9 ~ Kartik Jiju
The moment my eyes landed on that mole on her waist everything snapped into place.
My jaw clenched so hard it almost hurts.
"So this was the game..." I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with disbelief and something far more dangerous...rage.
My tongue presses against the inside of my cheek as I stare at her going, my gaze turning lethal.
She pretended to be Mukti. She sat there, in her place.
A slow, burning heat spreads through my chest.
Not embarrassment but something worse.
Humiliation.
My ego doesn't bruise easily. People don't get that privilege but this random and reckless girl...had the audacity to make a fool out of me.
My instincts weren't wrong.
That's why something kept nagging at me.
That's why I kept comparing.
That's why nothing about Mukti felt right, because it was never her; it was Chahat.
My fingers twitch, like I have to physically stop myself from doing something impulsive.
Something destructive.
"Why?" I whispered under my breath, my eyes still locked on her. "Why the fuck would you do that..."
How dare she?
How dare she sit there in her sister's place?
How dare she lie to my face!
How dare she play me and now stand there like she's innocent!
My gaze hardens, turning ruthless and unforgiving.
There's a reason people call me a monster because I don't let things go.
And this...This isn't something I'll forget because now I know exactly who you are, Chahat. And I will make sure you regret every second of that stunt.
The way 'Mukti' behaved didn't match the image I had seen.
And yet I ignored it. I let it slide and let her play me.
A bitter scoff rose in my throat.
A girl fooled me.
My grip tightened further, nails digging into my palm.
Unacceptable.
My eyes shifted across the store.
My family.
Her family.
All of them standing there, talking, smiling, completely unaware of the mess standing right in front of them.
And then my gaze found her.
Mukti.
Sitting quietly, composed, and selecting clothes with her mother. She was calm and reserved.
Exactly how she should have been that day. Exactly how I expected her to be.
This was her.
Not that storm of a girl who sat in her place.
My eyes darkened.
Why did she do it?
Why did she try so hard to make me reject Mukti?
My jaw clenched harder.
And that memory, her touching my chin and making me drink water.
Looking at me like she wasn't intimidated.
Like she didn't care who I was.
A surge of anger rushed through me.
My ego burned because I don't get played. I don't get fooled and definitely not by someone like her.
I didn't think or weigh consequences. Didn't care who was watching.
My feet moved on their own straight toward the trial rooms because I needed answers.
Now.
I thought to wait for her to come out but then I didn't know what took over me. I kept my palm on the door pushing it open and the door wasn't even locked.
I pushed it open and stepped inside, shutting it behind me in one swift motion.
Only then did I look up and there she was.
Chahat.
Standing in the middle of the small space, half-turned toward the mirror, her fingers tangled behind her back as she struggled with the strings of her blouse.
For a split second everything in me stilled.
She saw me through the mirror and her hands stilled, panic flashed across her face.
She turned, "What the...?!" She gasped, instantly clutching the front of her blouse to her chest, her body going rigid.
My jaw tightened.
She looked at me angrily, "Aap kya kar rahe hain. Ye trial room hai."
(What are you doing? This is a trial room.)
The anger surged back.
I took a step forward.
"Shut up and tell me Why?" My voice came out harsher than intended. Controlled but barely. "Why did you lie to me?"
She just stared at me wide-eyed like I had lost my mind.
"Why did you sit in her place?" I pressed, my tone dropping lower, more dangerous. "Why did you do that, Chahat?"
Her name rolled off my tongue with accusation.
I push her against the wall, hard enough to still her but not enough to hurt.
Her breath catches because I'm too far gone for that.
"Ye kya..."
My hand comes up to her face, fingers gripping her jaw firmly, forcing her to look at me.
"Look at me," I ordered, my voice dropping into something colder.
For a second, she resists trying to remove my hand but my grip tightened a fraction.
My face inches closer, not soft, not gentle...just enough to invade her space, to make it impossible for her to ignore me.
"You think I wouldn't figure it out?" I ask, my voice low, controlled, but vibrating with anger beneath the surface.
My thumb presses slightly against her jaw, holding her steady.
"What the hell was your plan?" I whisper, the softness of the tone only making it more threatening. "To make a fool out of me?"
A bitter, humorless scoff escapes me.
"Congratulations," I added coldly. "You did."
"Ye aap kya bol rahe hain?" She asked clutching her blouse closer to her chest.
(what are you saying?)
I realised how close I was standing and that's when I noticed. Her shoulder...the fabric was slipping slightly revealing her skin.
The blouse was half-tied, barely holding and her fingers were gripping it tightly against her chest.
My gaze flickered instinctively before I forced it away.
A muscle in my jaw flexed.
Damn it.
The situation hit me all at once.
The proximity, the closed space, and her vulnerability but my anger was still raging beneath all of it.
I turned my face slightly, dragging a hand through my hair in frustration, exhaling sharply.
I turned, "Fix yourself. Because I'm not leaving without answers."
Silence stretched between us.
The way her chest rose and fell unevenly. I noticed how beautifully that fabric was clinging to her body like a second skin. Showing every curve and dip.
I couldn't help but notice her bare waist and the mole on her smooth pale skin.
I stepped closer again.
Her back hit the wall almost instantly. No space left between us.
My hand lifted almost on its own tilting her chin up just enough and when her eyes finally met mine...It hit again.
That same fire.
That same defiance I remembered.
"Chhodiye mujhe." She removed my hand angrily.
(Let go of me.)
She struggled in my arms pushing me away. A sharp, sudden force that I didn't expect. Her free hand pushes against my chest, her body twisting just enough to break the hold I had on her balance, and before I can tighten my grip again, she jerks her wrist back.
My brows pull together, irritation already rising again as I watch her rub her wrist slowly, her fingers brushing over the skin where I held her.
She looked at me, "Aap ke andar itni si bhi sharam nahi hai, main yaha change kar rahi hoon aur aap..."
(You don't have even a little shame, I'm changing here and you...)
"Tumhe sharam aayi thi jab tum apni behen ki jagah baithi thi?"
(Were you embarrassed when you sat in your sister's place?)
"Aur ye kya keh rahe hain aap mujhe kuch samajh nahi aa raha Jiju."
(And I don't understand what you are saying, brother-in-law.)
The word hits me like a slap.
I froze.
For a second, I genuinely think I heard wrong.
My expression goes still and blank.
Jiju?
My mind repeats it, slower this time, like it's trying to make sense of something that absolutely does not make sense.
"What?" I breathe out, more disbelief than a question, my eyes narrowing at her.
But she's already looking at me like I'm the one who's lost it.
The title felt wrong. It sounded wrong. It burned because I never said yes to Mukti.
I said yes...
My gaze hardens on her.
To her.
And now she stands here, looking me in the eye, calling me Jiju as if none of it happened?
"And why would I sit in Mukti didi's place Kartik Jiju?"
She said everything like I imagined everything?
Like she really didn't sit there, in front of me, pretending.
My hand shoots up before I can stop myself.
Fingers gripping her arms, firmer this time, pulling her slightly closer.
"Stop calling me that," I murmur, my voice low, edged with something dark, something dangerous.
My face leans in, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, my words brushing against her ear.
She shakes her head immediately.
"Mujhe sach mein nahi pata aap kis baare mein baat kar rahe hain," she says, her voice still calm, still composed, still playing that perfect act.
(I really don't know what you're talking about.)
My grip tightens unconsciously.
Her words cut off with a sharp hiss.
"Aahhh...Jiju, kya kar rahe hain aap?"
(Ahhh...brother-in-law, what are you doing?)
I released her instantly and stepped back.
My hand runs down my face in frustration, dragging harshly over my skin before I shove it into my hair, pushing it back roughly.
"Fuck..." I mutter under my breath, pacing half a step away before turning back to her.
This girl is driving me insane.
"Chahat," I say, this time slower, controlled, but the anger is still there, simmering under the surface. "Mujhe sach-sach batao... kyun kar rahi ho tum yeh sab kuch? Haan?"
(Tell me the truth... why are you doing all this?)
My eyes lock onto hers, searching, demanding but she...she just stands there.
Calm and composed like none of this is affecting her and I'm the one overreacting and that pissed me off more than anything.
My patience snaps again.
In two strides, I'm back in front of her, my hands gripping her arms again, fingers digging in just enough to hold her still.
"Tell me," I grit out, my teeth clenched, "Or else I will go and tell your family exactly what you did."
A dark satisfaction flickers inside me.
Her hand shoots up instantly, gripping my wrist.
I looked at her and she was so unaffected as if I'm bluffing.
"Jiju..." she says again, softer this time, almost pleading. "Aap kya bol rahe ho aapko pata bhi hai...Main Mukti di ki jagah kyun loongi? Aap khud sochiye..."
(Do you even know what you're talking about... Why would I replace Mukti Di? Think for yourself...)