CHAPTER III PROPHESIED SUCCESSIONS
The first light of morning spilled through the gauzy curtains like guilt itself - soft, golden, cruel.
Tara Kapoor sat at the edge of her bed, her spine stiff, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white.
Her lipstick was smudged at the corners.
Her heartbeat wouldn't shut up - it thudded against her ribs like a criminal begging to confess.
On the other side of the room, Ishaani Rajvanshi was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair tangled, still wearing yesterday's kurta with faint traces of marks on her neck.
Her lips were split from the force of the kiss.
Her cheeks still flushed, eyes full of the same dazed happiness that kids have after their first rollercoaster - dizzy, disbelieving, desperate for another ride.
Neither spoke. The silence was an open wound.
Tara swallowed first. Her throat ached with the truth she didn't want to say.
"This-" she started, voice breaking once, then hardening like ice. "-this was a mistake."
Ishaani's smile, the one that had been clinging weakly to her lips, vanished in an instant.
Her brows knitted, eyes flickering with confusion, like someone waking up from a dream to find the bed cold.
"What?"
Tara turned away, her jaw tight. "It shouldn't have happened. Last night- I wasn't thinking straight."
"Oh, of course," Ishaani's tone was half laugh, half disbelief. "You weren't thinking straight. Great. So what, Tara? You accidentally kissed me for ten whole minutes? You accidentally held me like I was your goddamn oxygen?"
"Ishaani-" Tara hissed, standing, her composure cracking just slightly. "Don't-"
"Don't what? Don't call it what it was? Don't feel? Because that's what you're doing, right? You're un-feeling everything that happened. Just wiping it off like smudged lipstick."
Tara's face flickered - guilt, rage, desire, fear - a kaleidoscope of contradictions. "You don't understand what this could mean," she said through gritted teeth. "You're Vedika's sister, for god's sake. You're nine years younger. Do you even realize what people would-"
"Oh fuck people!" Ishaani barked, taking a step closer. "I don't care about them! I care about you!"
Tara flinched at that - not because she didn't want to hear it, but because it made her heart throb like a bruise.
Ishaani's voice cracked now. "You kissed me, Tara.
You. And for the first time in forever I felt like the world made sense, like all that pain, all those stupid nights punching walls, meant something.
And now you're saying it was a mistake?"
Tara's eyes flashed. "Because it was!" she yelled, almost convincing herself. "It was impulsive, and-"
"And what? You're afraid you'll lose your perfect reputation? Your icy goddess act?" Ishaani was trembling now, her fists clenched. "You always do this! You pull me in like gravity, and then- when I'm too close- you push me away because it's easier to pretend!"
Tara's lip trembled, but she said nothing.
"You know what's funny?" Ishaani said, her voice suddenly low, dangerous. "I've spent years trying to be good enough for you. I thought maybe one day, you'd look at me like I wasn't just Vedika's annoying little sister. But no- you just had to make me fall, and then tell me it was wrong."
"I never meant to make you fall," Tara whispered.
"Then why the hell did you catch me?" Ishaani shot back.
Tara's eyes darted to her- and in that single glance, Ishaani saw everything Tara was trying to bury: longing, love, fear, shame, want.
Ishaani took another step, tears gathering but her voice still steady.
"You say it was a mistake, fine. But then own it. Look me in the eyes and tell me you felt nothing. Tell me that kiss meant nothing. Tell me I was just- practice. A slip-up."
Tara's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her throat was sandpaper.
She couldn't say it. She couldn't lie.
So Ishaani laughed - that broken, hollow kind of laugh that hurts your ribs. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
She brushed past her, eyes burning, and reached for the door. Tara grabbed her wrist instinctively - but Ishaani tore free, her voice shaking.
"Don't. Don't touch me if you're just gonna pretend it never happened."
The door slammed behind her like a gunshot.
Tara stood there, shaking, her hand still suspended midair, feeling the ghost of Ishaani's warmth on her fingers. Her reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger - lipstick smeared, eyes glassy, chest heaving.
And for the first time in her perfect, controlled life, Tara Kapoor whispered the truth to the empty room.
"I think this is for the best...."
___________
When Ishaani Rajvanshi lost her temper, the world usually scattered for cover.
But this time-this time-the universe stayed silent, offering no warning.
She had punched walls, cracked her knuckles, screamed into pillows until her throat burned-yet nothing, nothing could shake the ghost of Tara Kapoor's kiss.
The taste, the heat, that relentless ache.
Whenever her eyes closed, Tara's trembling lip haunted her, her hesitant voice echoing, "It was a mistake." A mistake-and like that, Ishaani's love felt reduced to a typo.
So, what did Ishaani do? Like any emotionally barricaded, heartbreak-worn twenty-something with abs and repressed feelings, she ceased trying to feel.
She went out. She drank. She flirted. She smiled with deliberate intent. And when the next woman leaned in, Ishaani didn't hesitate. She didn't think-she simply let her.
If the universe insisted on making her a fool, then she'd be a beautiful one.
The first Diwali party of the week was at the Thakkar estate-lit lanterns, laughter, and cheap champagne.
Ishaani arrived, clad in black silk, eyes sharpened with eyeliner, a smirk that didn't quite reach her soul.
As she entered, the crowd parted-the whispers of her name like scandal's secret, some longing to become her, others eager to see her fall.
And somewhere near the bar, Tara Kapoor froze.
Tara was glowing in gold that night, elegance wrapped around her like a second skin, sipping her drink as if every night since the kiss hadn't been a spiral into overthinking. She'd insisted Ishaani was just a mistake-an impulsive slip of proximity and weakness.
Then she saw her walk in.
That low-cut dress. That unapologetic swagger. An energy that demanded worship without asking for validation.
Tara's heart plummeted-straight into her champagne.
Because Ishaani didn't even glance her way. She was laughing, talking with someone else-a woman with long red nails and a laugh that was too loud, too familiar. Ishaani tilted her head, whispered something into her ear. The woman giggled.
Tara's jaw clenched, her nails digging into her palm.
Ishaani knew she was watched. Of course she did-she could feel Tara's gaze like static on her skin. So, she leaned closer to the woman-what was her name again?-and smiled as if she was fine, as if she hadn't been crying herself to sleep for nights.
If Tara could pretend nothing had happened, so could she.
And the night became a game-a silent war.
Ishaani hadn't started it-Tara had, with her passive-aggressive stares, her feigned laughter when others watched. But Ishaani finished it. Every time Tara looked, Ishaani was already looking back, chin raised, eyes daring her to react.
By the second party, it escalated. Different woman, different saree-same piercing look in Tara's eyes, professing how dare you.
How dare she move on.
How dare she find someone new.
How dare she kiss another mouth when Tara's still tingly against her own.
Tara watched Ishaani dance with strangers, touch their arms, lean in close, laugh-feeling a claw of envy, guilt, longing inside her. Her pulse quickened, her breath hitched, her mind screamed, "Stop it. You're humbling yourself." But her heart whispered, "She's mine."
By the third night, Tara had stopped pretending it didn't bother her. Every glance, every passing scent of Ishaani's perfume, every memory of her confession-"You were my cathedral, Tara didi"-kept her tormented.
And Ishaani-oh, she was spiraling too.
Every meaningless kiss, every fleeting touch, every stranger's laugh didn't soothe her; it only hollowed her further. She'd go home, wash her face, stare at her reflection, whispering, "Why can't you hate her?" Yet, even her anger batttered back into devotion.
So she'd put on her dress, her heels, and go out again.
Because pain was easier to bear when the lights were flashing and someone else's lips were on yours.
And Tara watched it all-helpless, furious, utterly undone.
The same woman who once ruled every room now couldn't take her eyes off the girl she'd sworn to forget.
The universe, as usual, loved its drama.
But behind closed doors, the truth was simpler.
Ishaani wasn't moving on.
And Tara wasn't letting go.
They were just two idiots orbiting each other like doomed stars-too close to coexist, too proud to collide.
The chandelier above sparkled like gossip on someone's lips.
Jazz hummed softly in the background, while smoke and perfume curled through the air like snakes slipping through shadows.
Tara was draped in a black saree-clinging tight as a dare.
Hair pinned back with precision, eyes rimmed thick with kohl that hinted at fire, not restraint. She was all sharpness and venom.
Across the marble floor, her gaze caught Ishaani's. Her Ishaani. But she wasn't hers anymore, was she?
Ishaani stood in an olive-green dress, her hair piled lazily in a bun, sleeves rolled up to reveal bruised knuckles-yet the smile on her lips was the same dangerous one that once stole Tara's breath, now directed at someone else.
Beside her, a tall, confident woman laughed too loudly, her hand boldly resting on Ishaani's waist. Tara's pulse spiked, fierce and uncontrollable.
Every nerve in Tara's body screamed-Mine.
And still she stood there, watching.
Lips clenched, a manicured nail tapping her champagne glass, she thought bitterly, "At least pick someone who doesn't look like a half-hearted copy of me."
The woman whispered something in Ishaani's ear, making her blush-the same flush that used to ignite Tara's own heart.
Enough.
The thread snapped.
She tore through the crowd, heels clicking sharply, cutting through the bass like gunfire. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Tara Kapoor moved like fury incarnate-beautiful, furious, divine.
She stopped behind Ishaani, close enough that her warm breath brushed her neck.
Ishaani froze, shoulders stiffening, eyes darting like prey sensing the predator's presence.
Tara's hand hovered, then settled lightly on Ishaani's shoulder, fingers brushing her neck-a whisper of a touch that felt like a chokehold. Ishaani jolted.
Tara's voice was calm, venomous:
"So this is who's keeping you entertained lately?"
The tall woman blinked, awkwardly polite. "Uh-we were just-"
"Dancing? Flirting? I don't know what you call it these days."
Tara tilted her head, a razor's edge in her smile. "I like my women in six-inch heels, not six feet of delusion."
The woman stiffened, confused, offended-uncertain if Tara's words were a compliment or an insult. But Ishaani knew. She felt it.
Tara leaned in, whispering only for Ishaani, her voice low and sharp:
"How quickly you find replacements, huh, Rajvanshi? I almost admire the efficiency."
Ishaani's jaw clenched, her voice trembling:
"You said it was a mistake, Tara. I'm just-moving on."
Tara chuckled, cold and humorless.
"Moving on?"
She laughed again, darker this time. "No. You're performing. And badly."
And then-without a word-Tara seizes Ishaani's wrist. The room's eyes fixate on them as she yanks her away from the crowd. The masc woman begins to protest, but Tara's burning glare silences her mid-step.
Down the hallway they storm-Tara dragging Ishaani like a storm carrying lightning, unstoppable.
"Let me go!" Ishaani snaps, twisting free.
Tara turns, fire boiling from her pores. "Let go? You've been begging for my attention since you started flaunting your fools' gold in front of me!"
"Because you won't talk to me, Tara!" Ishaani's voice cracks. "You kiss me then call it a mistake, and somehow expect me to kneel at your feet again-the way a disciple waits for mercy?"
Tara's face flickers-just a flicker-then the vulnerability vanishes instantly.
"Don't flatter yourself, Ishaani. You're not that special."
"Then why do you look like you're about to kill every woman I touch?"
Silence. Heavy, painful silence.
Tara turns away, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, her heart pounding so loud it echoes. She's unraveling, her composure melting like wax.
Ishaani-knuckles bruised, eyes glassy, chin stubborn-sees it. Feels it. The pain, the jealousy, the love Tara hides behind a fortress of pride.
She smirks-just a little.
"What's wrong, Tara Kapoor? Not used to seeing your Reverend worship another cathedral?"
And that's it. Tara's restraint shatters.
She steps forward, seizes Ishaani's jaw with both hands-the rings pressing into her skin-and crashes her lips onto hers. It's not gentle; it's not soft. It's war. A punishment. A prayer.
Ishaani gasps, tries to push away, fists clutching Tara's saree. The world blurs-the shattering of champagne flutes echoes from afar. Nothing exists but the burn-possession, heartbreak, two women too proud to say they love each other.
For a moment-just a moment-the chaos pauses. Tara forgets everything-the guilt, the noise.
Because Ishaani Rajvanshi is kissing her back like she's finally home.
Tara's hand is the first thing Ishaani feels-cool, trembling, furious.
One palm slides up from Ishaani's wrist to the inside of her arm, pushing her back until her spine hits the hallway wall.
The other hand catches her jaw, thumb beneath her chin, fingers splayed like a claim she's not allowed to make.
Her anger lives in her grip: too firm, too desperate, the sort of touch that says I hate that I still want you. Every muscle in Tara's body is drawn tight; even her breath sounds weaponized.
Ishaani, stubborn even with her back to the marble, tilts her chin higher instead of shrinking. That challenge-the tiny spark of defiance-breaks the last hinge on Tara's restraint.
The kiss lands like collision.
Not gentle, not slow.
A crash of heat and confusion and all the words they never said.
Tara's hand moves from Ishaani's jaw to the side of her throat, thumb tracing the pulse there as if to say don't you dare stop me now.
Her other hand fists in the fabric near Ishaani's shoulder, dragging her closer, closer, until the air between them burns away.
Ishaani's fingers clutch at the edge of Tara's saree, trying to hold on, trying not to. Tara tastes like fury and clove, lipstick smearing across both their mouths. It's dominance, yes-but born of heartbreak, not cruelty.
Then, just as suddenly, Tara jerks back.
The sound she makes isn't a sigh, it's a choke. Her chest heaves; her lipstick is wrecked; her pupils are blown wide like she's seen a ghost-herself, maybe.
Ishaani's head falls against the wall, dazed. Breath ragged. There's the faint outline of Tara's fingers on her arm, a pink echo of where that anger lived.
For a long moment they just stare-Tara still shaking, Ishaani still catching her breath. The hallway hums with the music and the danger of what they've done.
Tara whispers, voice frayed and terrified:
"What did we just do, Ishaani?"
And Ishaani, still breathless, still staring at her like she's sunlight and ruin, can only laugh once-low, bitter, dizzy.
"Exactly what you were dying to, Tara Kapoor."
"No Ishaani"