CHAPTER 10 （mahi）
Everything was going surprisingly well.
Aryan was standing in front of me, trapped in yet another conversation with a man whose name I neither knew nor cared to know.
The two of them continued discussing something business-related while I stood quietly behind him.
At some point, I leaned against the counter.
My social battery had officially entered critical condition.
A few moments later, the man finally left.
Thank God.
Aryan released a breath as if he had been holding it the entire conversation.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
"What?" I asked.
His mouth twitched.
"Are you getting bored?"
I stared at him.
"Are you?"
Without answering, he grabbed another glass from the counter.
Then, in one sip, finished the entire thing.
My eyebrows rose.
Well.
That answered the question.
I crossed my arms.
"That is exactly why I don't attend parties."
Aryan placed the empty glass back on the counter.
"Right choice."
For a moment, I looked at him through the corner of my eye.
Interesting.
The great Aryan Rathore hated parties too.
I felt strangely validated.
"Yes," I said, nodding seriously.
"Indeed."
For the first time that evening, a genuine sm
A small one.
Gone almost immediately.
But I saw it.
Unfortunately, before I could investigate further, another group of people started making their way toward us.
My soul left my body.
Without realizing it, I took a small step closer to Aryan.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Unfortunately, he pretended not to.
A couple was approaching us.
Wonderful.
A couple meant conversation.
And conversation meant I had to use my social skills.
Which were currently operating on emergency backup power.
As they came closer, I found myself studying them.
The woman couldn't have been older than her mid-twenties.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Confident.
The man beside her looked considerably older.
Not old.
Just older.
Perhaps mid-thirties.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The woman smiled warmly.
Yet something about it felt rehearsed.
Her eyes didn't match the smile.
I smiled back with equal professionalism.
We understood each other immediately.
The husband greeted Aryan while the woman turned toward me.
She extended her hand.
"I'm Emilia."
I shook it.
"Mahi."
Her smile widened.
"So what do you do, Mahi?"
A pause.
"Do you work, or do you stay at home like me?"
I caught the brief glance she threw toward her husband.
Then the way he looked at her from the corner of his eye.
Interesting.
Again.
Very interesting.
I smiled politely.
"I'm a surgeon."
For a moment, Emilia simply stared.
Then her eyebrows shot up.
"Impressive."
I laughed softly.
It depends on the day."
She smiled.
This time it seemed slightly more genuine.
"I could never do that."
"Trust me," I said, "some days neither can I."
To my surprise, she laughed.
A real laugh.
Not the practiced one she'd been using all evening.
For the first time since she'd approached us, her smile reached her eyes.
And suddenly, she looked much younger.
Much happier.
Interesting.
Maybe this party wasn't completely unbearable after all.
To my surprise, the conversation with Emilia wasn't terrible.
We talked about her interest in interior design.
She asked about my work.
I told her a few safe stories from the hospital.
Nothing graphic.
Nothing that would ruin her evening.
She laughed.
I laughed.
For a brief moment, I almost forgot I was at a party.
Almost.
Eventually, Emilia and her husband excused themselves and moved on.
I released a quiet breath.
Mission accomplished.
Social interaction completed successfully.
Then I looked up.
And immediately regretted it.
Another couple was heading in our direction.
No.
Absolutely not.
I had already used my entire word quota for the day.
I turned toward Aryan.
He followed my gaze.
Then looked at the approaching couple.
Then back at me.
His mouth twitched.
He knew.
"I am going to the restroom."
Aryan raised an eyebrow.
"Are you?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Urgently."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
I narrowed my eyes.
"This is not funny."
"It is a little funny."
I ignored him.
"Good luck."
Aryan sighed.
The kind of sigh a soldier might release before walking into battle.
Then he nodded.
"Go."
I didn't need to be told twice.
Turning around, I immediately headed toward the hallway.
My heels clicked softly against the polished floor.
The further I got from the crowd, the lighter I felt.
Finally.
Peace.
Silence.
No conversations.
No introductions.
No questions about my life.
No strangers.
I pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside.
For the first time that evening, I was completely alone.
Or so I thought.
A familiar voice drifted through the restroom.
Immediately, my shoulders tensed.
Kavya.
She was talking to someone.
Probably a friend.
I had no intention of listening.
Unfortunately, the next sentence caught my attention.
"So who is Aryan's wife?"
My hand froze on the door.
Interesting.
Why were they talking about me?
The sound of running water filled the restroom.
Then Kavya answered.
"The one in the red dress."
A pause.
"The beautiful one."
Her friend hummed.
"She is beautiful."
I could practically hear Kavya rolling her eyes.
"Please."
A bitter laugh followed.
"Her beauty is just a mask for her plans."
My eyebrows pulled together.
Plans?
What plans?
Her friend seemed just as confused.
"What plans?"
Thank you.
At least someone had asked the correct question.
Kavya lowered her voice dramatically.
"She planned everything."
I nearly snorted.
That was impressive.
Considering I had spent most of my life reacting to disasters rather than planning hem
"Her sister ran away."
"And suddenly she becomes the replacement bride of the Rathore family."
I blinked.
Replacement bride.
What a lovely title.
Maybe I should print it on a business card.
Her friend gasped softly.
"You think she did that on purpose?"
"Of course."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Kavya continued.
"Then she shows up wearing that dress."
I looked down at my wine-red gown.
A smile almost appeared on my face.
Here we go.
"She wore it to get Aryan's attention."
This time I did roll my eyes.
Hard.
Very hard.
I didn't spend an hour getting ready for anyone else's approval.
I dressed for myself.
Always had.
Always would.
If other people liked it, that was their business.
Not mine.
Unfortunately, Kavya didn't seem interested in facts.
Her friend lowered her voice.
"Okay, tell me one more thing."
I reached for the doorknob.
I had heard enough.
I didn't care what Kavya thought about me.
I didn't care what stories she had invented.
But then her next question stopped me.
"Why does she always wear full sleeves?"
My hand froze.
The smile disappeared from my face.
A strange feeling settled in my stomach.
Why were they talking about that?
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then a bitter laugh escaped Kavya.
"I've heard stories about her."
Something inside me tightened.
My fingers curled around the doorknob.
"What stories?" her friend asked eagerly.
Kavya lowered her voice further.
"I heard her mother deliberately threw hot water on her."
The world stopped.
My breath caught in my throat.
No.
No.
My fingers began to tremble.
"Why?" her friend whispered.
"Because she hated her."
Every muscle in my body locked.
The restroom suddenly felt too small.
Too hot.
Too suffocating.
My heartbeat pounded against my ribs.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Louder.
Louder.
Louder.
I couldn't hear anything else.
Not the running water.
Not the music outside.
Not even my own breathing.
Just those words.
Because she hated her.
The doorknob slipped slightly beneath my shaking hand.
My throat tightened painfully.
That wasn't what happened.
It wasn't.
But hearing those words spoken so casually felt like someone had reached into an old wound and torn it open again.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
For a second, all I could see was a hospital room.
White walls.
The smell of antiseptic.
Tears.
Voices.
Blame.
Guilt.
"Mahi."
"Aarushi."
"Mom."
The memories crashed into me all at once.
I forced myself to inhale.
Then exhale.
Again.
Again.
Trying desperately to steady my breathing.
Trying desperately not to fall apart.
Outside the stall, Kavya kept talking.
Completely unaware that every word was landing like a knife.
Kavya laughed.
A cruel, careless sound.
"Imagine that."
Another laugh.
"Being hated by your own mother."
My breathing turned uneven.
Too fast.
Much too fast.
The walls suddenly felt closer.
The air felt heavier.
I couldn't get enough of it into my lungs.
Beside her, her friend sounded uncomfortable.
"I think we should go."
For once, I agreed with her.
A second later, the restroom door opened and closed.
Silence.
With shaking fingers, I pushed open the stall door.
My legs felt weak.
I made my way toward the sink and gripped its edge.
Hard.
My reflection stared back at me.
Perfect hair.
Perfect makeup.
Perfect dress.
Everything looked normal.
So why did it feel like I was falling apart?
My chest tightened painfully.
She was hated by her own mother.
The words repeated again.
And again.
And again.
"No."
I shook my head.
"Stop."
But my mind refused to listen.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto my wrists.
It didn't help.
The pressure behind my eyes continued to build.
I needed to leave.
Now.
I didn't care about the party.
I didn't care about appearances.
I didn't care who got offended.
I wanted to go home.
The thought repeated itself over and over.
Home.
I pushed myself away from the sink and walked out of the restroom.
The hallway seemed too bright.
Too loud.
Too crowded.
I kept my head down as I walked.
Don't cry.
Not here.
Not in front of these people.
My eyes searched the crowd automatically.
Aryan.
Nowhere.
Good.
Because if anyone asked whether I was okay, I wasn't sure I could answer.
I walked faster.
Past the guests.
Past the music.
Past the laughter.
Until I finally stepped outside the mansion.
Cold night air brushed against my skin.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.
One breath.
Then another.
Trying to hold together the pieces that felt dangerously close to breaking apart.
My eyes scanned the crowd.
Then landed on a familiar face.
Black hair.
Brown eyes.
Ekaansh.
Relief washed over me.
Without wasting another second, I walked straight toward him.
He was looking at his phone when I stopped in front of him.
"Ekaansh."
He immediately looked up.
"Yes, bhabhi?"
I swallowed.
"Can you take me home?"
His eyebrows furrowed slightly.
A pause.
Then he stood up.
"Of course."
His gaze lingered on my face.
"What happened?"
I forced myself to meet his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Everything happened.
"I am fine."
The lie felt bitter on my tongue.
"I just want to go home."
For a moment, it looked like he wanted to ask another question.
Instead, he simply nodded.
"Okay."
A few minutes later, he opened the back door of the car for me.
I slipped inside.
The familiar scent of leather filled my lungs.
Usually, I liked it.
Today it felt suffocating.
Ekaansh climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The car pulled away from the mansion.
Silence filled the space between us.
I stared out of the window.
My foot bounced restlessly against the floor.
The words refused to leave my head.
She was hated by her own mother.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Why was it so hot?
I tugged at the sleeve of my dress.
My chest felt tight.
Too tight.
I leaned forward slightly.
"Ekaansh."
His eyes immediately found mine through the rearview mirror.
"Yes?"
"Why is it so hot in here?"
Confusion crossed his face.
"The AC is on."
I looked around the car.
Then back at him.
"Then why is it so hot?"
A flicker of concern appeared in his eyes.
Something told me he was starting to realize this wasn't about the temperature.
"Open the window," he said gently.
"If it helps."
The window.
Right.
I shifted closer and lowered it immediately.
Cold night air rushed inside.
The wind tangled my hair and brushed against my skin.
For a moment, my muscles relaxed.
Only for a moment.
Because the tightness in my chest remained.
The pressure behind my eyes remained.
And no matter how much cold air filled my lungs, those words refused to leave my head.
The car stopped outside the mansion.
Before Ekaansh could get out and open the door for me, I pushed it open myself.
The cool night air hit my face.
I turned toward him.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something.
Ask something.
But he didn't.
And for that, I was grateful.
I didn't have the energy to explain.
The engine started again.
A few seconds later, the car disappeared down the driveway.
The moment it was gone, I hurried inside.
Up the stairs.
Down the corridor.
Past doors and paintings I normally noticed.
Tonight, I noticed nothing.
I reached my room and pushed the door shut behind me.
The click echoed through the silence.
Then the words returned.
Her mother threw water on her deliberately.
My hands started shaking.
Violently.
I pressed a hand against my chest.
Trying to steady my breathing.
Trying to steady myself.
It didn't work.
My lungs burned.
My throat tightened.
My vision blurred.
She was hated by her own mother.
"No."
The whisper broke from my lips.
"No."
My knees gave out.
I slid to the floor.
The cold marble pressed against my skin.
For a second, I simply sat there.
Staring at nothing.
Finally alone.
No guests.
No smiles.
No pretending.
No one watching.
The dam broke.
A sob tore its way out of my chest.
Then another.
And another.
Tears spilled down my face faster than I could wipe them away.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
As if I could somehow hold the pieces together.
But I couldn't.
Not tonight.
Tonight, every word hurt.
Every memory hurt.
Every old wound felt fresh again.
The room filled with the sound of my crying.
And for the first time in years, I let myself cry without trying to stop it.