Cursed

Chapter 11

Shanti had been fussing over Yug for a while, making sure his wound was cleaned properly and he had water to drink. Finally, when she was convinced he was stable enough, Rajnath instructed Rudra to take him to one of the guest rooms.

The long corridor was quiet as the two young men walked side by side. Yug’s steps were slower than usual, his head still aching faintly from the earlier injury. Rudra, surprisingly, didn’t tease him this time. He kept pace with him, his usual mischievous grin absent.

When they reached the guest room, Rudra pushed the door open and gestured him inside.

“Yahan tum araam se reh sakte ho. Agar kuch bhi chahiye ho to bol dena. Mera room corner me hi hai.”

Yug blinked at him, caught off guard by the unusually civil tone. He turned around with a slight smirk tugging his lips.

“Arre… aaj tumhari zubaan pe itna kaabu kaise hai, huh? Kya baat hai, Rudra Rathore ne ek din me itni tameez sikh li hai , impressive?”

Rudra leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Bas yuhi…tameez se bolne pe agar tum mera naam itne pyaar se loge toh kya harz hai,” he said smoothly

Yug scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Acha? Suno… agar mujhe zarurat bhi hogi na kisi cheez ki, tab bhi main tumhe nahi bulaunga. So don’t worry, aur ab jao. Have a good sleep.”

With that, Yug pushed the door shut in his face.

For a second, Rudra just stared at the closed door. And then, slowly, a smile spread across his lips. Not his usual mocking smirk, but something softer, almost intrigued. He chuckled under his breath and shook his head, turning on his heels to head toward his own room at the corner.

“Tikhi mirchi,” he whispered to himself, the word tasting oddly sweet on his tongue.

.........

The pale morning light seeped through the heavy curtains of the Rathore mansion, painting long, muted lines across the marble floor.

The silence of the room was almost haunting, broken only by the faint ticking of an antique clock on the wall.

On the enormous bed, draped in dark sheets, Aariv stirred. His eyelashes fluttered, his breathing uneven as consciousness returned. For a brief moment, he lay still, his body warm beneath the heavy blanket. But thenlike a cruel wave memories from the night before rushed back to him.

The chanting.

The circle.

The men.

The suffocating fear.

And then him.

That unfamiliar yet terrifyingly powerful man with burning eyes, who had pulled him from the circle. Who had smeared vermillion in his hairline. Who had kissed him before everyone, claiming him in ways Aariv couldn’t even process.

Aariv’s eyes shot open wide. He gasped and immediately sat upright, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

The unfamiliar ceiling loomed over him, high and carved with dark wooden beams. His gaze darted around the lavish room, the polished furniture, the deep shades of crimson and black that made the space both grand and suffocating.

“Where…?” he whispered shakily, his voice almost lost in the stillness.

Panic clawed at his chest. He pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge, trying to stand, his knees trembling. His breath came out in shallow gasps. He didn’t belong here. He shouldn’t be here.

The door creaked.

Aariv froze, his wide doe-like eyes snapping toward it.

And then he saw him.

Veeransh stepped inside with the authority of someone who owned not just the room, but the air in it.

He was already dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit hugging his tall, broad frame.

His hair was slicked back neatly, his sharp jawline shadowed by faint stubble.

Every inch of him radiated control, danger, and something unspoken that made Aariv’s throat run dry.

Their eyes met.

Aariv’s breath hitched. He remembered the vermillion falling down the bridge of his nose, the crushing grip on his waist, the bruising kiss that had left his lips tingling.

He remembered the way those same eyes burning, unrelenting had looked into him as though sealing his fate.

Now those same eyes were on him again.

Veeransh said nothing at first. He only closed the door softly behind him and began walking towards the bed.

His gait was slow, measured, each step deliberate.

He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t need to. His presence itself filled the room, leaving Aariv nowhere to hide.

Aariv’s pulse thundered in his ears.

His instinct screamed at him to move back, to put distance between them.

He stumbled a step away, then another, retreating until his legs hit the edge of the bed frame.

He turned slightly, his eyes darting toward the wall as if searching for escape, but there was none.

Veeransh kept coming closer. His tall figure loomed until the faint morning light caught in his eyes, making them look darker, sharper.

Aariv’s back finally hit the cold wall. His breath trembled. His small hands clutched the fabric of his shirt near his chest as though to shield himself.

“Don’t…” the word escaped his lips in a broken whisper, barely audible.

Veeransh stopped a step away, close enough that Aariv could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet far enough not to touch. His gaze lowered slowly to the boy’s trembling lips pressed tightly together, to the way his eyelashes quivered as his eyes squeezed shut.

Aariv’s lips trembled. He shut his eyes tighter, waiting no, bracing for the inevitable. His chest heaved, and his whole body shook against the wall.

For a long moment, silence stretched.

Veeransh’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.

The memory of last night’s kiss flashed in his mind the softness of those lips, the innocence of their taste, the way the boy had melted in his hold for a single breath before collapsing.

The hunger to claim him again roared inside Veeransh’s chest.

But he forced it down.

Instead, his voice came out low, commanding, yet restrained.

“Go. Fresh up. Kapde rakhe hai washroom mein.”

The words cut through the silence. Aariv’s eyes opened slowly, startled. For the first time since Veeransh had entered, he dared to look at him properly confused, frightened, but also strangely disarmed.

Veeransh didn’t linger. He took a single step back, his eyes still locked on the boy.

His restraint was almost visible, like chains holding down a beast.

Aariv blinked rapidly.

He hadn’t expected that. His breath shook again, but this time from disbelief.

Slowly, without uttering a word, he slid sideways, his eyes lowered to the ground.

His bare feet padded across the polished floor until he reached the washroom door.

His hand fumbled with the handle. He didn’t dare glance back not once.

The heat of Veeransh’s gaze burned at the back of his neck, yet he couldn’t look at him.

The moment the door closed behind him, Aariv leaned against it heavily. His chest was rising and falling, his eyes wide as though he had just survived something. He pressed a hand to his lips still remembering the roughness of last night’s kiss and then to his waist, remembering that bruising grip.

Inside the room, Veeransh finally moved.

He turned, his gaze lingering on the shut washroom door.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes betrayed the storm inside him.

He walked slowly toward the sofa and sat down heavily, resting his elbows on his knees.

His fingers curled into his palms, nails digging into skin.

His gaze remained fixed on the door, as though waiting for the boy to come out.

For Veeransh Rathore, patience was foreign.

Yet here he was, chained by something greater than himself the pull of destiny Harinarayan had spoken of, the helplessness of knowing he couldn’t keep himself away, no matter how hard he tried.

Inside the washroom

Aariv's heart hadn’t slowed since the moment his eyes had met Veeransh’s out there.

That gaze… those eyes that burned like fire yet remained cold as steel.

Last night’s flashes burned behind his eyelids the sudden rituals, the heavy voice declaring voice, the hand gripping his wrist, the shocking press of lips that stole his breath and innocence in the same heartbeat.

He felt his chest tighten painfully.

“I....I can’t…

I can’t do this,” Aariv whispered to himself, his voice barely audible, shaking like a frightened child’s.

His palms itched as though the memory of Veeransh’s touch still lingered on them, branding him in ways he couldn’t wash off.

Almost unconsciously, his fingers lifted and brushed against his cheek, trailing down to his neck.

Then lower, stopping at the tender skin of his wrist. He froze.

A sharp sting made him flinch when his fingertips pressed there.

He turned his wrist under the bright bathroom light and gasped.

A faint purple imprint marred the otherwise fair skin Veeransh’s handprint.

The bruises stood out like dark accusations, proof of the force, the unshakable grip that had pulled him into this reality where choice no longer belonged to him.

Aariv’s lips trembled as tears blurred his vision.

He bit them hard, trying not to sob aloud.

The last thing he wanted was for Veeransh or anyone in this mansion to hear his weakness.

Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, clutching his wrist close to his chest as though protecting it from further hurt.

It burned. Not the skin alone, but something deeper.

Something fragile inside him that had cracked last night.

His mind replayed the way Veeransh had looked at him with possessive, dark, as if Aariv had been claimed without question, without consent.

His own helplessness boiled within him, mixing fear with an unfamiliar ache.

Shaking his head, Aariv rose and stumbled toward the mirror.

He had to see himself, to ground himself.

The reflection staring back was almost unrecognizable.

His usually neat curls were messy, falling over his forehead.

His eyes were red from lack of sleep, lashes clumped with tears.

But what made his breath catch was not the bruises, not the fear etched on his face it was the streak of bright red in his hairline.

His trembling fingers rose slowly. They hovered for a moment before finally touching the vermillion smeared there, the sindoor that Veeransh’s own hand had put into his parting last night.

His entire body shuddered.

The red powder clung stubbornly to his skin, refusing to be brushed away.

It mocked him, burned him with its meaning. Married. Bound. Owned.

“No… no…” Aariv whispered, shaking his head violently. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand, but the faint smear only spread further across his forehead. He let out a shaky cry and pressed his palms against the cold marble counter, his tears dripping down silently.

A sob escaped Aariv before he could stop it.

He clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle it, trembling violently.

He felt like a child trapped in a nightmare that refused to end.

He slid down to the floor, curling into himself, his forehead pressed against his knees.

For a long moment, he sat there, letting his tears spill freely, silently.

Minutes passed before he forced himself up again.

He knew he couldn’t stay inside forever.

Veeransh was waiting. If he delayed too long…

Aariv didn’t want to imagine the consequences.

He wiped his face quickly, though his eyes still betrayed the storm within.

With shaking hands, he reached for the clothes folded neatly on the counter.

His fingers brushed over the fabric it was soft, expensive, and chosen carefully, Not by him.

He hesitated, staring at them. Wearing them would mean acceptance, even if silent. But what choice did he have?

His gaze flickered once more to the mirror, to the faint vermillion still shining stubbornly in his hairline, to the bruise on his wrist. He touched them both again, as if trying to convince himself they were real, not hallucinations.

They burned under his touch, constant reminders of the chain now locked around him.

Closing his eyes, Aariv whispered shakily

“Please… give me strength.” He didn’t know if he was speaking to God, to himself, or to anyone who might listen in this cruel world.

And then, with trembling movements, he began to change into the clothes provided each button, each fold of fabric a silent surrender to a life he never chose

He pressed his palm flat against the glass, staring into his own reflection.

“You don’t belong here,” he whispered. Yet the vermillion said otherwise.

The bruise said otherwise.

..........

...

The washroom door clicked softly as Aariv stepped out, his body wrapped in clothes that weren’t his, his face still betraying the storm he had tried and failed to suppress inside.

The vermillion in his hairline seemed to burn brighter under the light, mocking him with its cruel permanence.

Veeransh was waiting.

He had been standing by the window, tall and perfectly composed in his tailored suit, the morning light sharpening the cold lines of his face.

At the faint sound of the door, he turned.

Their eyes met dark, unreadable orbs locking onto wide, frightened ones.

Aariv froze in the doorway, his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if it could shield him. Every instinct screamed at him to step back into the washroom, to hide. But his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot, trembling.

Veeransh straightened and began walking towards him. Each step was measured, heavy, echoing in Aariv’s ears like a heartbeat. He stopped only when the space between them was almost suffocating, his tall frame towering over Aariv’s smaller one.

“Pura naam?” Veeransh’s voice was deep and steady.

Aariv blinked. “J… ji?”

Veer’s gaze hardened. “Tumhara pura naam?”

Aariv swallowed, his lips trembling. “Aariv… Aariv Pandey.”

For a second, Veer repeated the name under his breath, tasting it like a truth he wanted to measure. Then his expression turned to steel.

“So, Aariv,” he said firmly, “I will be honest with you.”

Aariv, without realizing, nodded. His body obeyed the command in Veer’s tone even though his mind screamed at him to resist.

Veer’s voice didn’t waver. “Kal maine jo bhi kiya vo shadi, vo claim, sab kuchh it was only to save you both. Tumhe aur tumhare dost ko bachane ke liye. Nothing else.”

Aariv’s heart stuttered. His breath caught, eyes flickering with confusion. “Save…?” he whispered, almost to himself.

Veer’s gaze sharpened on him, reading his every twitch. “You’re free from me.”

The words sliced sharper than any blade. Aariv’s throat closed as Veer continued, tone calm yet brutally cold.

“Main tumhe apni wife nahi maanta. Tum mere liye kuch nahi ho. Kal jo hua, vo ek majboori thi.”

Aariv’s chest tightened painfully. He blinked quickly, as if trying to understand the meaning behind the cruel clarity. His lips parted, but only a fragile whisper escaped.

“But… you married me. In front of everyone.You are my husband, right?”

Veer’s jaw tightened. For the first time, his eyes flickered something unreadable crossing them before vanishing. He leaned closer, his voice lowering but no softer.

“It doesn’t matter. Mujhe farak nahi padta. I don’t care, and I don’t want you.”

The words landed like blows. Aariv’s eyes welled, a sheen of tears threatening to spill. He didn’t know if it was the rejection itself or the strange ache it carried that hurt more.

Veer straightened, stepping back just enough to regain his distance. His tone was firm, merciless.

“If you want to stay here, you will. But not with me. Alag kamre mein. Mujhe apni cheeze dusre ke saath share karna pasand nahi hai. Samjhe tum?”

Aariv’s head lifted at that. The statement felt strange contradictory. He was being discarded, yet claimed at the same time. His tears fell silently down his cheeks as his heart twisted tighter.

Why… why did it hurt so much?

He should have felt relieved. This man this dangerous man was denying their marriage, releasing him. Aariv should have wanted freedom, should have been glad he wouldn’t be forced into a relationship built on fear. Yet all he could feel was a deep sadness hollowing his chest.

Maybe because the truth stood undeniable, he was married to Veeransh Rathore. No denial, no distance could change that. And the rejection from the very man who had placed sindoor in his hairline last night with such intensity that cut deeper than he could comprehend.

“Do you understand?” Veer’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.

Aariv wiped at his cheeks quickly, ashamed of his weakness. He nodded, though the motion was shaky.

But Veer wasn’t finished.

His gaze bore into Aariv’s trembling form.

“Ek baat yaad rakhna. Tum yahan safe ho. Mere ghar mein, mere logon ke saamne, tum par ungli uthane ki himmat kisi ki nahi hogi. But outside of this… Tumhe bhi pta hai kyunki ab tumahara naam mujhse jud chuka hai."

Aariv’s throat tightened painfully. The warning was clear. He was bound not by love, not by acceptance, but by the ruthless safety Veer’s shadow provided.

Why did it feel like a loss when this man claimed he didn’t want him? Why did rejection from someone he should fear feel like betrayal?

Veer finally exhaled, his jaw clenched. He turned slightly, as if to end the conversation. “Get used to this place.Tumhari zindagi ab yahin hai.”

Aariv flinched. His hands clutched at the shirt, knuckles whitening. He whispered before he could stop himself, voice cracking, “Then what am I to you…?”

Veer froze. The question hung heavy in the air. He turned slowly, his eyes darkening as they fell on the boy’s teary eyes. For a moment, something flickered across his expression conflict, irritation, maybe even a trace of guilt.

But when he spoke, his voice was like a stone. “Nothing. Tum mere kuch bhi nahi ho.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Aariv’s lips parted, but no words came. His heart crumbled under the weight of that final blow.

Veer’s gaze lingered on him for one last second before he turned sharply and walked away, the click of his shoes echoing until the door shut behind him.

Aariv stood frozen, his tears streaming freely now. His small frame looked even smaller against the vastness of the room, his hands trembling at his sides.

He felt hollow and Abandoned.

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