Book 4 in the Proposal Series.
YUGANTIKA IYENGAR
"You cannot fight your doom. It will fucking destroy you, Pookie."
She laughed, wrecking it deep within her guts. A voice that could slice through all the weak hearts. "No one can bring doom on me."...
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There was no beauty. Not in this one big fake world that was divided into a hundred parts. Owned by individuals who keep adding tags to every damn thing. They considered a certain set of people beautiful, some pre-decided standard that has been carried on for years, now a piece of baggage to humanity.
In reality, there was no beauty. People don't look beautiful because of their looks or because they met certain standards set by a few self-acclaimed intellects.
Beauty was a premonition that was used to fool the world. It didn't exist.
And if it did, Tushar Subramanium never witnessed it firsthand. He had known all about the charm of perspectives and thoughts. The power they held in influencing people, in captivating them.
His grandmother preached about who she termed as beautiful. They were people who treated others with compassion, ones who cared about their loved ones. She thought beautiful people were those who appreciated their blessings, shared them with those in need, and listened to others.
Tushar have heard all about it but never witnessed a human who performed deeds with a selfless motive. They were no angels. For they were the humans hiding the devil inside them. They calculated gains from each breath.
There was no way these materialistic beings would be beautiful.
The concept does not exist.
"Isn't that Rockhill? Are they having a verbal spat in the middle of the event?"
And they never failed to prove it.
Tushar pursed his lips around the champagne glass, not bothering to glance around the gatherings of show-offs. How did he wish the clock would tick faster and the party would come to an end?
He still had thick files waiting for him to be read by two women who decided to make an appearance in his life, suddenly if so.
Alana Vashisht – the girl chosen by his grandmother.
Yugantika Iyengar – the only one who dared to snatch what belonged to Tushar.
He had received the files together, Alana above Yugantika yet he chose to pick Yugantika's picture, discarding Alana's file just before he left the room, taking a glance at the pools of black onyx. They held frozen hellfire, while that face was carved out of broken celestial pieces. Otherworldly and vaguely threatening.
Meeting her caused him a horrible, erratic thumping in his chest as if he had met his end but lived through it. As if a large bird was trapped inside his ribcage and beating itself to death. It wasn't fear, neither anger nor frustration he felt towards her at losing. It was an indescribable emotion he refused to think about.
While her face was no different than a million others, unique in its own kind but still the same, there was no difference. The bronze skin, high cheekbones, small eyes, dark lashes, and bow-shaped thin lips pouted every time she took seconds to think of a comeback.
