The Unwanted Bride

Prologue

Published on 22/05/2019
Prologue

Khushi's Pov:

"Who are you?" His voice had a sharp edginess to it today, something strong and uneasy was starting to spread through my veins, pulling my expressions in tightly. The colour from my face had drained, my face looking paler than the foundation trying to lift up my look, struggling to show the perfect bridal happy expressions after hearing his unexpected straight-forward question. Unlike before, the husky voice I remembered from the Goa trip, this was different.

He genuinely looked surprised.

At first I thought he was just being silly. Pulling one of those stupid pranks he does—I think—he's always looked like the type of guy who'd pull others legs to me. The relaxed yet mysterious ones. The handsome yet dominating one. The jokester yet the serious one. I try to move my lips, part them, do anything to let a smile or chuckle leave my lips to ease up the tensed atmosphere but nothing comes out.

I just sit there. Silent. Pale. Confused. Afraid. Blank. And close to having a heartbreak.

But as I stared at him for a couple of minutes—those couple of minutes were torture. He looks back at me, with his coco like brown eyes flicking with only one expression. Horror. I was the reason for his horrified expressions—and then a gasp escapes my mouth. It can't be true. It can't. A tear slips down my eyes and I let it roll over my cheeks, then another. With every touch of my tears on my skin it felt like my heart was getting torn into pieces. Torn, kicked, stabbed, twisted in million pieces and he watches it being shattered with a strong yet annoyed and confused gaze.

It was crystal clear. Unlike the clean glass window, I didn't have any fog to hide away my vision. I could see it on his face. His emotions changed with every passing second. Betrayal was there and I automatically move back on the bed—afraid to see what I felt all my life being referred to me. His expressions were playing the role of a mirror in front of me—the cold wooden board touching my skin through the light fabric of my undid veil and I shiver. Not from the coldness but from his eyes.

So cold. So icy. So hatful.

He wasn't joking. How else could someone hold a stupid and irrelevant joke for more than five minutes? He went to a design school, not drama. For the first time I felt so confident with my judgement, the fragile and always afraid Khushi was sure her husband had no clue who she was.

The corner of Yug's lip wasn't twitched upwards into a smirk. The usual and typical smirk of his. Neither were his lips lingering with the slightest smile. No hint. Nothing. Just straight lined, his forehead giving the same lines like a frown and his eyebrows were knitted together, sending a dangerous nerve run through me.

My heart threatened to stop beating and even my hand on my heart did no justice to the frantic and heart thumping increasing heartbeats. The guy I dreamed of spending my whole life with didn't know who I was. What else could be worse? Am I going to be a divorced women? Again?

"This is a joke isn't it?" It wasn't. But sometimes for the benefit of your doubt we end up asking the question to make sure we're right or wrong. Right now I wanted to be proven wrong, and perhaps be enveloped into a warm hug, whispering things like, I was joking. It's ok, calm down. But he doesn't say anything. He watches me with a straight face and narrowed eyes. "Yug?"

"You're not her, you're not Khushi." He finally says. His own confidence seemed to disappear of decrease within a second because his voice comes out exceptionally low, like he's unsure he's even speaking to anyone. After a hesitant pause and gazing at me right into the eyes he repeats the same question again. "Who are you??"

Who am I?

His words froze me on my spot. I have to bring my birth-certificate now to prove I am Khushi? The part which shook me to the core and frightened me was how he questioned me, 'who are you?' from the certainty of his question and how legitimate it sounded I knew he expected or wished someone else was Khushi instead of me.

"Y-you don't know who I actually am? I am Khushi." I raised my voice. The shakiness of my voice explained how scared I was with this un-digesting conversation and I hated where it was heading. He does nothing more than listen to me carefully and keep his eyes narrowed. "You came to my house with the wedding proposal for me. I am Khushi Gupta, the girl you wanted to marry." The vague look he gives me annoys me even more.

I get of the bed, holding onto my heavy lehenga tightly into my fisted hands before taking small steps towards him. With every step I take towards his frozen figure, I gulp down the possibility of ending up living in a broken relationship. My bare feet touch the cold floor but that doesn't reach me as much as his cold facial expression.

"You can't." His voice raises now angrily. He shakes his head furiously, his hair falling on his temple from the force. "You can't be her." I was puzzled. "I wanted to marry her," he points at a picture frame near his window on a small side table, the only thing was, the frame was faced down. The picture out of view.

I turn around, my back facing him as I take steps towards the table with a heavy heart. Praying I could just wake up from another bad dream. I walked towards the table, my hand reaches out to grab the frame. Tremble. My fingers tremble but I push myself to face the truth only to find it was my sister's photo.

It was Isha's photo. My half-sisters photo.

I find myself whispering something I never dreamt I'd ever say in this context. With this broken and shattered tone that ripped through my own heart once my own words bounced back into my ear with full force. "This is m-my sister" And I let a loud pitiful, sad, damaged sob leave my mouth.

The picture was of my half-sister Isha. I couldn't stop myself from crying, the day I thought would be so special to me became my worst nightmare. My husband didn't recognise me, he wanted to marry my sister. Not me. All those dreams, those vows we took were all meant for someone else. Not me. Those feelings weren't for me. I could see my future drifting away from me, the worst part was I couldn't do anything to stop it.

"I can't stay with you." His voice was sad. Sad enough to express how bad he felt. I don't know if he's sad for me or himself. But he was sad, his voice was thickened with heavy emotions. I don't turn. It was enough for him to know I'm crying than visually see it. He storms out of the room like he can't keep himself stuck with me.

One thing I was aware of, from his reaction I could make out he wouldn't stay quiet.

The Unwanted Bride

How was it?