R U D R A K S H

"Stop!" Sitara screams, her voice breaking with urgency, but I don’t let go.

The bastard groans, clutching his jaw as blood drips from his split lip. Even in pain, he glares at me.

"You’ve lost your damn mind, man!" he spits out, attempting to shove me back, but my grip doesn’t falter.

"Touch her again, and you'll wish you hadn’t," I growl, my voice dangerously low.

Moments earlier, I’d been leaving the Dean’s office when I saw it. The scene that made my blood boil. Sitara struggling against this pervert as he tried to hug her. She was telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen.

I didn’t think. My body moved before my brain could catch up. Actions speak louder than words.

"It wasn’t like that!" Sitara yells, tugging desperately on my arm. "Let him go, Mr. Suryawanshi!"

I glance at her, my dark eyes blazing with anger. "He had his hands all over you," I snarl, my gaze flickering over her quickly to ensure she’s unharmed.

"He was joking! Krish is my friend!" she pleads, stepping closer, her hands trembling as she tries to intervene.

My jaw clenches, chest heaving as her words sink in. Slowly, I release this Krish, letting him fall back onto the ground with a cough.

Sitara immediately crouches beside him, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?" she asks, her voice soft and trembling.

I tighten my fists, struggling to contain the rage still simmering beneath the surface as I watch her fuss over him.

"You’re bleeding!" she exclaims, her fingers trembling as they brush the corner of his mouth.

Do not snap.

DO. NOT.

She takes the corner of her dupatta, gently dabbing at the blood, her sniffles tearing through my restraint.

"I’m sorry," she whispers, her voice quivering as a single tear slides down her cheek.

Regret churns in my chest. Not for punching this asshole, but for being the reason behind her tears.

Krish waves her off, wincing. "Yeah, I’ll survive. Though your bodyguard here packs a hell of a punch."

He gets up slowly, brushing the dirt off his shirt, smirking despite his swollen lip. "Man, you’ve got serious issues," he says, his tone more amused than angry. "Maybe channel that energy into therapy instead of punching people."

"Krish," she warns, her tone sharp and protective, as if she’s afraid I might lunge at him again.

"What? It’s true." He shrugs, still grinning like the idiot he is.

My fists clench at my sides. I open my mouth to retort, but Sitara beats me to it.

"Apologize to him," she demands, her watery eyes locking onto mine.

If I were a good man, I might have considered it. But luckily for him and unfortunately for her, I’m not.

"No," I say simply, my voice firm, meeting her gaze.

Her lips part, but before she can argue, I turn and walk away, my fists still tight, my heart pounding in my chest.

If I stayed a second longer, I might have dragged her away, thrown her into my car, and driven far enough to keep her safe from this world.

Because Sitara is too pure for this world. And devils like me are the ones who destroy it.

S I T A R A

As he disappears around the corner, I let out a shaky breath, turning back to Krish.

"You okay?" I ask again, guilt tugging at me.

"Peachy," Krish replies, grinning despite his injuries. "Though next time, maybe warn your fiancé I’m not the enemy."

"He’s not my fiancé," I mutter, feeling my cheeks heat.

"Could’ve fooled me," Krish says, rubbing his jaw. "The guy looked like he was ready to tear me apart for breathing near you."

I sigh, helping him steady himself. "He is the older Suryawanshi. Rohan’s brother," I clarify.

Krish raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "I would’ve appreciated it if you’d chosen the older brother instead," he teases, winking. "He seems weirdly protective of you."

I scoff at the idea, brushing off his words. "If only you knew the truth."

My voice is quieter now, the weight of my reality pressing down on me. I consider telling him that Rudraksh Suryawanshi completely despises me but decide against it.

Why should I drag him into my misery too? He’s better off not knowing.

After all, it’s not protection. It’s control.

He’s probably just making sure I don’t stray because, soon enough, I’ll be his brother’s wife.

The thought churns in my stomach, making me feel sick.

Don't think about it.

⭐

"Don't blink!" Mihika scolds as she leans in, carefully lining my eyes with eyeliner.

"Is it done?" I ask, fidgeting in my seat.

"Hold still, Sita! Stop being such a hussy," she complains, her tone exasperated. "Okay, now open your eyes."

I blink them open and stare at my reflection in the mirror, only to feel completely disoriented.

Because the person staring back at me isn’t me. Mihika has transformed my face with bold, smoky eyes that make my gaze look intense and dramatic. My curls are pinned back on either side, revealing my full face, and a daring red lipstick has been expertly applied to my lips.

"I look like a clown," I blurt, already reaching for a tissue.

She slaps my hand away, glaring at me. "Don’t you dare! You’re the bride, Sita! You should look the part." She picks up a brush and dabs something onto my cheek, fussing like she’s painting on a masterpiece.

Tonight, Rohan has arranged a bachelor party. A combined celebration with both our friends and family.

He insisted on hosting it at a nightclub, saying it was the perfect way to "celebrate the days of being single," as he put it with his signature grin.

Mihika, of course, insisted I wear one of her dresses. It’s a white, body-hugging, strapless dress that clings to every curve and barely grazes my thighs. I’ve never shown so much skin in my entire life, and it makes me feel exposed and uncomfortable.

“Mihika, please. I feel like I’m practically naked,” I mumble, wrapping my arms around myself for some semblance of modesty.

She waves me off with a roll of her eyes. “Stop being dramatic, Sita.”

Desperate for comfort, I reach for my glasses, but Mihika snatches them before I can put them on.

“No glasses for the bride tonight.” she declares, tossing them onto the table.

I gape at her. “How am I supposed to see anything? You know I can’t see properly without them!”

She shushes me with a sharp, “Chup!” and continues fiddling with my hair. “I’ll help you if you need it. Besides, who needs glasses when you look this good?”

She steps back and surveys her handiwork with a satisfied smile. "Perfect," she announces, her tone triumphant.

Meanwhile, I stare at my reflection, feeling anything but perfect.

She leaves me, going back home to get ready herself. Last week we had the engagement party and now within few weeks I'll be married and become a Suryawanshi.

I glance down at the diamond ring Rohan gave me and a sigh escapes me.

Stay strong, Sita.

I tried to understand Rohan, but he never talks to me for more than a minute. There’s always an excuse. If it’s not an important phone call, it’s the restroom. Eventually, I stopped trying. The message was clear enough.

Surprisingly, Rudraksh didn’t show up to our engagement party. I silently thanked the stars for that. One withering glare from him would’ve ruined my entire day.

“I’m ready!” Mihika announces, walking in wearing a dress that hugs her figure perfectly. She looks like she just stepped off a runway.

“You look stunning, Mihika,” I say, and she winks at me.

“I always do!” she replies, flipping her hair dramatically. I chuckle.

She’s not wrong.

We soon reach the nightclub in the car Rohan sent for us.

The moment I step inside, I regret letting Mihika dress me in this outfit. The party is in full swing. Music blaring, alcohol flowing, and people practically glued to each other on the dance floor in the name of dancing. Half the crowd is clearly drunk.

I spot Rohan in the middle of it all, a bottle in hand as he dances wildly.

“Last days before I chain myself to marriage!” he yells, laughing. His friends roar in response as if he’d just cracked the funniest joke ever.

I sigh. Mihika, on the other hand, lights up with excitement and makes a beeline for the dance floor.

“Mimi!” Rohan greets her with a wide grin, pulling her into a hug.

Left alone, I feel out of place, especially without my glasses but I sneaked them into my pouch without Mihika knowing. I shouldn’t have come.

Well, you are the bride remember?

Wrapping my arms around myself, I try to warm up, rubbing my hands over my bare skin. All I want is to go home.

Krish won’t be here today as he had some important meeting with his Papa’s clients but he promised he’ll be the first person at my wedding.

“Sita!” A very familiar voice calls out, and I immediately relax.

Ahana walks in, her husband, Yuvraj Singhania, following her like a bodyguard, glaring at anyone who tries to move closer or even give her a second glance.

“Hi,” I say to her and nod at Yuvraj bhaiyya.

“How—What the hell are you wearing?!” Ahana exclaims, her voice full of surprise.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to cover my exposed arms, uneasy in the dress. “Umm... This is Mihika’s dress,” I murmur, glancing down at my hands.

“Why would you wear your cousin’s dress? You could’ve asked me,” Ahana says, genuinely hurt.

Yeah, Ahana has always bought me things. When I didn’t have enough money to buy a milkshake, she’d pay for me and wouldn’t even accept it when I tried to pay her back. If we had lunch, she wouldn’t let me pay.

That’s who she is.

When we go dress shopping, I’d walk beside her, pretending not to like the dresses she pointed out that would look good on me. Because if she even sensed the slightest interest on my part, she’d buy it for me and expect nothing in return except my friendship.

I know she loves me and does all that so I wouldn’t feel left out, but I never want to owe anyone, even her.

I’ve seen my father fall into debt, and I don’t want to follow the same path.

“She wanted me to wear it,” I reply to her earlier question, my eyes downcast.

I’m immediately hugged as my friend squeezes me in a warm embrace.

When she pulls back, she looks at me with a firm but kind gaze. “You look beautiful in this dress,” she says, her tone reassuring. When I open my mouth to protest, Ahana silences me with a pointed glare. “You really do, but you seem uncomfortable. That’s why I reacted the way I did,” she adds, and I nod in understanding.

“Okay, now introduce us to your fiancé!” Ahana says excitedly, and I let out a deep sigh.

I know what her reaction will be.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand, and her husband follows us.

My gaze lands on Rohan across the room. He’s on the dance floor with his rowdy friends, laughing and drinking with a bottle in hand.

“There he is,” I say, pointing toward him.

I notice Ahana’s face instantly fall, her expression a mix of disgust and disbelief as she watches him dance with Mihika.

“Why is Mihika dancing with him?” Ahana mutters, fury flickering in her eyes.

My throat tightens when I see them being so close. Images of Neha and Nikhil flash before me, but I squash them before they take root.

“They became good friends,” I explain, though my eyes remain locked on Rohan.

He catches sight of us from across the club, and I see his posture change. He quickly moves away from Mihika, making his way toward us with a grin plastered on his face.

“Sita, baby!” he shouts through the blaring music.

He stops right in front of us, his eyes widening as he recognizes Ahana. “Ahana Rajputh?” he says with a smile, trying to reach for her, clearly aiming to hug her.

But before he can get any closer, Yuvraj bhaiyya steps in between, blocking his way.

“Yuvraj Singhania. Her husband,” he says coldly, and Rohan’s grin falters. His eyes widen in surprise, and he immediately steps back, clearly taken aback by the sudden intervention.

“O-of course,” Rohan stammers nervously, laughing awkwardly. “I know you,” he adds, clearly trying to recover.

Then Mihika steps in behind him, joining the group. “Hi!” she greets us overly cheerfully.

Ahana huffs in frustration at the sight of her. Yeah, she's not a big fan of my cousin.

Yuvraj bhaiyya leans down to ask Ahana something, and she whispers back to him. He nods at her and directs a glare toward Mihika.

Rohan turns his attention back to me. “Ahana is your friend?” he asks, and I nod wordlessly.

“Of course, you go to that fancy college because of a scholarship. The know-it-all,” Rohan says, erupting into laughter while Mihika chuckles along with him.

My chest tightens as he calls me that. It feels like he’s mocking me. Only I know how hard I study to pass my exams.

Why would people consider it a joke or take it lightly when someone does well academically?

It’s hard work. It’s not like I get good grades by being lazy.

“You are an ass—” Ahana starts to curse him, but before she can finish, I stop her with a firm hand on her arm.

“Don’t,” I whisper, my voice wavering, and I can see Ahana bite back her words. Before Rohan can say anything more, she pulls me away.

“Come, let’s dance,” she says, signaling to her husband that we’re heading to the dance floor.

He understands her just with a look and nods at her to go on.

I know for a fact that he’ll stay close, watching her, protecting her if he notices any signs of discomfort.

How would it feel to be loved like that?

To know there’s someone who wants you, craves you, no matter how you look or how much money you have.

Someone who’s always there for you.

I’ll never know how that feels.

Before I can wallow in self-pity, Ahana pulls me to the dance floor, chuckling as we get into it.

I see Rohan and Mihika taking shots.

“Mihika is drinking,” I gasp in surprise. If Bua knows, she’ll kill me. “Wait, let me—” I start to walk, but Ahana stops me.

“Let her. You are not her parent,” she says, not letting me move.

That’s true. But although Mihika is only a year younger than me, she’s always been my unbiological little sister. I’ve always felt the need to protect her.

Maybe today, she doesn’t need any protection.

Ahana twirls me suddenly, pulling a carefree chuckle out of me.

We dance together for a while. She tries to show me some moves, but I just rock on my feet, not wanting to ruin the mood.

“Sita?” she bumps her hip against mine, still dancing.

“Hmm?” I smile at her, feeling a little better now that she’s here with me.

“Why’s your future brother-in-law burning a hole through you?” she asks, and my spine turns rigid.

My head whips to where Ahana is staring, and even without my glasses, I can identify his dark eyes anywhere.

The jet-black hair, the sharp cheekbones, the eyes full of mysteries.

Rudraksh Suryawanshi is glaring at me, and I don’t know what I did this time to offend him.

To be continued...