ABHYANANTA

Flagging vitality, sapped strength. I was a bundle of depletion from remitting a role.

A daughter, a sister and a fiancé.

There were numerous qualities that each role wants us to carry. Being a daughter means abiding to become an epitome of perfection, one face that when witnessed by those not of blood, the only emerging statement through them must be that the parents are blessed to have a juvenile this notable. Being a kin by the same parent, saunters with the character of staying within the cage and boundaries that your brother sets for you, so under any fallen state of affairs, should you create an environment for yourself that can harm your brother’s future. And a fiancé, you bear a child, you cook a meal, you look after their house, basically become a maid for them after marriage, and before it, just keep learning things that can help you build that persona for yourself.

The bleakest lament is that enmeshed roles are adjoined, one dependent on another. Hence, if you falter and tarnish one? You are bound to botch another.

My existence is enslavery of life, nay, the script I am to follow. Hobbies, passion, never, props to support this living must be the only possession.

Much endeavour and many more chores sublimed because I am a Rajput Princess. This title crawls in the presence of other Rajput children, and a load rather on my shoulder seized because, since being a wailer in a cradle, that is the disposition I have showcased, given that other blood of Rajputs illustrated neither an interest nor a course of action at a young age. Raajvanshya, when he found his amusement in the grievances of others, Dharayana, holding by her chest hollowness except wowing dreams about her future husband, subconscious, consciously leading towards becoming her entire personality, Aaryaman, when he started going to brothels and Eklavya, who did almost everything right, perhaps that’s why his oddities became my obligations.

I persevered, I subsisted on the modesty, I abided by the ethics, I endured the expectations, and I dwelt on the marriage proposal when asked if I wanted to accept it.

My condolences for myself is a kind courtesy of options served on my platter, a plate with two dishes always served to me. Do you want to accept it? Do you want to do it anyway without acceptance?

I could throw someone on my shoulder like Daira, the age when I was a crier. But there was a menu of men provided to me. And my choice isn’t that wise after all.

Eklavya’s friend was a good business liaison for the Rajputs and highly educated. Worldly aspects all aligning, but personal? Holding even a sane statement against him results in unjust replies.

With unfailing constancy, my eyes endure his face, my mind lingers on the facts that the remainder of my waking hours and burdensome breathing. Yet the ushers zero in on him appeals to me to look further in the future.

He molested the menu with his eyes, left and then jerked his head right. I sat courtesly across, A jest of reminder he is not alone,  “What would you prefer in dessert?” He queried, I gazed in his brown eyes, and I formed to speak, I would like just ice-cream, nothing fancy.

But his courtesy question scampered off the clock time, and he ordered, “Ricotta and pear cheesecake!” I looked at the waiter who inspected me, assuming that words of retaliation and my choice of dessert would fly out of my mouth.

“Suiting! Thank you!” He shut the menu and threw it at his chest when he saw the waiter staring rigorously at me.

The waiter sauntered with the menu and order, and the burden on my ring leaned back in his chair. His eyes lingered on my face, uncomfortable, I slowly shifted the cutlery to my left into a perfect place, avoiding his eyes.

“So, my father, he is a pessimist!” He started, his hand throwing in the air, left before he nervously laughed and slammed his elbow on the table, holding his chin with his fingers.

I supported not, “I presume, his life experiences have tended him to be overly conscious?” He loudly faked a laugh,

“Yes, but not all his negativity has a direction. In this case, there definitely is, but not always,” His expression shifting between jitters to smile. In this case? I see the dinner had a purpose.

“Sometimes he is just paranoid for nothing. I assure him, but somewhere. I understand his reluctance, the path he is coming from the right place, because you see, I am the only heir to the Tanwar.”

His phone was ringing on the table, “Ugh! Excuse me,” He picked up the call and brought it to his ear, his loud, fake voice turned shallow and low, the table’s width wasn’t much, yet he was inaudible.

The waiter brought the whiskey he had ordered for himself and a glass of wine for me. He shifted the table and kept the glasses on the table and served them while departing with another courtesy nod.

He ended the call, quite a conviction, I am the owner of a fragment of his future. He chose not to explain why the suspicious call and continued.

“Some things I think should be carefully evaluated beforehand. It will help us shape our marriage more beautifully,” His hands reached out to hold mine on the table, his fingers imprisoned them.

He reinvigorated them for those few seconds, harmonised my eyes with a subtle smirk and pulled it back, enfolding his drink, taking a sip.

“Is there some demand from Sr. Tanwar?” I directly asked, he laughed again, drinking and pointing his finger at me. “I love how you see reasoning in people’s actions and how you understand things, comprehending them.”

Patience is a virtue. My parents never taught me that; I observed them and learnt it.

I gallantly thanked him, smiling before he rested the glass down, his back on the chair, “We would like you to take a fertility test.”  

My hands under the table wrapped into a fist together, my left legs stomping, a habit my mother has pointed me a few times, saying it brings bad luck.

My head levitated to meet his spheres and audacity. I comprehended his words and restrained urges to verbalise everything on my tongue, and respectfully asked, “Will you be taking the test too?”

First time this evening, his laughter wasn’t fake; he busted out, the other table’s head turning, revisiting our way.  Desperation to be any place right now, except this humiliating piece of wood.

“There can be no fault in me!” His confidence was an accusation; I was deranged.

My stomping stopped. This time I straightened my shoulder and spat, “Why? Have you been practising fertilising women?”

My reply struck him like a blow he hadn’t braced for. His face drained of colour.

The server stepped with the starters, plating them. I stood, excusing myself to use the washroom. I caught myself turning towards the open garden of the hotel instead of the washroom. I contemplated what should be valid words to sort this evening from stopping to turn in an unmitigated fiasco, and couldn’t possibly.

I dialled the number in my phone, it rang, and Luv picked it up in the middle of the fourth ring. “Yes, Abhya?”

“Can you pick me up from the restaurant? My health is. . .”  I didn’t lie.

He remained silent on the other side and hummed long, “I will be there in fifteen minutes.”

I chose not to step inside again, ten minutes, and he himself disgusted the hotel land with his feet looking for me, “Abhyananta! Let's be mature about this,” I turned from the driveway, I brought myself, his stepping towards me down the hill.

“It's just a test that is bound to come out good. In hindsight, we will get my father off our backs! The wedding would be glamorous and our marriage, happy.”

“And if it doesn’t come out positive?”

His fake laughter, a shaking load over his neck. “You are an optimist! Abhyananta! Focus on the goods! It's just a test!”

I inhaled sharply, exhaled calmly. “Just a test? Can you grace the hospital room alongside? Take it with me. Marriage is about two people, right? It takes two to assemble a happy one? Then I am afraid of this test; be a partner and take it with me. A companion in a scary time?” I termed his rage as winning over his control. His smile dead and his eyes deadlier.

A car pulled behind me, the light casting on his murdered orbs, and he leaned his face left.

Eklavya walked out of the driver's seat, reaching me and resting his palm on my back, “Tanwar.” He gave a slow nod in greeting. I pivoted in a jolt and walked towards the passenger seat. Eklavya followed behind, opening the door for me. I sat first, seat belt in place and Eklavya’s driving resumed. We turned around the driveway, crossing my fiancé and descending directLy on the main road.

The long wait for Eklavya’s interrogation, but it never came through. He parked the car outside Haveli, came around and opened the door for me. I stepped and started to make my way inside the house. Faltering steps, I froze halfway and turned around. “Did you know what this dinner was about beforehand?”

Eklavya looked at me from his phone, lingering at the car hood.

“Yes.” A straight answer.

A tear slid through me, “He wants a fertility test! That he doesn’t want to take himself. And you stand by something so lucridicious?” I deemed him unworthy with my tone and words,

“If you had stayed longer, he would have asked for a pre-nup too,” Scoff left me. “Don’t you see? I don’t question you for leaving him like that. And I don’t blame you for your choice not to do it. You asked me to come, I came. I am not trying to convince you. Because you decide to make. Why do you expect me to take the bullet for you?”

Yes, how can I expect him to take a stand for me? “Right, because I was allowed to take a stand for myself all my life.”

I  repeatedly and he advanced on my face.

“Don’t throw your snobbish taunts at me! Abhya!” His fingers were pointing at my face. I wiped my sliding tears and stepped back. I entered the Haveli, and the first person to spot me crying was Raajvanshya, who held my wiping teary hand and stopped me from running upstairs.

“The fuck is this face? Who did this to you?” He asked me, his maniac eyes glistening with the upcoming thrill. But they need to die down because it's against people he can't redeem me from.

I pulled my wrist from his grasp, “Which one should I name?”

“Every single one of them.”

I laughed. He is going to be our king. Someone we are bound to follow. But can never respect. Others. I can. Because he has always been nice to me.

“You spat them. Abhya! I can’t read your mind.”

Father and Maa, walking inside the anteroom from the patio door.

Should I blame them?

Eklavya followed my path, him?

Or the ring on my finger is slowly sliding because it doesn’t fit me.

I gathered my courage and coughed the heavy words, “He wants a fertility test!”

Raajvanshya’s brow pluckered, “Who? Tanwar?”

I nodded, my parents walking closer. “That’s absurdity dressed under a guise.” My father spoke, “Abhyananta, assure us you did not accept this preposterous ask?” Mother joined.

Raajvanshya shouted, “Yes! Samaira, that’s the face of someone who accepted it!”

“Raaj!” Father spoke about his disrespect towards my mother. “They can’t demand something so insolent and discourteous!  I will talk with Mrs Tanwar right now!” Maa left the room in plummeting rage, and Luv behind her, my father stepped towards me, keeping his hand on Raajvanshya’s shoulder, “Your actions must be reserved. You will do nothing, Raaj.”

But Raajvanshya looked at me, his eyes asking if he wanted me to do something.

And the role to play now, flagging vitality, sapped strength.

My resolve in the roles I claim falters, collapsing beneath its own weight. In striving to uphold three identities, I unravel them all, leaving only fragments of what I sought to preserve. Across from me, my mother sits, her voice weaving subtle barbs of discontent. She speaks of her loathing for the brothel — a place she had prayed would perish with her generation. Yet, despite every misstep and every hope for its extinction, the doors remain open, and women continue to enter, the tally never dwindling to the zero she once envisioned.

Everyone always spoke profoundly that my mother and I are clones. Her words often never escape her, and when they do, its her words can slit the air and throats. She is abiding, but only until she doesn’t feel choked anymore. And often, the scenario of her suffocation is my father’s doing.

I believed that was never the case with me; I am abiding because I was attracted to suffering. I was quiet, following rules, carrying expectations, playing characters.

But she once sat across from me, like today’s evening, when she was in front of the mirror in her room and removing her jewellery, keeping it on the dresser.  And her statement that confused every modest cell inside me, I was steadfast, quiet, bound to my father’s law. I did not contest, nor did I yield authority to hands that would twist it into harm. Yet your father was different. None but he could summon my voice, none but he could kindle my wrath. The silence between us became suffocating, the rage uncontainable. In him, I met the force that roused the hidden chamber of my soul— a fire I had never believed myself capable of bearing.

And I remembered exactly who urged me to react out for the first time in my life. I looked down at my ring.

And how it is not the owner of the ring.

Maa stood from the table, feet rather my direction towards me, sat across from me, clutched my palm in hers, and spoke sweetly, “My words would never condone burden on you, Abhyananta. My lifelong attempt was never to shape you into a suffocation of another me. And I ushered your father into playing Never the Face of my father. Neither will I speak about what my mother said to me when I reached out to her with a heavy heart and pained doubts about my fiancé. That men are just like that, and you should accept it and abide by it. When you were given in my arms, there were sagas of promises U wanted to grant on your feet, but one I swore rather was that my efforts would revolve around giving you chances for opening your wings and chasing your dreams through the clouds. The blood clutter in our bones ushers us, hear it, chase that! But, my personal life experience speaks, if I had heard of my second thoughts that day? I would never marry the man; I can never manage but to love. Love him with all his flaws and something he says he reciprocates.”

She shrugged, she thinks the owner of this ring has something similar to what she and my father had.

But my resorts, my taunts never flew out of me like this before, the courage to speak against Eklavya was something I never had and what provoked me is nothing related to these fretters for fingers, a small diameter but cage for life. After all, that day is the reason I spoke out to Eklavya for the first time. And most likely, he is the reason I have this ring around my fingers.

ABHYANANTA ( 17 YEARS OLD)

These parties are like a Saturday market by the town’s temple, to showcase the shimmery figurine. We are mere plastic entities to be bartered. The way eyes may, but subjective accusation evaluates every bachelor girl, it’s a fair, a gala to sell their greatest investment to the grandest buyer.

My mother has breathing was spent being the new Barbie her entire young age, and hence, she exerts her efforts for my existence to never fall behind her. My father never tries to sell me hard to his guest, and neither bade-hukum papa. Raja-sa’s scenario is different; the only thing he likes to parade around the entire party is his impeccable and charming humour, with the mist of his whiskey and rani-sa.

The elders, it's never who that shapes my today and upcoming frets, their life experiences had taught them enough perhaps, they never wished to grind us in the same mire, they were wasp of.

After I put Aayatee to sleep in the bedroom, given that her steps reached the home in the state where they were independent. I did not lock the door, and I descended downstairs to attend the Diwali party of the Rajputs. It was the first time, and my parents arranged it. By the edge of the stairs, I saw bade-hukum papa, sitting on the last step. His eyes followed the crowd outside, his shoulders shrank, his hair ruffled, and his appearance was in distress.

I stopped on the last step, “May I sit?” I politely asked him, and he jerked his head. A relief flashed in his eyes; he must be worried about Aayatee. It was not her first time being dragged home drunk. His back straightened, and his lips stretched in a smirk.

“An ethical and sophisticated girl like you on the stairs? I never wish my death, not before that rani’s bull, and never by the hand of your mother.” His subtle hilarity, and I chuckled. My mother wouldn’t care, mmm... maybe a little. I was still allowed to settle on the hard marble.

I believe kindness is a myth; all there is to give is to expect a return. But when it's family? My hinged moral hinges, because for some of them, I want to be present with no exchange. I peeked at his profile. “She is well now, sleeping soundly. I believe she won't wake again, and if she does, I will keep honey and water by the bedside. Her relief from migraine will spare us some of her reactions.”

He gave a curt nod, “Thank you, Abhya.” He faced me, relieved. “You should attend the party, I am here for her.”

“No, Aayatee was an excuse not to be a trophy on sale. Ironically,” He chuckled, “Your fate isn’t written like your mother's sperm donor. She was from the house of an asshole. Well, that case is not different.” He said that and watched Raja-sa approaching the patio door where two royal blood were looking over the lawn by the stairs. “But that asshole did not have brothers to stand against when he planned to commit something unjust. You will always have your Bade Hukum to rely on.” He jumped to his feet to lock eyes in defiance with Raja-sa.

“She is secure?” His words sounded rather concerned, “Yes,” I replied. He nodded.

“Abhya, give us an excuse,” Raja-sa asked me, and I hastily replied on my feet. “Yes, I should see myself to the kitchen,” I started to forge ahead with steady footing. Before turning the corner, I looked back, and both brothers were now on the stairs. Talking.

Each of us is mental. The kind that are pulled by a magnet together despite every distance we are separated. Aayatee has been a boiling topic of the house, and usually the reason for the anti-magnetism.

At the same end of the corner, Jinitya Tai-ji was standing, with apologetic eyes because Aayatee’s actions are always a reason for dispute in this family. “It's about Aayatee’s state, isn’t it?” She asked me. I couldn’t reply. She sighed, “I will check on her health once.” Extremely worried, she sauntered toward the elevator instead of the stairs.

My eyes reflected outside in the lawn area through the mirrors while I walked across the corridor. A head turned halfway from across the window, perhaps my shadow cast on his periphery. He turned, and I froze. But ideally, I resumed my walking across the corridor and instead of ignoring my shadow from ten meters away the window. He started to match my pace across the corridor. His eyes linger on my face, the steps matching my pace.

I stopped, he stopped. A mirror. He acted like a mirror from a different world. He was teasing me. The crowd around him, the waiters passing by, people shifting the place of their courtesy talk. He was paused because I was. I saw a waiter passing right across from him, he whose eyes didn’t leave my reflection once to acknowledge. I stepped two feet ahead, and he ran into the waiter. I ended up chuckling at his fall. Almost running towards the end of the corridor. I was now in the kitchen of the Haveli.

My honest seraphic curves of lips felt phoney to my cheeks, and I beckoned myself toward the hollow guise I once wore. I looked at the kitchen, empty and clean because today everything was a job for a caterer. I stepped across the cabinets and retracted the jar of real honey. I landed it on the counter and slowly fumbled by the entrance to take the glass from the first stand, which holds the glasses.

I took the glass out and twisted myself to return, but a heavy presence rested on my back and in fear, my alert body reverted, eyes widened, and hands clung to the glass tighter. The man from across the window was heavy on the kitchen floor, there was a smile as my father does, a smirk as Hukum does and then smug like Raja-sa has. But then there is something strange about his stretch of lips. Something that sends a shiver down my spine, weakness in my knees. And before I fall, the strength to round my shoulders wider.

“I assume, with the attire and grace. You are surely not a helper here?” He leaned on the frame, “And your ways around the kitchen, not a stranger to the Haveli. Let me guess, Princess?” He questioned or gave me a title; it was hard to tell with the tone. I ignored our earlier encounter because that was unlike me to allow someone to stay in the vicinity of my acknowledgement unless Luv or Raajvanshya approve of them.

“How may I help you? Do you require something? I can assure you the waiters will assist you with your needs with their best efforts.” He grinned, but I ignored him and filled the water in the glass from the jar. I started to stir the honey.

“Dasharth,” He introduced himself. I kept the spoon down.

“How may I help you, Dasharath-ji?”

He shook his head, “It’s Da-shar-th.” He spoke the syllabus out loud, his hands unlocking from his chest. “I would like lukewarm water to ease my racing heartbeat after some hallucinating beauty by the corridor window, which almost tripped me. I believe your haveli is haunted with the prettiest ghosts.” His smooth utterances. I grounded myself.

I turned the kettle of water on and waited for it to reach a certain temperature. Never replied to his accusations. I returned, pouring him a glass and then keeping it on the kitchen island. He touched the glass and shook his head. “It’s too hot, I guess we will have to stand and wait until it cools to the right temperature.”

“It's unfair you know my name, and I don’t know yours?”

I raised my chin slightly, “You know my home, I don’t know yours?”

He chuckled, but I took seconds to grasp my own words, I slipped from my demeanour? I wanted to catch my lips into sealing, “We can always find it too. Princess—?”

“Abhyananta Javanthya Rajput.” His head in acknowledgement, “Now I know your father's name, surname and your home.” He returned it to me in satire before touching the glass and shaking his head. “Swaraj, Dharan and Montier Avenue, apt. No. 26 on the last floor of the tower.”

My eyes glisten in amusement, Dharan's surname is someone first time I am being introduced. He was never in the bachelor parade, I assume. “So, your mother? She is the one who runs a brothel, isn’t she?” His speech felt heavy, edged with condemnation. My eyes filled with tears, a traumatic past resurfaced, and my classmates bullied me because my mother had to run a brothel, devoid of alternatives. Withheld my tongue like a blade unsheathed.

I waited for his water to lose its temperature soon, and land to bereft me in a hollow void, “I think it’s nice, she does. It saves a lot of rape from happening daily,” I scoffed, involuntarily.

My head turned left, back relying on the counter. “Only the place changes,”

I can feel his overwhelming gaze on my profile. “I am sure your mother doesn’t run it like that?” He asked, and now I reverted to his green eyes with my own dark greys.

“Anything your circumstances force you to conduct doesn’t make it less wrong than its already value.”

He chuckled again, but judgmental, depreciating, “You sound like someone who would have a lot to say against marital rape.” My blood boiled, first to his tone and second to the remark.

“And you sound a lot like someone who will support it.”

The air in the room was edged with the knife of our words, and he said nothing and shook his head. He picked up the glass and drank the water. The next second, his steps were closing towards me.

I faltered a step backwards, and he stopped. “My parents have a happy marriage,” He kept the glass in the sink, “So I don’t believe in the idea of bad marriages. Anyone who's suffering it is probably the reason for it.”

It was revolting to speak of misery so callously. He stormed out, and I burned to confront him, to let my fury speak. My reason, my ethics, my grace crumbled to ash. I followed, and at the echo of my steps, he froze, turning sharply to meet me. I was closer to him now. “A dicisoon is not an independent variable. Not for a married man and never for a married woman.”

He stepped even closer and ducked his head to my height, “But it is not an impossible variable either?”

Our closeness and a wrong interpretation. A body plunged over my head, I was thrown against the wall, and Eklavya had punched the guest on the side.

“Stay away from my sister! You fucking breed of tyrants!”  

He advanced to deliver another blow, but I intervened, standing before Eklavya. His punch faltered midway, his words strangled into silence, and he stared at me — the shield between fury and its prey.

Why do I protect him over my brother? Unsure.

Unsure to this day. My belief stands that the reason I have the ring around my finger is probably that day, because just the next day, Luv brought his friend over to meet father and Maa, family and the day I turned eighteen, he asked the family to consider him as a suitable suitor for me.

I watched my father’s distressed face when the Tanwar sat across from the Rajput brothers, father and Raja-sa. And his remark rang in the room. “The intention of denial urges to conclude that your daughter might be faulty.”

My mother’s step advanced from the corner, in defence. But Rani-sa spoke, “The only fault Rajputs are bearing is that you are still holding a seat in our haveli’s sofa.” The room shifted; this was a remark that could lead to rebuking the engagement.

The distress on my father’s face increased because a broken engagement will ambush my name forever in the circle, and the reason is an unwillingness to take a fertility test.

“Rani-sa,” Raja-sa spoke and caught her eyes. “I will speak.” Rani-sa returned his eyes in challenge. I breathed out because Raja-sa understands the depth of a broken engagement. He will handle the situation. Raja-sa looked at me and then held my wrist in his hand in a tight grip. I sank my head lower. “Get out!” He said, My head jerked to see if he said it to me? But his eyes were challenging Tanwar.

Eklavya groaned behind the couch, “First disrespect we bore, when you held the audacity to ask our daughter for a fucking test. And second, when you entered here and questioned our daughter? You think we will allow you to remotely be in the same vicinity as my family after this?” Sr. Tanwar laughed,

“Rajput-sa, you need us more than we need you. And a broken engagement? Do you want your daughter to die in celibacy? Unwed and alone.”

“My daughter. My factories. They are my business.”

The man of my finger’s ring matched my eyes, and I immediately departed them. “Take your motherfucker, coward of a business next to you and leave my fucking house.”

“After Purushottam Rajput. We were working on this alliance. But seems like only the relation of enemies suits us.” They stood together, he tightened his collar button, “The debts Rajputs are still under, you should not be calling for wars. Daharthya.” Raajvanshya’s thudding steps with his gigantic body appeared by the door. His smile that holds power even the gods to shackle stung the room. And his eyes. Maybe the darkest eyes, holding not just a fragment but the universe in their glance.

He leaned on the sofa behind me, arms on the backrest. He clipped, “You civil people, slaves of democracy, should not be nuancing about wars. Tanwar. You are a guest, hence you are leaving. But after stepping out of this Haveli, I would suggest you keep your eyes and ears open. Run to your home, and find the chamber that hides you deep enough that I don’t find you, because there are too many scores to settle. And take your only heir with you. The debts we need to settle now will only be settled with blood.”

Daira screened through the designs, but she was still uncertain after she went through half of my designs. Her eighteenth birthday was around the corner, which meant her first meeting with the betrothed. She was peculiar with her plans of how she wants her meeting with him. She groaned, looking at this one design. My eyes caught her mesmerising sight, and I laughed.

“He will like you even if you decide to dress like Aayatee.” I beseeched, and she raised her grey eyes, that thunderstorm held the power to scoot us in our seats.

Our family almost had brown eyes, everyone. Shade of browns always, lower or darker. But Raja-sa and Rani-sa's eyes were grey and black; her children possessed the shade of each. “I am not dressing for him, I want to look special because it is my 18^th Birthday.”

Fair, I extracted my second design book and rested it before her. With her grateful smile, she started to screen them. I myself started going through the saved designs on my iPad, showing her what matches her vision. She can speak the denials,  but everyone in the haveli knows she was anxious because she was meeting him, and that is the desperate search to appear good.

“You really like him, don’t you?” I questioned her wandering eyes. She raised them again, “Don’t you?” Her chin jerked on my finger.

I looked down, and the ring was attached. “It's not the same, you have been fantasising about him since you were ten!”

Her narrow brows, “You make me sound like he is my entire personality.”

He is, “Isn’t he?”

“Mamma says, men are just accessories. If they are present, it can enhance the appearance, not that a women need it.” I laughed at her analysis.

“He will just be an accessory?” I questioned, and she shrugged her shoulder, “I like this one, can you please be kind enough to—”

I nodded immediately, “You don’t even have to ask.” She thanked me and started to leave, another moral thank you, and kindness led her. Aaryaman peeked inside, passing by when he saw Daira had left, and halfway across his steps, he stopped. “I heard you are leaving?” He stepped inside the room, his eyes lingering upon the mannequin with dresses and then the naked mannequin, his brow peaked high, a subtle smirk my way. “If only you were lesbian—”

“Aaryaman.” I stopped him because his fake sneakiness speaks through him. Aaryaman was one of the nicest boys, but the man he has become stands a difference of sea and cliff. He stopped with his comment and sat down across from me, but after he turned the chair around and his hand hung on the backrest. “Mumbai?” He questioned poking through my books and flipping pages.

I nodded, “Yes, do you care to join? If you do, Eklavya would spare me for the evening.” I queried him while I drew on my screen pad, the drawing reflecting in the monitor. He returned the book to the table and shook his head.

“There is only so much I can allow myself to suffocate in yours and the duchess’s presence.” I glared, and he shrugged. “It won’t hurt to breathe and allow yourself one moment you want to have?”

One moment.

“It can hurt my family’s honour.”

“Please, be a little humble! Abhya. Aayatee is doing that job for all of us!”

“Aaryaman!” I heard the scream, and Aaryaman stood, starting to walk away, winking at me. “One moment!” He showed me his forefinger, and when he stepped out, he jumped in like he was on a run. He and Aayatee don’t get along; they have a strained relationship. He must have something terrible to a few things Aayatee is extremely attached to.

One moment of what I want to have.

ABHYANANTA

The one moment can make something emerge in this shape and form that was nothing I imagined. When the man, who has previously tested my persistence, not once but twice already. And once again, when he entered in front of my sight, with his aloof aura, zero respect for royalty and his smug comments about my personal life. He managed to make something out of proportion to me, who's like worked on scale, because an inch of misstep can turn a beautiful assortment into disaster.

I have seen it once with a failed engagement, and I can't afford my second. His eyes were evaluating a question I wasn’t supposed to answer. He followed me to the washroom, and now he had misled my caretakers and intentionally followed me into the bathroom. He stood across from me, his hand on my lips, slowly sliding off.

“One moment!” I replied to the recalls of my guard, Eklavya has been trusted and sent. His lips almost passed a smile, before the closeness of them increased. The way his weird eye colour evaluated me. I felt, despite all the layers of clothes on me. I was naked. His glance never left my sight, yet the feeling of being bare was rather carnal.

I was certain my pounding heart resounded in his ears, for its thudding echoed within me. A long, deafening silence crept between us, and though I sensed words spilling from him, they dissolved before reaching me — or perhaps I lacked the language to grasp them.

His eyes lowered, he met my lips, and when he returned, it was not to evaluate them. He looked at me like he was hungry, and not for food, he demanded. He questions about something else. My morality was thrown out of the window, my poise had washed. And what he demanded was something I wanted to serve him.

When his one more scratching step closed to me, his head leaned on my face, his breath hit my lips, and those hands lifted through the wall and curved my cheeks. I knew I had aimed for a hard bargain for one moment.

I closed my eyes, overcome with defeat and desperation akin to his own. My lifelong struggle toward perfection faltered in a single moment, within the confines of a bathroom and in the presence of a stranger, where I chose to challenge the flawless record I had set for myself. The permission I bestowed was not upon silver, but upon gold.

It turned quickly, my lifelong friend from Golden Fretters.

I felt the closeness, I felt the advances. I hope he doesn’t reject, I hope he doesn’t laugh at me, how someone like me succumbs to a mere closeness. But how can I describe him ever, to a rogue from Mumbai, that this is not about him? Maybe.

His lips almost brushed, my core felt its ghostly touch, when the phone rang.

What am I doing?

I am engaged. This is betrayal.

I opened my eyes and saw his face, pushed him from me and ran outside the door. The guards looked at me, but I ignored them and ran away. The man who managed to shake me out of my box had me almost step out of him. I have been a bird in a cage since birth, and I can't taste freedom. I can't taste freedom because tasting freedom means I will start craving it.

I cannot believe how close I came to betraying my fiancé. For what? What power does this man hold that my resolve melted in his arms? How did he strip me of reason, of dignity, of loyalty? I, who prided myself on perfection, nearly surrendered it all in a moment of weakness. My face buried in my palms, I wept — for my family, my fiancé, my lifelong struggle, my morals, my principles. How could I allow a stranger to steal everything I had worked so hard to build?

I ran towards the corridor of the hotel. And I know I can't step out of it. Eklavya’s boundary stopped me. I stopped by the glass window. My steps faltering backwards, and I sat down on the couch, the guards who had followed me questioned. And I did not reply. I couldn’t.

I crossed the forbidden threshold, and my fiancé became the victim of my betrayal.

My face hid in my palms, and my cries couldn’t be controlled. How can I be such a pathetic, disruptive and disgusting human being? How can I betray my fiancé? My family? My lifelong struggle for perfection and hard work? My morals and my principles?

How can I allow that man to steal everything I have worked hard to build?

Will my father and mother ever forgive me if they find out, I almost allowed a stranger to kiss me in public? Will my fiancé forgive me for mentally cheating on him and being on my way to do it physically? Can I trust myself that if at that second, he had asked me to cross any other boundary, I would have allowed him?

“My sister told me, if you hurt someone, you should apologise to them.” I was pulled out of my thoughts, and the familiar voice, and my hand dropped. I jerked my head in the direction of the source. He was standing across from me, my head turned to look for my guards. “One went to grab water and the other some tissue.” He explained, catching my desperation not to be alone with him.

This was a corridor, thankfully, more people were here, but far enough that they couldn't hear our conversation. I didn’t match his eyes. I stared down at my feet. “I am sorry.” He completed the task his sister set him to conduct.

“Does your sister know what you did? What does she think? Should I forgive you?” I confidently raised my head. He shifted in his place. “If someone does this to your sister, will you expect her to forgive him?”

My rebel spoke, but my tears weren’t a reason exaggerated from the fact that he stalked me to a bathroom alone and that he cornered me when I was vulnerable and almost kissed me when I was in a position where I couldn’t defend myself. But how can I justify his wrongdoing when he had allowed me to speak, and I gave him permission, when he leaned in, I closed my eyes and anticipated it.

“Kehr would probably whip me with Dad’s belt, and if someone ever does this to her, he won't live through to speak his sorry.” His confident words showed his lack of remorse. “Look. It came out wrong. I was not there to kiss you. I was there to—”

He stopped, his head tilted left, “It annoys the fuck out of me that you are engaged.” His voice loud, I jerked. The guard showed up with water and tissue. This will reach Eklavya. I don’t want it. He started to step back from hovering over me, and at a distance, he spoke again. “And—”

I stood, “It's not your business, Mr Dharan,” I coldly spat, “I don’t want anything about me to be your business. I am being civil enough to bear greetings with you. Don’t urge me to be disrespectful.” I turned to my guard, “Uncle Kamlesh, please change the hotel for our stay in Mumbai.”

My body passed through him, and I walked towards the staircase and led myself towards the first floor. Him screaming the cruel and bitter words at me. “One day, you will beg me to make everything about you, my business! Abhyananta Rajput.”

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Is it weird that Dasharth seems so cool?

guys better support it, because despite cancelling the whole Introductory Bonus idea, I still wrote. Now if it will continue or not depends on the response.

The target to continue bonus chapter is 500 comments!