The rituals began under a canopy of golden marigolds and flickering oil lamps. The priest’s chants echoed softly through the mandap, sacred and surreal. Guests watched with bated breath, some smiling, some confused, and others—like Shreyansh’s parents—still processing the shock.
Arya sat beside him like an exquisite statue—elegant in red, every detail flawless, yet her eyes void of warmth. She performed each ritual silently, precisely, her hands moving with grace but not devotion. Shreyansh’s gaze kept drifting to her, again and again. He was supposed to focus, to play the part of the groom, but he couldn’t help it.
She was right beside him. So close. So untouchable.
As he tied the mangalsutra around her neck, his fingers brushed her skin—and he froze. Not because of nerves, but because of the rush of memories he hadn’t invited. The times he had longed for this moment, imagined it with her in love, smiling, hers. But now she sat still, unflinching.
When he applied sindoor to her hairline, his hand trembled—just enough for only him to notice. The crimson mark gleamed beneath the sacred firelight, and for a second, the illusion shimmered like it might become real.
But Arya didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes hollow and focused.
“You’re mine now, he thought, swallowing hard. But are you really?”*
As they stood for the final phera, their hands bound by a silken cloth, Shreyansh’s mind was a war zone. On the surface, he looked composed—a proud groom—but inside, he felt hollow and heavy, overwhelmed by the weight of what should’ve been and what actually was.
And beside him stood a woman who vowed revenge in the name of love. A woman who now carried his name, but not his heart.
Arya didn’t look at him once.
She didn’t have to.
Because her silence screamed louder than any vow.
Vihaan eye's softer seeing Arya's face But he did not let his emotions show on his face and again made a harsh face...
"Congratulations to both of you " Kunal wished them and hugged Shreyansh.
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Shreyansh’s voice was calm but firm as he stepped away, adjusting the cuffs of his sherwani. “Start preparing for the reception. The party is this evening, and I’ve invited a special guest. He must come.”
Without another word, he grasped Arya’s wrist and led her toward the room, his grip steady but not forceful. She followed, silent, trapped in thoughts too deep to escape.
The door shut with a quiet click behind them. Arya stood still, her back toward him, lost in her own storm of emotions. She didn’t hear him move, didn’t notice when he took slow steps toward her, his gaze heavy with something he hadn’t named yet.
His fingers found their way around her waist, pulling her against him, his breath steady as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. Her scent—undeniably familiar, intoxicating—clouded his senses, making his grip falter for the briefest second.
Arya stiffened instantly, tension crackling in the air. Her voice was sharp when she spoke, cutting through the moment like ice.
“Leave me.”
She pushed against his arms, her breath uneven. “Your touch feels like thorns piercing my skin.”
Shreyansh didn’t move at first.
YOU ARE READING
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞💕 ( 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞)✔
Romance"She was his everything-until she became his assassin." Shreyansh loved Arya with his whole soul. But the woman he trusted most shot him and walked away. Now he's back. Alive. And hell-bent on revenge. But they're not the only ones tangled in love...
