Aryan
I sat on the couch, staring blankly at the television. It was on, but I couldn't tell you what was playing. My mind had wandered far away from this room, this house, this stupid, goddamn world. I didn’t know what to think anymore, what to do, who to obey, or who to believe. All I could feel was this void inside me like cold, echoing, and endless. I was empty.
My hand clenched around a wine glass until it trembled in my grip. With one sharp squeeze, it shattered, red wine spilling like blood down my fingers and onto the carpet. I didn't even flinch. In my mind, I wasn’t holding a glass. I was holding her neck. That bitch. That manipulative, heartless woman who ruined everything.
Avni Parmar.
She had replaced Ira.
Replaced my Ira.
Why? Why the hell did she do this to us?
Yes, it was us. Because Ira and I were not just individuals. We were a story. A future. A dream. And Avni tore it all apart like it was nothing. Like we were nothing.
I had two dreams growing up. One was to wear my country’s uniform, to make my father proud and serve with honor. The second was to marry Ira Solanki. She was the woman who made my heart beat louder than the drums of war. The woman who loved me without asking for medals or rank. She loved me.
And now?
Now, in order to save my career, to keep my name from drowning in scandal, I had kicked Ira out of my life.
I stopped answering her calls.
I canceled our wedding.
I blocked her everywhere.
Because I loved my uniform more than I loved Ira... or so I told myself.
But it hurt like hell.
I let out a sharp, broken breath, my lips curling into a bitter smile as I stared at the red wine trailing down my hand. I looked like a madman, laughing at his own despair. “I’m sorry, Ira,” I whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I promise I’ll fix this. I’ll teach Avni a lesson she’ll never forget. If I’m going to be broken, let it be complete.”
The door slammed open.
“What are you doing, Aryan?” Ira's voice was full of fire, the kind that used to warm me but now threatened to burn me alive. She stormed into the room, her face red with rage, her chest heaving. Her eyes, once filled with devotion, now blazed with betrayal.
“You promised me,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides. “You promised you would marry me, Aryan! You didn’t even have the decency to fight for us! You just threw me away to marry that crippled woman! Are you out of your fucking mind?”
I sat there, silent, while she paced back and forth like a lioness in a cage.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” she continued. “Not when you went on your first mission. Not even when you lost your best friend in the ambush. Not when you almost lost Rhea. But now? You’re just... lost. Hollow. Why the hell did you agree to this, Aryan? Who is she to you? Is she threatening you? Does she want money? We can pay her off. But not with your life. Not with our life.”
She dropped to her knees in front of me, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her cheeks. She clutched my hands, pressing them against her face. “I love you. Please don’t do this.”
My heart shattered.
I had never seen Ira like this. She looked so vulnerable, so raw. She’d always been strong, and stoic. And now she was sobbing into my lap like a girl who had lost her whole world. Because she had. And I was the one who tore it from her.
“I’m sorry, Ira,” I murmured, rubbing my temple as a sharp pain pulsed in my head. “She, Avni agreed to drop the charges only if I married her. You know how much I love my uniform. I can’t lose it.”
She let out a soft, broken laugh through her tears. “And what about me?”
She collapsed against me, pressing her head into my lap. I felt her pain like a knife in my gut. “I should’ve never thrown that bachelorette party,” she cried. “I should’ve never made you drink. I should’ve asked my brother to drop you home. If I had done just one thing differently, we would still be together.”
“We will be together,” I whispered, leaning back and clenching my jaw. “Just give me a few months. Let me fix this.”
“How?” she whispered, lifting her head, her eyes searching mine.
“If she’s coming into my life on her own terms,” I said coldly, “then she’ll leave on my terms. I’ll make her leave. Just believe in me.”
I pulled her into my lap and cradled her face in my hands, wiping away her tears with my thumb. “Do you trust me, Ira?”
“I believe you,” she said, resting her forehead against mine. “I love you…”
Just then, the door opened again.
“You aren’t ready yet?” Mom entered, her tone exasperated. Ira quickly moved away from me, her face flushed with embarrassment.
Mom’s eyes softened as she looked at her. “Ira, what are you doing here, darling?” She walked over and hugged her gently. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help... but I’m helpless.”
“It’s okay,” Ira said with a tight smile. “Anyway, this marriage won’t last. We’ll give her a taste of her own medicine. She doesn’t deserve our sympathy, right?”
Mom squeezed her hand, nodding. Then she turned to me and frowned, her gaze lingering on my unkempt state. “Your bride has arrived. And you're still like this? Aryan…” She sighed and walked to the wardrobe, pulling out my wedding sherwani. “Get up. You need to get ready.”
“I don’t want to change!” I shouted suddenly, making her flinch.
Regret hit me instantly.
I rubbed my throbbing temples and muttered, “I’m sorry. I just… I need a moment alone.”
Before she could respond, another storm barreled into the room.
“I’ll make him ready!” Rhea, my fierce, fire-breathing little sister. She marched in, folding her arms over her chest like a drill sergeant. “Get your ass up and go to the bathroom, Bhai. We’re already late.”
Mom and Ira exchanged glances and quietly exited the room, leaving me alone with the one person who never took my crap.
Rhea glared at me. “Don’t make me drag you. Move.”
Defeated, I stood up and headed to the bathroom. Because right now, I had no power. No control. I was just a pawn in a game I didn’t know how to win.
But one thing was certain.
This wasn’t the end.
This was only the beginning.
She begins the game and I'll end it.
______
The mandap rose before me like a gallows. It was draped in gold and red, mocking me with every fluttering garland. The scent of incense hung thick in the air; it was fucking suffocating. The chanting echoed around me, but it sounded distant and dull like static in my ears.
Each step I took toward the sacred fire dragged me deeper into a life I didn’t want.
I wasn’t walking into a wedding but I was walking to my own execution.
Fuck. I had never felt this before. Like life was fucking me over.
My limbs were heavy, pulled down by more than reluctance. Rage churned in my chest, potent and acidic. I hated this. I hated that no one had listened. That no one cared. That she had twisted everything to end up here.
I hated her.
I reached the mandap and lowered myself to the carpeted floor with a stiffness that screamed rebellion. My jaw locked, my shoulders tight. I sat like a man made of stone - unmoving, unfeeling, at least on the outside. But inside, I was fire.
The priest began chanting mantras. Guests whispered and smiled. The cameraman clicked picture after picture, grating on my nerves. I shot him a glare so cold he swallowed hard and turned away, starting to photograph women who looked better suited to a circus than a wedding ceremony.
I stared straight ahead, and whatever hope I had left died the moment she entered the hall.
Avni.
Draped in a heavy golden saree, her eyes downcast, lips curved into that soft, fake smile she wore so well.
Fuck you.
The sound of her anklets struck my ears like bullets. I didn’t look at her and wouldn’t. Not without exploding. God, I’d never wanted to murder a woman, but she…
His brother and father helped her to settle beside me, close enough that I could feel her warmth. It only ignited more rage.
My fists clenched on my knees, knuckles turning white. I wanted to scream at her. Tell her she’d stolen this day and stolen everything. But I swallowed it down like poison, gritted my teeth, and stayed still.
Time dragged on. Every ritual felt like a punishment.
Then came the sindoor.
The priest handed me a small silver bowl.
I stared at the red powder for a second too long. My breath caught. The weight of what it symbolized: belonging, acceptance, love felt like iron in my hand.
I felt none of those things.
Only fury.
I dipped my fingers into the vermilion, then raised my hand above her head. My chest rose with a sharp breath and I dropped the powder in one abrupt motion.
It fell too quickly.
Instead of her hairline, the vermilion spilled across her face, on her nose, her cheeks, staining the edge of her saree like blood on snow.
Avni gasped.
And then she smirked.
My jaw clenched, fingers curling into my palm. That smirk. It wasn't a shock but a victory.
She knew she had won.
The priest spoke again, calling for the mangalsutra.
They handed me the necklace. It was delicate gold, studded with tiny black beads. Sacred. Revered.
I wanted to crush it in my fist and I almost did.
My fingers wrapped around the chain, tight enough to dig into my skin. A dozen thoughts raced through my head. I could still walk away. I could throw it into the fire and end this farce.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I leaned in and ignored the tremble in my breath as I tied it around her neck with cold, calculated hands.
I didn’t meet her eyes as I sat back, breathing sharply, the
mangalsutra hanging between us like chains on a prison gate.
It was done.
And for the first time in my life, I felt truly bound.
Not by love.
But by hatred.
_______
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