Silent Longing

Chapter 2

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Author's Pov

Location - Varma Household

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The morning sun filtered through the curtains as Vikram sat at the dining table, sipping his coffee. His mother, Prashanti, was bustling around, finishing up her morning routine. Vikram noticed the glint in her eyes, a sign that she was up to something.

She placed a small slip of paper on the table beside his coffee cup. Vikram raised an eyebrow and glanced at it before realizing it was a phone number.

"Trisha Iyer," his mother said softly, sitting down across from him with a knowing smile. "Call her, text her, do whatever you need. But it's time you two met. Get to know her."

Vikram picked up the paper, running his thumb over the neatly written digits. He let out a small sigh. "Mom, I'm not even sure where to start. What do I even say? 'Hey, I'm the guy you're supposed to marry. Nice to meet you?'"

Prashanti chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, please. You're Vikram Varma. You can handle anything. Besides, the Iyers are lovely people. You'll get along with her just fine."

Vikram looked down at the number again, a strange sensation of responsibility settling in his chest. His mother's lightheartedness didn't change the fact that this was a monumental step for him. "You seem so sure."

"I am," Prashanti said firmly. "Both families are. And your father, well, you know how he feels about promises."

Vikram nodded, recalling the conversation with his father. Raj Varma wasn't a man to break promises, and the agreement between the families carried weight.

Without a word, Vikram reached for the paper and tucked it into his pocket. Prashanti smiled, assuming this meant he would comply. "That's my boy," she said, her voice softening as she patted his arm. "I know you'll do the right thing."

He gave her a brief nod, his expression unreadable. As soon as she turned away, Vikram's mind resumed its turmoil. He wasn't going to let this interfere with his life. He had his own plans, and marrying Trisha wasn't part of them. It didn't matter if his parents had agreed on it years ago or if it would make his mother happy.

Vikram stood, leaving the half-finished coffee behind, and walked to his room. Pulling out his phone, he stared at the number on the paper for a long moment. He knew what he had to do, even if it grated against every instinct he had. The world he lived in demanded strategy, manipulation, and control.

This marriage? It was just another negotiation.

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Vikram paced back and forth in his room, the paper with Trisha's number clutched in his hand like an unwanted burden. He stared at his phone, debating whether to even call her. Every fiber of his being rebelled against it. This was not how his life was supposed to go. He wasn't about to let anyone—or anything—mess with the delicate balance he had worked so hard to maintain.

But there was no getting out of this. Not with the promise looming over him like a threat.

Finally, he dialed the number, his fingers moving fast as if to get it over with. The phone rang, and with each ring, his frustration bubbled closer to the surface. This whole situation felt like a noose tightening around his neck. He wasn't about to let it suffocate him.

After a few seconds, the line clicked, and a soft, pleasant voice answered.

Trisha: "Hello?"

Vikram didn't waste time on pleasantries.