They were an unbreakable couple since school. Still, he cheated on her.
She loved him with all of her. Still, he broke her into millions of pieces.
She has no one except him. He has someone other than her.
She was tolerating bad behavior of his fami...
Manga nahi rab se tumhe Lekin ishara tumhi par tha Naam beshaq naa liya ho Lekin pukara tumhi ko tha...!!!
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As the ladies gathered around Mishti and him, their playful teasing began. "Wow, look at the depth of this color! Ansh must really love you," one of them remarked with a mischievous grin.
Mishti's cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she instinctively glanced toward him. His expression mirrored her own, a blend of embarrassment and pride. The secret glances between them, unnoticed by most, only deepened the moment. He stood there, quietly, his lips curling into a subtle smile, thinking to himself, "Indeed, I do love her, and every design on her hands speaks volumes of that love."
Before Mishti could respond, another woman stepped in, grabbing her hand with an exaggerated gasp."Who drew these henna designs, dear? You're the bride, not a canvas for a child's doodles!" she exclaimed, pointing to the henna with mocking laughter. Her comment rippled through the small group, drawing light chuckles from the crowd.
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The laughter and chattering around them faded as Mishti felt the heat of the woman's words aimed at her like sharp arrows. Her smile faltered for only a second, but she quickly pulled herself together, standing tall. With a steadying breath, she took a step back, not letting the taunts shake her composure.
"Color se matlab nahi raha ab, aunty?" (You don't care about the color anymore, aunty?) Mishti's voice was steady, but the question carried an edge, as if daring the woman to say more.
The woman's lips twitched with amusement, her condescending chuckle bubbling just beneath the surface. "Par beta, what is wrong with your designs?" (But dear, what's wrong with your designs?) she asked, a mock concern in her tone, her eyes glancing at the intricate henna on Mishti's hands.
Mishti's fingers trembled slightly as she glanced down at her henna, each detail lovingly crafted by him. Her heart swelled with pride for the effort he had put into the designs. It wasn't just about her—it was about defending the work he had done. She lifted her head, her gaze moving to him standing nearby. He watched her, a quiet intensity in his eyes, but his face remained neutral, trusting her to handle it. They exchanged a brief glance, and she gave him a subtle nod, silently communicating: I've got this.
