𝙆𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝘼𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙧𝙞 is a strong-willed, ambitious young woman determined to pursue her dreams, free from the expectations of her family. Raised in a loving home, Kiara is confident and outspoken, standing up against social injustice at eve...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
People say love is like a storm, all-consuming, blinding, something that pulls you in and leaves you forever changed. I'd never been one for such ideas. Love, to me, always seemed. . .volatile. Dangerous, even. I grew up watching marriages forged in duty, commitment rooted in tradition, and loyalty.
My Bua-Fufa & my grandparents(they had a proper arrange marriage), my Chacha-Chachi, my parents(they have love-arrange marriage)—all of them were bound by the same legacy. The Rathores name.That was the constant. That was my reality. I'd decided long ago that love wasn't for me, not in the traditional, fairy-tale way most people dreamed of. I'd grown used to living for control, for goals, for the family.
Yet, there was that one night. The night with the mystery girl. The owner of that anklet.
It's strange, holding onto something so small, so seemingly insignificant, yet feeling its weight. I'd never even seen her face, but I remember everything else with painful clarity. The dimness of the club, the chaos of the night, the sick look on that guy's face as he tried to corner her. I could still hear the desperation in her breaths, could almost feel the icy dread radiating off her as she clutched at my hand. And that jingle of the anklet—soft, barely there, but somehow grounding me amidst the noise.
The darkness cloaked us both, hiding our faces, but something about her. . .she didn't even know who I was. She was just a girl who needed help, and I couldn't shake the feeling of protectiveness that swelled up in me as I pulled her away.
When the lights came back on and I realized she was gone, it was like waking up from a dream. And when I looked down and saw her payal in my hand, it felt. . .strangely personal. Like I'd taken a part of her with me, even if it was just a sliver, just that sound, that memory. Since then, the anklet's become a constant—a little reminder that life isn't always something you can control or plan. Sometimes it happens to you, and all you can do is let it.
But that's not something my family would understand. Or so I thought.
Lying on my king-sized bed, I held the anklet between my fingers, turning it over, listening to its delicate jingling as if it held some answer I couldn't name. The sound was gentle, soft enough to lull me, but beneath that quiet, it stirred something deeper, something raw that I hadn't realized I was capable of feeling. If anyone had told me this years ago that I'd end up here, lost in thought over a piece of jewellery, I would've laughed in their face. The thought alone was absurd—a man like me, endlessly logical, dismissing emotions like trivial inconveniences. Yet here I was, haunted by a single sound and the memories it brought.
