3. FAKE WEDDING
AUTHOR’S POV
Vivan and Aarvi were sitting in his car. He was driving, his hands firm on the steering wheel, while Aarvi sat silently in the passenger seat. The ride remained quiet until he finally spoke.
“By the way, thanks for inviting me to my own wedding,” he said, his eyes still focused on the road.
Aarvi did not respond to his sarcasm. She simply turned her face toward the window, staring outside as if nothing had been said.
When he received no reply, he briefly narrowed his eyes in her direction, studying her silence for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the road.
The air inside the car felt heavy, thicker than usual. After years of silence, he had finally said something. A taunt. I could feel his gaze on me, waiting for a reaction.
But I had no answer, none that would change anything anyway. So instead of speaking, I kept my eyes outside the window. The world beyond the glass was dark, but it felt easier to look at the darkness outside than to face him sitting beside me.
I was lost in my thoughts when the car suddenly came to a stop. The engine was turned off, and the lights went out, leaving the inside of the car dim and quiet. Without a word, he opened his door and stepped out.
She hesitated for a moment, but he did not look back. Slowly, she stepped out of the car, struggling with the weight of her heavy lehenga. Her eyes lifted and fell upon a huge, dark structure standing in front of her.
A mansion.
It was enormous, barely visible under faint lights. Tall windows stretched across its walls, hinting at massive rooms hidden inside. The place looked grand, intimidating, and completely unfamiliar. It belonged to him, a man she barely knew.
He walked ahead with confidence, his steps firm and quick, while Aarvi followed behind, moving like a zombie, carefully managing her lehenga with each step.
He stopped at the entrance of the house.
Why did he stop? Aarvi wondered, her brows knitting together in confusion.
She reached the entrance just as she was about to step inside when his mother stopped her and asked her to wait there.
Oh God, what does she want now? I am completely exhausted, Aarvi thought, rolling her eyes inwardly.
Then realization struck her.
She was standing beside him.
She stole a glance at Vivan. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.
His eyes were dark, filled with something unreadable.
Anger radiated off him in a silent, furious way.
He did not look at her, his gaze fixed straight ahead, but every muscle in his body seemed tense, as if he was holding himself back from exploding.
Deep down, she knew that much of that anger was probably directed at her.
“Okay, so now we have to do your grahpravesh,” his mother said, breaking Aarvi’s chain of thoughts.
“What?” Vivan snapped, his brows furrowing in both surprise and anger.
Without waiting for another word, he walked inside the house.
“Bhai, you cannot-” Prisha tried to stop him, but one sharp, aggressive look from him was enough to silence her.
She turned toward Aarvi, who was still standing at the entrance, completely clueless about his sudden behavior.
Then his deep voice echoed from inside the house.
“This marriage means nothing to me. Doing these rituals is just a waste of time, for me and for her. Nothing else.”
His words were hard and unfiltered.
Aarvi stood alone outside the door, humiliation creeping under her skin. She felt small, exposed, and painfully aware of her place.
He did not care about this fake wedding.
Neither did she.