AAROHI : HIS FORCED WIFE

PROLOGUE

AAROHI:

I knew something was wrong the moment the café's back door refused to close behind me.

It was past closing time, I'd stepped into the narrow alley to throw the last garbage bag into the municipal bin.

Rain-damp dust clogged the air. Udaipur nights were usually loud, scooters, vendors, tourists, but that night, the alley felt quiet, as if the sound itself had been taken hostage.

My fingers tightened around the garbage bag automatically. I didn't even turn when I heard the footsteps.

I froze. My breath stuck in my throat the way it always did when danger brushed my spine. I turned.

Two men stood blocking the alley's exit, dressed in black, their silhouettes sharp against the orange streetlight. They weren't from the café. They weren't customers. They looked like the type of men mothers warned daughters about.

My pulse hammered so loud I wondered if they could hear it. "I... I need to go inside," I whispered, though my voice barely made it past my lips. One of them stepped forward.

"Miss Aarohi Purohit?"

My stomach collapsed. I didn't answer. I didn't have to. My name in a stranger's mouth felt like the worst omen. The man held out his phone. On the screen was a photo he had no right to have, that was me. Maybe taken that evening, through the café window, when I wiped a table.

"Come with us." His tone wasn't threatening.

"I-I don't-"

The stutter in my voice strangled the rest of my sentence.

He didn't wait for me to finish. He grabbed my wrist, not hard but firm, and pulled me forward. The garbage bag fell from my hand and burst open on the wet ground, but I didn't even look back.

My mind went to one place, Maa.

Please," I whispered, my breath shaking. "Ma-my mother...she's waiting she....she'll worry-"

"You'll see her soon," the man said. He didn't clarify if he meant alive. My knees weakened.

I was shoved into the back seat of a black car with tinted windows so dark they felt like blindfolds. The doors locked the moment they closed. The engine hummed softly, too softly.

The city blurred as we drove, streetlights stretching like yellow scars across the glass. "Where are you taking me?" I managed to breathe out. Neither man answered.

My fingers trembled violently on my lap. I tried to count my breaths like Maa had taught me: one... two... three... But my lungs didn't listen.

When the car slowed, the air grew colder. We pulled into a deserted warehouse area near the lake , the industrial part of Udaipur no one visited at night.

A man stood outside the entrance, hands in pockets, posture relaxed, too relaxed. As if kidnapping girls was just another item on his schedule.

The car door opened for me, but my body refused to move. Then he stepped forward.

Veeransh Sarkar.

I didn't recognize him at first, only his expensive watch, the crisp cut of his shirt, the way he looked at me without blinking. But the men's sudden stiffness around him told me enough:

He was the kind of man whose presence rearranged the air.

"Get her out," he said. His voice was quiet. That scared me more than shouting ever could. The men pulled me out. My legs stumbled on the gravel.

"So." Veeransh's eyes trailed over my trembling frame, my café uniform, my messy braid.

"This is the girl."

He turned and walked inside the warehouse office, expecting me to follow. I didn't move. One of the men nudged me forward. Inside, the room smelled of paper and dust.

A single flickering tube light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on Veeransh's face.

He stood behind a desk piled neatly with documents.

"Sit."

I sat because standing felt impossible. He tapped a folder. "Your mother is Meera Purohit. Forty-five. She works as a tailor. Health issues, untreated hypertension."

My spine went cold. "How-how do you-" He clicked a button on a remote, and a screen on the wall lit up with photos.

My mother. Buying vegetables, walking home, Entering our building, Unlocked our door.

The photos were from today. My chest caved in. I couldn't hear anything except my heartbeat screaming inside my ears. "I don't like repeating myself," Veeransh said simply. "So listen carefully."

He stepped closer. The light carved sharp lines across his face, cheekbones like weapons, eyes unreadable.

"I need a wife."

My breath broke. "And I need one immediately." I shook my head. "I-no-no, please-please, I can't-"

"You can."

His tone didn't rise. That was what made it terrifying. He slid a document toward me. A marriage contract. My throat closed "I don't even know you," I whispered.

He knelt. He actually knelt, not to be gentle but like giving me condition and I have to choose one. He is seen directly into my eyes.

"I don't need you to know me," he said. "I need you to obey me." The stutter in my voice returned so violently, I couldn't speak. He continued, his voice steady, emotionless... bored.

"If you refuse, your mother dies tonight."My breath stopped.

"You're lying," I whispered, but the words tasted like fear.He leaned back slightly and nodded to one of his men. The man lifted his phone, showing a live video feed. My building. My front door. A man waiting outside it. My blood turned to ice.

"I don't lie," Veeransh said. Tears blurred my vision. My fingers clawed at my knees. "I'm begging you-please-please don't hurt her-she hasn't-she didn't-"

"I don't care about her," he said flatly. "Or you. I need the marriage. You are convenient. That's all."

Something inside me shattered. My hand reached toward the contract, shaking but I couldn't hold the pen. It slipped from my fingers twice before he picked it up and placed it between my trembling fingers.

"Sign."

I tried. My hand wouldn't move. My vision spun. "I can't-my hand-it won't-", He leaned in until I felt his breath against my ear.

"Sign it," he murmured, "Or I make a single phone call." My entire body convulsed with panic. I scrawled my name. Crooked. Ugly. Barely readable. His signature followed, firm and elegant, as if he were signing a business contract.

He nodded to someone behind me. A man stepped forward with a small velvet box. Inside was a ring, silver. Veeransh took it and slid it onto my finger himself.

The silver ring felt heavier than iron. "Congratulations," he said softly, without a smile. "You're now Mrs. Aarohi Veeransh Sarkar." The light flickered again, The warehouse walls seemed to close in.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't think.

All I knew was one thing : My life was no longer mine.