📍R A J A S T H A N

Engagement day -

The living room buzzed with activity as the boutique staff displayed a collection of lehengas on elegant hangers. Arshia sat quietly on the sofa, observing the chaos around her. On the opposite couch, Aman and Rishabh watched, occasionally whispering to each other. Ananya, Rishabh's sister and Aman's soon-to-be fiancée, carefully sifted through the outfits, trying to find the perfect one for the event.

Nearby, Naina, always assertive, was doing the same. Ananya finally picked a delicate green lehenga and walked over to Arshia.

"How's this one?" she asked softly.

Before Arshia could respond, Naina swooped in, eyeing the lehenga with interest. "Oh, this dress! I spotted it first but didn't pick up," Naina declared, grabbing it from Ananya's hands. "Sorry, Ananya. Pick something else, okay?" she added with a smirk and walked off to show her mother.

Ananya returned to sit beside Arshia, her disappointment evident.

"Why didn't you say something?" Arshia questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"What could I have said? Don't you know how she is?" Ananya replied hesitantly.

"That's exactly why you should say something," Arshia remarked firmly. "You'll be living in this house soon, Ananya. You need to learn to stand up for yourself."

"What if Aman doesn't like it?" Ananya whispered nervously.

Arshia sighed. "The wedding hasn't even happened yet. Besides, do you like that dress?"

Ananya nodded timidly.

Without another word, Arshia stood up and strode toward Naina. Ananya followed her hesitantly, unsure of what was about to unfold.

Rishabh, lounging on the couch, watched the scene unfold with curiosity. He knew Arshia well enough to understand that she wouldn't let this slide.

"Naina," Arshia called out, her voice calm yet commanding, "Ananya picked that dress first."

Naina turned, feigning innocence. "Yeah, but there are more dresses. She can choose something else."

"Exactly, there are more dresses," Arshia retorted with a pointed look, "so you can choose something else."

Rishabh barely suppressed a laugh, coughing to mask his amusement.

Naina frowned. "But I want to wear this one today."

"It's not your engagement today; it's hers," Arshia shot back, her tone unyielding. "And she liked this dress."

Aman, sensing the tension, stepped in to diffuse the situation. "Naina, choose another dress," he said firmly, signaling to his mother to handle her. Taking the lehenga from Naina, he handed it back to Ananya.

Ananya looked relieved, clutching the dress tightly. Arshia returned to her seat, her expression as calm as ever, while Rishabh watched her with a newfound admiration in his eyes.

Ananya smiled gratefully at Arshia as she hugged the green lehenga close to her. "Thank you, Arshia. I don't think I could've done that without you."

Arshia leaned back into the sofa, her expression indifferent. "You could've done it. You just need to stop letting people like Naina walk all over you."

Ananya nodded, still a little hesitant, but her gratitude was genuine. She scanned the collection of lehengas again, her eyes lighting up as she found a perfect match for Arshia. Picking up a delicate purple lehenga adorned with subtle silver embroidery, she walked back to Arshia.

"I know you're not going to choose anything yourself," Ananya teased, holding the lehenga in front of Arshia. "So, I'll choose for you. Try this one."

Arshia glanced at the lehenga, her expression betraying no excitement. "Just pack this," she said curtly, waving a hand dismissively.

Ananya shook her head with a laugh. "You're impossible, Arshia."

Rishabh, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chuckled under his breath. Ananya might have chosen the dress, but everyone could see that Arshia's calm authority had already stolen the show.

---

Arshia sat quietly on the edge of her bed, her purple lehenga gleaming softly under the golden glow of the room's lights. Her open hair framed her face, making her look every bit the regal bride-to-be. But her reflection in the mirror told a different story-a young woman ready in appearance but lost in thought.

Her heart felt heavy, conflicted. This was supposed to be her day, but not like this. Not with Rishabh.

Her dreams had always been about Aarav. Since childhood, she had clung to the vision of him arriving, sweeping her away from all this chaos, all this pressure, and taking her to a place where she didn't have to fight alone anymore. Aarav was supposed to be her protector, her comfort. His name alone had the power to soothe her.

But tonight, she felt the gaping absence of that comfort more acutely than ever. She had grown weary of the battles-battles she had fought for herself, battles no one seemed to notice. And yet, her knight in shining Armor was nowhere to be seen.

The voices from the courtyard reached her room-laughter, music, the sounds of celebration. But to her, they felt distant, almost surreal, like a world she didn't belong to. She gazed at her reflection again, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Kya vo kabhi aayega? Ya bas sapno me reh jayega?" The question lingered in her mind, unanswered, like so many others.

Teri berukhi ke diyar me,

Mai hawa ke sath hawa hua.

Tere aayne ke talash me,

Mere khawab chehre gawa gaye.

The door creaked open without a knock, and as expected, Naina entered, exuding her usual disregard for privacy.

"Tum toh ready ho. Chalo, neeche aao. Vo log aate hi honge," she declared, her tone brisk and indifferent.

Arshia simply nodded, offering no argument. Naina, satisfied, left as unceremoniously as she had arrived.

Taking a deep breath, Arshia stood up and glanced at herself in the mirror one last time. She didn't need to change her expression-everyone already knew what she wouldn't say.

Descending the stairs, she found the house bustling with activity. Most of the guests were in the lawn, their laughter and chatter echoing faintly through the corridors. Servants and maids moved around, tending to last-minute preparations.

As she neared the gate leading to the lawn, a waiter approached her. In his hands was a bouquet of white lilies, pristine and fragrant, tied with a simple silver ribbon.

"This is for you," he said, handing it to her along with an envelope.

Arshia blinked, confused. "Ye kisne bheja?"

"Parcel hai aapke liye, madam. Bas deliver karne bola gaya." With that, he walked away, leaving her clutching the bouquet and letter.

She glanced at the envelope, her heart skipping a beat as she read the sender's address-Toronto, Canada. Her fingers trembled slightly as she made her way back to her room, curiosity and unease mingling within her.

Placing the bouquet gently on the table, Arshia's fingers trembled as she unfolded the letter, her eyes skimming over the words that struck a chord deep within her.

"Us ladki ke naam jo kabhi kisi unchahe rishte ke banne ke khauf se roti hai, toh kabhi bann chuke unchahe riste ke tutne ke khauf se."

Her breath hitched. Who could have written this? And why did it feel like the writer had looked straight into her heart and voiced her deepest fears?

She sat down on the edge of her bed, her fingers brushing the delicate petals of the white lilies beside her. The scent filled the room, calming yet unsettling. Toronto, Canada-the address on the envelope danced in her mind. There was only one person she could think of in distance land.

Aarav.

Her heart raced as she read the next lines:

"Un logon ke liye jo tumhari muskan ko samajh nahi paate, ya unka ehsaas nahi karte jo tumhari aankhon ke peeche chupke aansuon ko dekhte hain. Par yeh chhoti si yaad is baat ka saboot hai ki koi tumhe samajhta hai, door hoke bhi tumhare kareeb hai."

Her grip on the paper tightened, tears threatening to spill.

And yet, his words soothed her, even in his absence.

She placed the letter back on the table, her mind swimming with emotions she couldn't name. The celebration outside felt even further away now, her heart tethered to the possibility of a promise in the form of a letter.

But no-Aarav lived in Mumbai, not Toronto, Canada. Then who? Who could write something that mirrored the storm within her so precisely?

Her thoughts raced, her breath catching in her throat. Without realizing it, warm tears began to roll down her cheeks.

No. This couldn't happen. How could she let this happen? How had she left everything to chance, to others, to fate? How could she leave Aarav to the mercy of someone else's decisions?

No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. She would call him herself, and he would come. He had to. He would.

Determined, she wiped her tears with trembling hands and stepped out of her room. Her legs carried her swiftly down the stairs, ignoring the faint chatter from the lawn.

In the far corner, partially hidden near the staircase, sat the old telephone. Most people assumed it was merely a piece of décor, a relic of a forgotten era. But the ones who lived in this house knew its purpose, its significance.

She reached it, her fingers trembling as she picked up the receiver. The weight of the dialer felt heavier than usual, but her resolve didn't waver. With shaking hands, she began dialing his number, each turn of the rotary wheel making her heart pound louder.

As the line rang, she clutched the receiver tighter and waited, her breath uneven, her hope fragile yet fierce.

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