4 ~ Manly hands
I turned towards him and saw him grinning at me.
Oh great.
Another idiot who thinks he owns oxygen and women.
I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out.
"Not interested," I snapped, peeling his hand off me.
He looked offended as if rejecting him wasn't allowed.
He grabbed my wrist tightly.
How dare he!
My other hand instantly wrapped around a wine bottle on the counter, ready to smash it on his thick skull.
His eyes widened.
He stumbled back. "Psychopath," he hissed, emphasizing each syllable before disappearing into the crowd
I exhaled and looked for Ishika and Ina. They were already on the dance floor, hair bouncing, laughing, completely unaware of my mini war.
I was about to join them when I felt it.
A gaze piercing straight through my back.
My grip on the glass faltered slightly. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe it was just my nerves acting up.
Still...
I turned and my breath hitched.
A man stood across the room, his eyes fixed on me. Not casually. Not accidentally but intently.
My brows furrowed. Seriously?
I quickly looked away, irritation flickering inside me.
There was something else about him, something controlled, composed, and powerful. The kind of presence that didn't need to try. The kind that made people move without being told.
Which only made it worse.
But why is he staring at me like that?
I shook the thought away, forcing my attention back to my drink. Ignore him. Just ignore him.
Minutes passed but the feeling didn't go away. If anything, it grew stronger.
My patience snapped.
I turned again, this time ready to glare, to shut it down, to make it clear that I wasn't someone he could just...
My thoughts froze.
He was walking toward me, but not hesitantly.
My spine straightened instinctively. My eyes narrowed as he stopped right in front of me, up close.
He was... intimidating.
Not just because of his height or the sharpness of his features but because of the way he stood. Like he owned the space. Like he owned everything.
Who does he think he is?
I opened my mouth, ready to say something...anything but before a single word could leave me.
"Ayaan se baat karni padegi mujhe is baare mein."
(I'll have to talk to Ayaan about this.)
His voice wasn't directed at me. It slid past me like I didn't even exist.
I blinked, confused, as he shifted his attention to Ishika who was now standing behind me.
She rolled her eyes instantly. "FYI, he already knows."
Then his gaze flicked back, this time sharper.
"Oh? Does he know you brought an underage girl here as well?"
My heart dropped.
She stiffened beside me. "Kartik..."
The air had already changed.
I felt exposed. Seen in the worst possible way before I could even process it, before I could defend myself, my phone started ringing.
The sound jolted through me like a lifeline.
I look at the screen.
Papa.
Panic surged through me.
I began to run not waiting for a response as my heartbeat was loud in my ears.
I didn't stop until I reached the washroom.
I quickly answered, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Hello, Papa..."
"Chahat beta, soyi nahi abhi tak?"
(Chahat beta, haven't you slept yet?)
I closed my eyes briefly. "Bas... sone hi wali thi. I was studying, thoda late ho gaya."
(I was just about to go to sleep. I was studying, so I got a little late.)
"Kal time se ghar aa jana." He said.
(Come home on time tomorrow.)
"Hmm... kal subah aa jaungi," I replied, guilt tightening in my chest.
(Hmm... I will come tomorrow morning.)
After a few more words, the call ended.
Silence settled around me.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the washroom, ready to go back, to find Ishika but before I could take two steps a hand grabbed my arm.
My breath hitched as I was suddenly pulled forward.
"What...?!"
My words died in my throat as I was dragged down the corridor, away from the crowd, away from the noise, toward a private corner.
My heart started pounding violently. I saw he was the same man whom I had rejected a few moments ago.
"Let go...!" I tried to pull back, panic rising, but the grip only tightened.
And before I could react he pushed me inside which looked like a store room.
My brain went completely blank.
I stood up so fast the room tilted.
He was already moving toward me, that horrible casual confidence back in his posture, like this was just how things went for him.
I shoved him with both hands as hard as I could.
He stumbled, surprised more than anything.
I turned for the door but his hand caught my wrist again. Fingers like a vice, yanking me back.
I stopped pulling and turned slightly. Let him think for half a second that I was giving up.
And then I brought my heel down directly onto the top of his foot.
"Aaaahhh...you bitch."
He loosened his grip and I used that exact moment to grab his shoulder and push using his own stumbling momentum... straight into the table near the wall.
The corner caught his temple on the way down.
He hit the floor and swore, loud and sharp, and when he pressed his hand to his head his fingers had blood.
"Himmat kaise hui," I said, and my voice came out low, which surprised even me, "Bina mere marzi ke mujhe haath lagane ki."
(How dare you touch me without my consent?)
He looked up at me. The confidence is completely gone now. In its place was something uglier... wounded ego, which in men like him was somehow always more dangerous than anything else.
He looked at his blood and then reached into his pocket.
I didn't understand what I was seeing until the cloth was already on my face.
I grabbed his wrist and tried to resist. My vision had already gone soft at the edges, the room breathing in ways rooms shouldn't, but my body was still moving... still fighting because I was not going to submit.
My knee came up between his legs.
"Fuckkk..." He groaned falling on his knees.
I looked around and saw a broken ceramic vase lying.
Perfect.
I grabbed it with both hands and brought it down on the back of his head as he was trying to straighten up.
It shattered on his head.
He didn't shatter but he went down like something had been switched off. Face down on the carpet, fingers twitching slightly, a sound leaving him that was more air than anything else.
The room was tilting gently. My vision blurred. My hands were shaking.
I saw he was on the floor, bleeding and struggling to get up, and not quite managing it.
And then suddenly the door opened.
I spun toward it.
The light from the corridor cut into the room but I couldn't see the face immediately, just a silhouette, tall, completely still.
The next day Ishika told me that it was Kartik. He rescued me.
Flashback ends.
God, why on earth did it have to be this narcissistic man? Any other person could have been the groom. Why him?
I hope he doesn't recognise me.
Anyways Mukti doesn't want to marry him. She's in love with someone else. I've seen her talking to someone late at night when she thought I was asleep.
I looked at him again. Dressed in formals instead of that black suit.
He was sitting tall, his aura commanding, amber eyes piercing through the hall as they could see right through me.
My breath hitched, and I felt a strange warmth coil in my stomach. Why is he... so intense?
My fingers tightened around the tray so hard it almost hurt.
"Mukti..." My mother asked me to serve tea.
I nodded slightly and placed the tray on the table.
My palms were sweating. My feet barely moved. My heart was pounding so loudly that I was sure he could hear it through the silence.
The porcelain cups were trembling under my fingers. I offered tea to his grandmother first, then to his father, bowing politely I hoped looked natural.
Then... I turned to him. My heart was hammering violently. My hands shook uncontrollably.
Even sitting there, he radiated control. The sharp lines of his jaw, the calm weight of his stare, he looked like a man who was used to power, who didn't need to speak to make the room go silent.
I moved closer, holding the last cup. My plan was simple...spill the tea. Hot tea. Make a mess, make him hate me, make him reject me. Easy.
Except... nothing about him felt easy.
As I tilted the cup...just a little, his eyes flicked up straight into mine.
Even through the veil... that gaze hit me.
For a second, my fingers forgot how to move.
Why was he looking at me like that? Like he can see right through fabric... through lies... through me.
Before I could even complete my very well-planned accident, his hand shot forward and he gripped the cup mid-air.
Not a single drop spilled.
Damn!
He caught it, he actually caught it. Our fingers brushed just for a second but that one second... burned.
His hand was warm and strong, his eyes didn't leave mine.
It felt like he knew exactly what I was trying to do.
Great. Just perfect. He's not only handsome... he's smart too.
I pulled my hand back quickly and lowered my gaze, cursing internally.
First attempt - failed.
Everyone around seemed... pleased.
Of course, they were because Mukti was sitting quietly, head lowered, not uttering a word.
A perfect sanskaari bahu material.
His grandmother's voice broke the silence.
"Beta, tumhe kya banana pasand hai?"
(What do you like to cook, dear?)
My eyes widened slightly under the veil.
Seriously? That's the question? I rolled my eyes instantly.
Of course.
Why not ask me what detergent I use for washing clothes and what phenyl I use to clean floors?
Before I could even decide whether to answer or not, Mumma jumped in, smiling politely.
"Isse cooking bahut achhi aati hai. Dal baati bahut acchi banati hai. Bahut seedhi aur mehnati hai."
(She cooks very well. She makes dal baati really well. She's very simple and hardworking.)
I clenched my jaw.
Then she added proudly, "Isne B.Com mein masters kiya hai... par ghar ke kaam mein bhi utni hi acchi hai. Bahut shaant aur gharelu hai."
(She has completed her master's in B.Com... and she's equally good at household work. Very calm and homely.)
I almost scoffed.
Congratulations. You just described an educated maid.
My fingers tightened in my lap.
I hated this. I hated how easily girls were reduced to...cooking skills, obedience, and silence.
And Mukti...I can't deny it but she's exactly how Mother described her.
Why does she never say no?
Why does she just accept everything?
My thoughts were loud, sharp, and restless until I felt it.
His gaze on me...as if he's trying to solve a puzzle.
I stiffened. I could feel him looking at me intensely.
My toes curled.
Did he recognise me? No, that's not possible. It's been a month and why would someone like Kartik Singhaniya remember me?
Relax, Chahat. He didn't even hear a word from me that day. He just saw my face and he might have forgotten it as well by now.
And the way I'm dressed today no one can recognise me.
This lehenga, this dupatta... this whole Mukti version of me...This isn't me.
No one can guess.
Not even him.
Right?
I forced myself to breathe normally.
His grandmother spoke again.
"Bahut sharmili lag rahi hai ladki... mujhe lagta hai dono ko thoda akela baat karne dena chahiye."
(She seems very shy... I think we should let the bride and groom talk alone.)
My heart skipped.
Alone?
My stomach dropped.
This is what I wanted.
So why...why was my pulse racing like this?
Why did my palms suddenly feel cold?
Before I could even process it...he stood up. "Right. We should talk alone."
My breath hitched.
His grandmother's voice still echoes in my ears as I nod obediently and rise.
"Tum dono kamre mein jao. Aaram se baat kar lo."
(You two go into the room. Talk comfortably.)
If only she knew.
I adjust the veil slightly over my head, hiding most of my face, and turned without waiting for his response.
I can feel him behind me...measured footsteps, heavy with authority.
He walks like he owns the ground beneath him.
I led him towards the corridor to my room, my pulse steady but my mind racing. This is it. I need to convince him to reject this proposal.
The moment we stepped inside, I shut the door and then...I locked it.
The soft click echoes louder than it should.
I don't turn immediately.
But I felt his gaze behind me observing everything sharply.
He noticed when I locked the door but said nothing.
That silence... is more dangerous than any reaction.
My heartbeat stopped for a moment.
I finally turn, adjusting my veil just enough to keep my face partially hidden. I adjusted my clothes as well.
I don't know why I was so nervous.
"I was waiting for this moment for so long." My voice comes out calm and slightly husky as I pretend I'm interested in this private conversation. "To have a conversation with you alone."
And for a second, he just looks at me and something flickers in his eyes.
Confusion?
Recognition?
I can't tell.
But his gaze lingers longer than expected.
And suddenly I feel it too...that strange tension lingering in the air.
His eyes scan my posture, the way I stand and the way I hold myself.
And I know for a fraction of the second he was reminded of the girl from the club.
Me. Of course.
He shakes his head slightly, like dismissing the thought, and walks toward the bed, sitting on the edge with controlled ease as if he's not able to come to a conclusion if that was actually me or not.
Then he looked at me and waited for me to say something. Start a conversation maybe. To speak like a 'proper bride.'
But I didn't. Instead I walked toward him and deliberately sat beside him. Right next to him, close enough that our arms brush, close enough that he has to notice.
And he does.
I can see the subtle shift in his shoulders. The way his body stiffens for just a second.
He wasn't expecting that.
Good.
My veil slips slightly as I move, exposing a glimpse of my lips, the curve of my nose.
I immediately held my duppata on my head but i noticed his gaze drop for a fraction of a second at my lips then he immediately diverted his gaze.
I lean in just enough for my shoulder to press lightly against his arm and his muscles tense as he shifted a little away from me.
I glance down at his hands. I couldn't help but bite my lips...it looked strong, veiny and manly.
Without asking...I reach out, my fingers trace lightly over his veins. Warm skin beneath my touch. He froze and looked at me in surprise.
"Manly hands you've got..."
My voice lowers deliberately almost teasing and sensual.
And that's when it happened. He choked and began to cough.
It was unexpected for him.
Kartik Singhaniya ye to bas shuruaat hai
(Kartik Singhania This is just the beginning)