CHAPTER 4
ANIKA
The silence in the room feels louder than any chaos outside. My heart thuds aloud in my chest.
Someone’s fixing the pleats of my lehenga again.
Another brush of powder near my cheek brings me back to reality.
A shuddering sigh escapes me, and I raise my eyes toward the mirror.
There's a woman behind me muttering under her breath, something about kismat and how girls like me don’t deserve this.
I catch a few words—shame, badnami, poor thing.
I don’t respond. I don’t even look at her.
I just stare at my reflection in the mirror, unsure who I’m even looking at anymore.
Despite all the gold jewelry, bridal makeup, and attire, I don’t feel like a bride. Not Vikram’s. Not Aarav’s.
Just… a girl who got dragged into something way bigger than herself.
The makeup brush stops. I think she notices how absent I am because her voice lowers into a whisper. “You should’ve run away, beti… men like him—”
The door opens, and she shuts up instantly and practically jumps back. I don’t have to look to know who it is. His presence always announces itself like a shift in gravity. I quickly draw my eyes to the ground. I don’t even want to look at him. Disgust fills me at his arrival. He wasn't like this.
Aarav walks in, calm, collected, unreadable—same as always. Except now, he’s holding a folded piece of paper in one hand and something tight in his jaw.
“All of you. Out.” His voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold. The stylists and staff scurry out without a word, heads down. The door clicks shut, and then it's just him. And me. The silence is unbearable.
He doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay. Doesn’t look at me with anything close to softness. He just walks over and places the paper on the table in front of me.
“Sign it.”
I blink at the paper, then at him—“What is it?”
“A contract.” His eyes finally meet mine. “Six months. That’s all this marriage will last.”
I haven't touched it yet. My eyes scan the heading. It’s all legal, typed, and impersonal. Like I’m agreeing to rent an apartment, not get married to the man I once thought I’d grow old with.
“No expectations,” he adds.
“You’ll stay where I tell you to. You won’t ask questions. You won’t interfere in anything. After six months, we’ll sign the divorce papers, and you’ll go your way and I'll go my way. Done.”
I stare at him for a second longer than I should. His face gives nothing away. No regret. No guilt. Not even anger. Just… blank.
“Wow,” I say quietly. “Romantic.” He says nothing.
A silent ache engulfs my heart as I pick up the pen and flip through the pages.
My hands are shaking, but I keep going. I don’t need to read every line.
The message is clear—this marriage is a formality.
A compromise. A deal. Just another transaction in his world of power and threats.
Angry tears line my vision as I scan the last page.
Still, I hesitate before signing. Tension lingers in my shoulders as I turn to him.
“I’m not the one who begged for this,” I say. “Remember that.”
He flinches—just slightly. If I wasn’t watching so closely, I would’ve missed it.
Then, without another word, I scribble my name at the bottom.
Anika Kapoor.
He takes the contract, folds it, and turns away like that’s all we needed to say to each other.
But I can’t stop myself. “What are you trying to prove, Aarav? That you are still in control? That I’m just a pawn in your business games or that I am so helpless that you have to jump in and save the day? ” my voice booms in the empty room.
He pauses at the door. Doesn’t turn around. Just says, “I don’t care what you think, Anika. I only care about what’s necessary.”
Then he leaves. And I sit there, in full bridal makeup, heart pounding in my chest, and realize—I’m about to marry a man who doesn’t even look at me like I’m a person anymore. A lone tear slips from my left eye. A lump forms in my throat, my gaze fixed at the door.
◆◆◆
There’s no music. Pure silence surrounds us. Numbness engulfs me.
No one from his side attends the wedding except Samarth, who doesn't look happy with his decision. Same.
My mother is smiling now. I want to shout at her that I am not happy, but I love her too much. She's the only family I have left, and I'd do anything for her. I wish she wasn't that stubborn. I wish for once she would not care about my future but about my happiness.
The chants of the mantras pull me out of my thoughts, and I blink away the tears that blur my vision.
It's just me, Aarav, and a priest who was supposed to marry me off to someone else on the stage.
Pandit Ji doesn’t question anything. His voice drones on in Sanskrit, calling out mantras I’ve heard in movies and childhood weddings. I try to keep my breathing steady. Aarav sits beside me, his shoulder brushing mine once as we adjust positions. It’s the only time our bodies come close.
He doesn’t look at me. I don’t look at him. The fire crackles. The pheras begin.
Seven steps. Seven vows. Seven lies.
He ties the mangalsutra around my neck. His fingers don’t tremble. Mine are frozen in place. Then, the sindoor. That blood-red line. That final, irreversible mark.
“With these seven steps, you are now husband and wife,” Pandit Ji announces.
Just like that. No cheers. No claps. No blessings. Just silence, smoke, and lies.
I blink.
Wife . The word hits me like a punch in the gut.
Not once in all my ridiculous teenage dreams did I imagine it like this. No mandap filled with laughter. No father’s proud smile and some tears. No love. Just a man who signed me like a deal and another who never showed up.
I sit there, still and quiet, as the weight of the mangalsutra presses against my chest like a chain. A heavy reminder of what I have become now—a deal.
Six months.
That’s what he promised. Six months and then freedom. I have to live with my favorite person, who is now just a stranger to me. It feels like I’ve already lost more than I bargained for.