Author's POV

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the pungent scent of crushed herbs and anticipation. Saanj’s mother worked methodically at the small wooden table, grinding the ingredients for the milk laced with ancient secrets intended for the wedding night. She didn’t look up as she spoke, her voice a sharp, commanding blade that cut through the silence.

"Dekh, Saanj. Mere baat aapne pallu se baandh le," she said, finally turning to face her daughter. Her eyes were hard, unyielding. "Tujhe apni pati ke siwa mein koi kasar nahi chorni. Raat ko uska bistara garam kar, jaisa kahta hai kar. Usse naraz karna yani Bhagwaan ko naraz karna hai."

She paused, pointing a finger sternly. "Wahan sasural mein meri naak mat katwaiyo. Warna, yahan moo utha kar aane ke bhi zarorat nahi hai."

With a slow, deliberate motion, the mother picked up a small, glass bottle filled with the dark, potent mixture. She held it out to Saanj, her lips curling into a smirk that didn't reach her eyes.

"Yeh le. Doodh mein mila kar dena usko," she instructed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that felt more like a threat. "Bhoolna mat. Jitna bara lund hoga, utna swaad zyada aayega tujhe."

Saanj took the bottle. Her fingers wrapped around the cool glass, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. The smirk on her mother’s face sent a shiver down her spine, a mixture of shame and dread settling deep in her stomach.

"Tayaar hoja," her mother snapped, the momentary intimacy gone. "Yuvaan, tera devar, tujhe lene aata hoga. Apne sasural mein kisi ko bhi mana nahi karna. Jo Kuch bhi tujhe kahein, tera kaam unhi haan mein haan karna hai, unki sewa karna. Ab samajh aa gayi meri baat? Toh jaldi kar, zada intezar karwana sahi nahi hai."

Before turning back to her chores, she pressed the small bottle firmly into Saanj’s palm. Saanj stood there for a long moment after her mother left the room, the bottle feeling like a heavy stone in her hand.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a deep, suffocating pressure. The wedding was just two days away. Two days, and her husband, the man she was bound to, hadn’t spoken a single word to her. He hadn’t even bothered to meet her.

Numbly, Saanj walked toward the dressing table. The mirror reflected a girl she barely recognized. Her eyes were tired, rimmed with red from sleepless nights and silent weeping. Her lips were thinned, pressed together so tightly it looked as if no word would ever pass through them again, and even if they did, what value would they have?

Her mind swam, a chaotic haze of fear and resignation. She didn't want this marriage. She had never wanted it, but her choices had been stripped away long ago. Now, it was simply her fate, a cage she had to step into.

Mechanically, she began to strip off her clothes, the fabric sliding down her skin and pooling on the floor. She was so lost in the daze of her own misery, so disconnected from her surroundings, that she forgot to lock the door. The vulnerability of the moment didn't register. All she could think about was the silence of the stranger who was now her husband, and the bottle of herbs sitting on the table, waiting to seal her destiny. She signed deeply, the sound empty in the quiet room. She had to accept it. She had no other choice.

Her fingers trembled as they reached for the hooks of her blouse, the simple dori feeling like a complex puzzle her frayed mind couldn't solve. It was another torment, a small frustration that threatened to break her already fragile composure. She heard the distinct creak of the door hinges and assumed her mother had returned.

"Maa, can you please help me with it," Saanj called out softly, her voice pleading. "It's been stuck in one place."

She hoped her mother wouldn't scold her for such a trivial inability. To her relief, no reprimand came. Instead, she felt a presence behind her. A sudden gasp escaped her lips as a cold hand touched her bare back, the temperature shocking against her heated skin.

A tingling sensation bloomed where the fingers worked to undo the tight knot. She sighed in relief when the tension gave way, and her blouse slipped from her shoulders.

The fabric pooled on the floor, leaving her upper body bare. Her breasts, heavy and round, felt the sudden rush of cool air as they were freed from the confines of the cloth.

She turned around, intending to ask her mother if the new dress was appropriate for the visit to her in-laws. But the words died in her throat. Her eyes widened in sheer terror.

It wasn't her mother.

Standing before her was a man in his late twenties, his eyes intense and locked onto her exposed form. He took a casual step back, but the damage was done. Instinct took over, and Saanj moved to cover herself with her hands, a scream building in her chest.

Before a sound could escape, his hand clamped firmly over her mouth, muffling her cry to a strangled whimper. Her eyes filled with tears of shock and humiliation.

"Don't. I'm here to pick you up, then saw you were in need of help, so I came," he said, his voice maddeningly calm. His other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her soft flesh flush against his hard frame. Saanj tried to speak, to protest, but his palm remained an unyielding barrier.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "I will take my hand back, but don't you dare to scream."

Saanj shook frantically, her eyes wide with panic. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking through her blush.

"Saanj..."

Her mother’s voice drifted in from the hallway, close enough to chill her blood. The chaos of the moment crashed over her.

What was happening? How had her safe haven turned into a trap?

"Shit," the man muttered under his breath. He didn't give her a chance to process the danger. Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms. Saanj’s eyes went even wider as the floor vanished beneath her. She tried to wiggle free, beating her soft hands against his chest, but his grip was iron.

He moved quickly, striding into the attached washroom and kicking the door shut behind them. It was a hiding place, a calculated move to avoid accusations and blame.

She was bare from the waist up, clad only in her petticoat, her cheeks flushed a deep pink with shame and terror. She hated how suddenly she had been caught on this web.

He set her down but kept her pinned against the tiled wall, leaning in close.

"Not a single word," he warned, his voice low and laced with a dark threat. "Otherwise, your mother will think you bring me here to see you naked." His eyes raked over her disheveled state. "Now, do you want to do that?"

Saanj froze. The weight of the threat crushed her spirit. She shook her head slowly, defeated. She had already brought herself into the orbit of a man she didn't even know, trapped in a lie that wasn't hers to tell.

"Tell your mother to hand you your clothes," he whispered, his voice low and commanding, standing close behind her in the cramped space of the washroom.

Saanj flinched hard as her mother’s voice called out her name again, sharper this time. She swallowed the lump in her throat and peeked through the narrow gap of the door, trying to keep her trembling voice steady.

"Maa, hum... hum yahan hain," she stammered, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. "Apne kapre le jaana bhool gayi."

There was a pause, then the rustle of fabric. Her mother appeared at the door, thrusting the clothes into her hands with a stern expression.

"Achche se tyaar kar khud ko," her mother instructed, her eyes narrowing as she caught a whiff of the crushed herbs lingering in the air. "Menay jo khusboo wahan rakhi hai, usse bhi laga lena. Aur hosh mein reh kar kaam kiya kar. Kahi sasural mein hi pehle din meri naak na katwa ana."

Saanj nodded weakly, taking the fresh clothes. Her mother lingered for a second with a look of disappointed expectation before finally turning and walking away.

As soon as the footsteps faded, Saanj closed the door and turned back. She felt drained, her spirit brittle. She didn't care anymore about her state of undress or the invasion of her privacy. The shame had numbed into a dull ache.

"Aap... aap chale jaiye ab," she whispered, not daring to meet his intense gaze. "Wo... wo jaa chuke hain."

She looked so small, so defeated, that for a moment, Yuvaan felt something ignite inside him, a pang of unwanted empathy mixed with admiration for her composure.

"You don't need to put in any effort for Vihaan Bhai," he said, his tone blunt and cutting. "He will not give you a single glance. I doubt If he came to look after you,"

The words struck Saanj like a physical blow. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, spilling over.

"Then why is he marrying me?" she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her heartbreak.

Realization dawned on her then. She looked up at him, really seeing him for the first time. The sharp features, the authoritative air, he wasn't a stranger off the street. He was the youngest heir of the Rajvansh family.

Yuvaan Rajvansh. Vihaan’s youngest brother.

"To tell you the truth," Yuvaan said, crossing his arms over his chest, "he will soon bring another girl in front of your eyes. I'm not here to pick you up for a joyride. Tell your mother to cancel this wedding. Selling you like this will cost you nothing but pain and disappointment."

Saanj let out a shuddering breath. She wanted to believe him, wanted to run, but the invisible chains of her upbringing held her tight.

"I... I can't," she whispered, turning away to pick up her blouse. "She won't agree. And it's not the first time I have disappointed her... I can't do it again."

She began to dress, her fingers fumbling with the hooks of the blouse, trying to cover herself and regain some semblance of dignity. Yuvaan watched her, his jaw clenching as he saw her acting so strong in the face of such despair.

"You need to leave before she comes back," she reminded him, her voice firmer this time.

Yuvaan stared at her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Then, without another word, he turned and slipped out of the washroom, leaving her alone with her shattered illusions.

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