bridal lehenga, not as a dress, but as a shroud for the life she was about to bury.
The heavy silence Krisha left behind was like a suffocating blanket. The Rajvansh family exchanged confused glances, but Dadi, ever the protector, quickly stepped in to bridge the gap.
"Thak gayi hai na... aur yeh sab itna jaldi ho gaya usse time hi nahi mila samajhne ka, isiliye aise behave kar rahi hai. Par chinta na karo, sab thik hai," Dadi said, her voice carrying a forced cheerfulness.
(She's just tired... and everything happened so fast she didn't get time to process it, that's why she's behaving this way. But don't worry, everything is fine.)
While her lips wore a smile, her heart was a lead weight. She knew Krisha was drowning, and she was the one who had pushed her into the deep end.
Kavya nodded, her maternal heart softening. "Haan, yeh baat toh sahi keh rahi hain Dadi aap. Baccho ko time hi nahi mila sab samajhne ka."
(Yes, you're right Dadi. The kids didn't get any time to understand all this.)
Kashvi, however, wasn't buying the 'exhaustion' excuse. She knew her best friend better than anyone. Standing up abruptly, she excused herself.
"Woh... main zara Krisha ko dekh kar aati hoon." She climbed the stairs two at a time, her heart hammering against her ribs. She pushed open the door to Krisha's room slowly. The lights were dimmed, casting long, mournful shadows across the walls.
Krisha was sitting on the edge of the bed, the lehenga discarded beside her like a forgotten relic. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice Kashvi standing right in front of her.
"Oye hello! Kaha khoyi hui hai? Abhi se mere bhai ke khayalon mein kho gayi?" Kashvi teased, trying to inject some light into the heavy atmosphere.
(Hey hello! Where are you lost? Already dreaming about my brother?)
Krisha didn't even crack a smile. Her gaze remained fixed on a void. "Chup reh Kashvi yaar... waise hi sar dard ho raha hai."
(Shut up Kashvi... I already have a headache.)
The playfulness died in Kashvi's eyes. She sat on the bed, forcing Krisha to look at her. "Okay, chup hoon. Par sach sach bata... tu yeh shaadi karna chahati hai na, Krisha?"
(Okay, I'm quiet. But tell me the truth... you actually want this marriage, right?)
That was the breaking point.
The dam burst. Without a word, Krisha lunged forward, throwing her arms around Kashvi and hugging her with a desperation that was terrifying. Sob after soul shaking sob escaped her as she buried her face in Kashvi's shoulder.
Kashvi's breath hitched as she wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her as if she could keep her from shattering. She felt Krisha's tears soaking through her clothes, hot and agonizing. When Kashvi tried to pull back to look at her, Krisha only tightened her grip, clinging to her like a lifeline in a storm.
"Please... stay like this, Kashu," Krisha choked out through her sobs, her voice small and broken.
Kashvi didn't ask any more questions. She simply tightened her embrace, caressing Krisha's back in slow, rhythmic circles. She knew this wasn't the silence of a shy bride, this was the grieving of a girl who felt like she was being led to her own execution.
The dim light of the room made the atmosphere even heavier as Krisha's sobs echoed against the walls. It was the sound of a soul reaching its breaking point. Kashvi's heart bled for her best friend, her hands moving in soothing circles on Krisha's back.
"Shhh... bas ab chup hoja. Zyada mat ro. Bata mujhe kya baat hai," Kashvi whispered, gently pulling her back. When she finally saw Krisha's face, she gasped. Her skin was deathly pale, and her eyes were a painful, swollen red.
"I don't know... I don't know what's happening to me," Krisha managed to choke out, wiping her face with trembling hands.
Inside, Krisha was screaming. She knew the plan she had formed with Karan would cause an explosion. It would hurt the Rajvansh family, and most importantly, it would hurt Kashvi. The thought of losing the only sister she had ever known made the pain in her chest sharpen, but she felt trapped. She had no other way out of this hell.
Kashvi bit her lip, the hesitation clear in her eyes. She had recently realized that her brother, Advik, actually had feelings for Krisha. She wanted them both to be happy, but the girl sitting in front of her looked like she was heading to her own funeral.
"Tu... tu karegi na shaadi?" Kashvi asked softly, her voice trembling.
Krisha couldn't find the words. If she spoke, she would lie. So, she simply hummed, giving a stiff, robotic nod.
"Krisha, I'm with you always. You know that. Don't worry, things happened so suddenly that's why you feel like this... but everything is going to be fine," Kashvi said, giving her a final, lingering hug before a soft knock interrupted them.
Dadi entered the room, her presence bringing a different kind of heavy silence. Kashvi gave Krisha a small, encouraging smile and squeezed her hand one last time before slipping out of the room.
Now, it was just the two of them.
Krisha didn't say a word. She simply crawled toward Dadi and rested her head in her lap, like she used to when she was a little girl. Dadi's weathered hands began to stroke Krisha's hair, a peaceful but mournful silence wrapping around them.
A stray tear escaped Krisha's eye, soaking into Dadi's saree. Dadi's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. Since Krisha's mother had passed, she had tried to be her shield, but now, she felt like the one holding the sword.
"Itna mat ro, Krisha... mera dil baitha ja raha hai, Teri Maa ke jaane ke baad pehli baar main tujhe aisi halat mein dekh rahi hoon. Woh bhi meri wajah se... maine tujhe yeh kaha baandh diya?" Dadi's voice cracked, tears finally welling up in her own eyes
(Don't cry this much... my heart is sinking. After your mother left, this is the first time I'm seeing you like this. And it's because of me... where have I tied you down?)
"Dadi, aap mat royiye meri wajah se. Aapko pata hai na main nahi dekh sakti aapko rote hue," Krisha whispered, her heart feeling like lead.
Dadi took a deep breath, her gaze becoming distant and sincere. "Krisha, agar yeh shaadi tere naseeb mein honi likhi hai, toh kisi bhi haal mein ho kar rahegi. Agar nahi, toh chahe jitni marzi koshish kar lo, yeh shaadi nahi hogi."
(If this marriage is written in your fate, it will happen no matter what. If not, no matter how much anyone tries, it won't happen.)
Krisha sat up, looking at Dadi with eyes full of existential exhaustion. "Dadi, par mera naseeb itna kharab kyu hai? Jo chahati hoon woh kabhi nahi hota."
(Dadi, but why is my luck so bad? Whatever I want, never happens.)
Dadi cupped her face, her expression solemn. "Naseeb se badi koi cheez nahi hoti, Krisha."
(Nothing is bigger than fate, Krisha.)
"Naseeb toh unka hota hai jinki dua suni jati hai... Meri toh cheekhein bhi is ghar ki deewaron se takra kar wapas aa jati hain." she whispered, her voice so low it was barely a breath, yet it carried the weight of a thousand heartbreaks.
(Fate belongs to those whose prayers are heard. My screams just hit the walls of this house and echo back to me.)
The words were a jagged blade, cutting through the remaining peace in the room. She was shattered, a mosaic of a girl held together by nothing but sheer willpower and the cold plans she had made for the day. Every pillar of this house felt like a witness to her silent agony, a prison that didn't just hold her body, but suffocated her soul.
Dadi's breath hitched. She reached out with trembling fingers, again cupping Krisha's face as if trying to hold the pieces of her granddaughter together.
"Shh... ab aisi baatein na kar," Dadi urged, her voice thick with a desperate plea.
(Shh... don't speak like this now.)
Krisha stayed silent, but inside, she was screaming a challenge to the universe. If fate is so powerful, let's see if it can stop what I'm about to do tomorrow.
The night had been a blur of whispered prayers and salty tears. Krisha's head had remained in Dadi's lap until exhaustion finally claimed them both, anchored in each other's embrace.
___________
As the first light of dawn crept through the window, Dadi's eyes fluttered open. She looked down at Krisha, who was finally sleeping peacefully, though her eyelashes were still spiked with the remnants of last night's grief.
"Bhagwan kare tujhe duniya ki saari khushiya mile, laddo," Dadi murmured, her voice a fragile breath as she stroked Krisha's hair.
(May God give you all the happiness in the world.)
The movement disturbed Krisha's heavy sleep. Her eyes opened, softening at the sight of Dadi, but almost instantly, a flicker of reality crossed her gaze. Her chest tightened. Today was the day. The wedding day.
"Good morning, Dadi," Krisha said, standing up abruptly. she couldn't bring herself to meet Dadi's eyes, the guilt was starting to eat her alive.
Dadi reached out, catching her hand. "Chal, ja taiyaar hoja aur niche aa. Kuch pooja karni hai."
(Go, get ready and come downstairs. There's a prayer we must do.)
"Dadi, maine mana kara tha ye sab—"
Krisha started, her voice defensive.
"Haan, haan, pata hai. Par yeh pooja karna zaruri hai. Ache se taiyaar hoke aa, aur sun... apni Maa ki saree pehenna, woh peeli wali."
(I know, I know. But this prayer is important. Get ready nicely, and listen... wear your mother's saree, the yellow one.)
Dadi stood up and pulled out a beautiful yellow saree from the cupboard. It was the same one her mother had worn for her pagfera. The sight of it was like a punch to the gut. Tears welled up in both their eyes simultaneously, the legacy of the silk shimmering between them.
[A/N: - Pagfera is a post-wedding ceremony Mostly in North Indian and Punjabi cultures where the bride returns to her parents' home for the first time, usually 1-3 days after the wedding.]
"Kya yaar Dadi, subha subha emotional kar rahi ho," Krisha whispered, forcing a watery smile as she wiped Dadi's tears and pulled her into a brief, fierce hug.
"Theek hai, jaa jaldi aayiyo, " Dadi said, patting her cheek before leaving the room.
Left alone, Krisha clutched the saree to her heart, the fabric feeling like a phantom hug from her mother. She closed her eyes for a minute, breathing in the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood, before her expression hardened.
She set the saree aside and grabbed her phone, dialing Karan. He picked up on the very first ring.
"Krisha, tension mat le. Sab settle hai," he said immediately, skipping the pleasantries. He knew her too well to waste time on a 'hello.'
(Don't worry. Everything is settled.)
"Thank you so much, Karan. You're like a brother to me, you always stood beside me." Krisha said, and for the first time in weeks, she truly meant it.
"Chup rahe! Rulayegi kya ab?" Karan's voice crackled over the line, thick with genuine worry.
(Shut up! Are you going to make me cry now?)
"Hmm... bas sab theek ho jaye. Aur jhukne walon mein se main toh bilkul nahi hoon jo inki baat sunu aur maanlu," she said, her voice regaining its sharp, cold edge.
(Just hope everything goes right. I'm not the type to bow down and listen to them.)
"Phirse dialogue maarne lag gayi," Karan teased, deliberately trying to break the heavy tension.
(You've started with the dialogues again.)
Krisha let out a genuine, small huff. "This is how you behave with your boss, hmm?"
"Yeh Boss aur PA ka scene na bas office mein hai. Office ke baahar nahi, toh chup rahe!" she could almost hear him rolling his eyes through the phone.
(This Boss and PA scene stays in the office. Not outside, so be quiet!)
"Gaddari karbe!" Krisha quipped, referencing the meme, and a small, real laugh escaped her lips.
(You're betraying me!)
The mood lightened, if only for a second. She felt a bit stronger, a bit more like the Krisha who could take on the world. She had a plan, she had an ally, and today, she was going to turn the tables on everyone.
Krisha stood before the full-length mirror, her breath catching in her throat. The yellow silk draped over her shoulder felt like a warm embrace from the past. It wasn't just a saree, it was her mother's soul woven into fabric. The vibrant yellow made her skin glow, making her look less like a girl caught in a storm and more like a strongest woman.
She had left her hair open, the dark waves cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. With minimal makeup, just a touch of kohl to define her tired eyes and a small bindi, she looked breathtaking. The gold jewelry clinked softly with every movement, a regal sound that masked the trembling of her heart. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe. She looked gorgeous, but the beauty felt like armor for the war she was about to wage.
Taking a final look, she steeled her nerves and stepped out of her room. As she descended the grand staircase, her hand gripped the mahogany railing. She had expected a small, suffocating circle of her own family members, the usual vultures waiting to pick at her spirit.
But as she reached the bottom step, she froze.
The hall wasn't just filled with her family. Standing there, amidst the flowers and the incense of the pooja setup, was the entire Rajvansh family.
Kavya, Advik, and even Kashvi was already there, seated alongside her own relatives. The sudden sight of them sent a jolt of electricity through her. This wasn't just a home prayer, this was a formal gathering.
Advik's head turned first. As his eyes landed on her, his breath visibly hitched. He looked mesmerized, his gaze fixed on the vision in yellow standing before him. Beside him, Kashvi's eyes widened with a mixture of awe and sadness, while Urmila's face twisted into a familiar mask of jealousy.
Krisha's fingers curled into the silk of her saree. She hadn't been told they were coming this early. The presence of Advik's family made the air feel twice as heavy. Every genuine smile from Kavya and every hopeful glance from Advik felt like a tether, pulling her deeper into a life she was planning to escape.
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