Reverse Vows || AkshNav ||

Chapter 1 | Akshara

Yo, I just decided to drop an AkshNav fic, even though I got other ones in the queue to update. But hey, why the heck not? Been low-key obsessed with AkshNav and AbhiMaan lately, even though Armaan's a total jerk. I'll get to that AbhiMaan fic once I'm done wrapping up the MaAn one.

This story's a whole different beast from the show, man. No other characters, just our main duo, AkshNav, and maybe Abhimanyu might stroll in fashionably late.

Abhinav's a whole new breed in this fic — broody, arrogant, the works. Brace yourselves for a slow-burn romance, and when I say slow burn, I mean SLOW BURN. Kisses and intimacy ain't hitting the scene anytime soon. It's a fresh take on AkshNav, so if you're intrigued, dive in. Just a heads up, updates are gonna be on turtle mode.

So buckle up, people! We're in for a wild ride with our not-so-typical AkshNav. Much love! <3

Hey, Past Self, note to you: saying "I do" to a mystery hottie—big mistake.

"Do you, Akshara Goenka, solemnly declare to take..." No way. Hard pass.

"Abhinav Sharma as your lawfully wedded husband?" Let's think this through. Nope. Not happening.

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and keep him for as long as you both shall live?" Keep him?

With wide eyes and a hint of shakiness, I stared straight ahead as the officiant dropped the words I dreaded. Was I seriously doing this? When the room's silence stretched on and the spotlight was on me, I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tried to speak, but the words itching to escape weren't the enthusiastic "Yes, I do."

No lush green garden, no cheering friends; no laughter or tears of happiness. Instead, a single pink rose thrust into my hands by Abhinav Sharma, a guy I knew next to nothing about. No white dress, no dream wedding gown—just me in a simple blue dress, the priciest thing I owned, and definitely the only thing decent enough for this unexpected ceremony. Abhinav, in a black suit that probably cost more than a year's rent, if not more. Not a tux, but it worked. I looked budget next to him.

Also, there was the handholding, his grip surprisingly tight around mine, especially compared to my loose hold. Such a simple act, but holding a stranger's hand while you're getting married? Not fun. Hell, forget about handholding—I was about to be the wife of a man I knew nothing more about than what a quick Google search had provided.

Yet I had willingly and knowingly agreed to this, hadn't I?

"Miss Goenka?" As my breaths started to come faster and panic began to take hold of me, I tried to pull my hand out of Abhinav's grip only to feel his fingers tighten around mine even more. I didn't know what I was thinking or what he thought I was going to do, but I couldn't lie and say running away hadn't crossed my mind.

His tight hold was a small warning, and then it was gone. My gaze jumped to his face, but he was staring straight ahead, eyes on the officiant, his sharp features set in stone. Cold. So cold. I thought I saw a muscle in his jaw ticking, but then I blinked, and it was gone. The man showed his emotions about as much as a cement block did, so I tried to do what he was doing: focus on the present.

"Miss Goenka?"

Clearing my throat, I summoned my inner strength to stave off tears. 

Not here. 

Not now. 

Not every marriage is about love. What had love given me, anyway? Heartbreak and late-night emotional eating?