The last flicker of fireworks dissolved into the starlit sky, but the echoes of celebration still hummed in the air. The courtyard of the Rathore estate had begun to empty out — relatives slowly dispersing, laughter fading into the distant corners of the night. The cocktail party had ended, but for Shreenika and Abhiraj, something unfamiliar lingered: the awareness that they were now officially bound.
A future had been set in motion.
Inside, servants moved about clearing flower petals and empty glasses, while a soft instrumental tune played in the background. Shreenika stood near the old jharokha, sipping water, her gown rustling gently with each breath she took. Her heart still fluttered, not with fear — but with something quieter. An uncertain calm.
Across the garden, Abhiraj stood with Vivaan and his cousin Daksh, nodding along to their jokes but hardly listening. His eyes, as always, found her first. He watched the way she stood — serene, silent, distant.
He excused himself and walked toward her.
For a moment, they stood side by side, neither saying a word. The distance between them felt heavy and electric.
She glanced at him, then away. He did the same.
He finally said, “You look... beautiful.”
She nodded slowly. “You too.”
Silence returned. Not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken thoughts.
A breeze moved between them. Her dupatta fluttered. He instinctively reached out, tucking it back over her shoulder. Their eyes met.
They looked away.
---
The days that followed moved slowly, with rituals and responsibilities threading through every hour. The families were deep in wedding planning — dates were being considered, priests consulted, lists made. But Abhiraj and Shreenika remained suspended in a strange space — not yet lovers, not quite strangers.
Shreenika often sat by the lotus pond in the Randhawa garden, sketching in her notebook — not just doodles, but fragments of the life she once dreamed of: product ideas, logo drafts, and scribbled thoughts from a mind that still hadn’t fully let go of ambition.
But there was something she didn’t know. Something that Abhiraj carried like a stone in his chest.
Their marriage had been orchestrated — not just by fate or familial love. Manveer, in his desperation to see his sister safe, had approached Abhiraj weeks ago with a proposition. A contract. A deal.
“Just marry her,” Manveer had said that day, his tone pleading, desperate. “Make it real later. But get her out of here, give her a life where she can heal. She doesn’t need to know.”
Abhiraj had hesitated. He wasn’t the kind of man who made choices lightly. But the ache in Manveer’s voice, the hollow in his eyes, and the quiet sadness that shadowed Shreenika the first time Abhiraj had seen her — it all led him to say yes.
And now, days after the cocktail party, that yes haunted him.
Every time she looked at him with unfiltered trust, he felt it crack.
How long could he keep this secret?
How long before the truth burned everything down?
---
Between the quiet lull after the engagement and the preparations for the cocktail party, both Shreenika and Abhiraj found themselves caught in strange emotional turbulence. Their routines remained the same — morning chai with family, calls for event coordination, the occasional exchanged glances across the room — but inside, a battle brewed.
Shreenika would wake up in the middle of the night, unsure why her chest felt both heavy and oddly light. Marriage — the word still sounded distant. Yet every time she thought of Abhiraj’s eyes, the way he stood beside her in silence, something in her heart stilled. Not happiness. Not fear. Something between.
Abhiraj, too, felt the dissonance growing. He found himself thinking about her without reason — how she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous, how she never filled a silence just to break it. It comforted him and unsettled him all at once. He wanted to protect her. But the lie stretched like a shadow between them.
They didn’t text. They didn’t call. But somehow, both felt like they were in each other’s orbit — watching, waiting, enduring.
And neither knew how to step closer.
---
That evening, he found himself in the courtyard of the Rathore estate, leaning against a pillar, watching the wind play with the hanging marigolds.
His younger brother Vivaan joined him, holding two cups of tea.
“You look like you’re about to confess a murder,” Vivaan joked.
Abhiraj took the cup silently.
“Not murder,” he murmured. “But something close.”
Vivaan raised an eyebrow. “You mean... her?”
Abhiraj nodded.
Vivaan didn’t laugh. For once, the younger Rathore was serious.
“Then tell her. Before someone else does.”
Abhiraj looked up at the night sky.
“She deserves truth. But not like this. Not before the wedding. It’ll destroy her.”
“Or set her free.”
That sentence lodged itself deep in Abhiraj’s chest.
---
Meanwhile, at the Randhawa home, Shreenika sat with her mother and aunt, discussing decor themes and outfit trials. But her mind wandered.
Why did Abhiraj feel like both safety and danger?
Why did his silence sometimes sound louder than his words?
She tried to ignore it. Tried to tell herself she was just nervous. But deep down, a voice whispered — something isn’t what it seems.
---
A few weeks later, the families hosted a grand cocktail party in Udaipur — not for rituals, but for society. For names, reputation, headlines.
The venue was the lakefront courtyard of an old haveli, decked in chandeliers, soft blush roses, and golden drapes that swayed with the wind.
Shreenika walked in wearing a dazzling golden gown, her waves pinned to the side, earrings that shimmered like moonlight. The embroidery on her outfit was delicate, floral, and traced the light like poetry. She looked like the very embodiment of grace.
Abhiraj was already there, dressed in a classic black tuxedo, his hair slicked back, beard trimmed to perfection, and yet it was the stillness in his eyes when he saw her that made her heart flutter.
They walked toward each other. No grand gestures. Just a quiet gravity pulling them together.
He extended his hand. She hesitated only a moment before placing hers in his.
They began to dance — slowly, the music barely audible against the rush of thoughts in her head. His hand on her waist felt unfamiliar, but not wrong. Her fingers in his felt unsure, yet steady.
They didn’t speak.
But in every glance, in every step, there were questions they didn’t know how to ask.
And answers they feared to find.
---
That night, when she returned home, her phone buzzed.
Abhiraj Rathore: You were quiet tonight. But I think I heard everything.
She stared at the screen for a long time.
Because somehow, in that silence, something had spoken.
Not loud. Not rushed.
Just whispered.
And she was still listening.
---
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