Kashvi Rao never planned to get married, and it was never her choice. However, when she finally agreed to marry, it was to the man chosen by her parents.
There's nothing inherently wrong with a parent-arranged marriage, but when the man her parents...
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My frustration was simmering, a pot about to boil over. Vansh's earlier ultimatum still lingered in my mind, a constant reminder of his audacity. And now, as we gathered around the breakfast table, I was faced with an even more grating presence. Arman's very existence at the table was an affront, his gaze piercing through me like a dagger. I couldn't bear to eat, my appetite lost amidst the suffocating tension.
His stare was like a weight, pressing down on me, making me squirm in my seat. Every glance he shot my way was like a thinly veiled challenge, a silent declaration of his disdain.
Meanwhile, my husband sat silently, his eyes fixed on their plates, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. The air was thick with unease, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I felt trapped, unable to escape the suffocating atmosphere, my skin crawling with every passing moment."Here's a rewritten version with more descriptive language:
My frustration was simmering, a pot about to boil over. Vansh's earlier ultimatum still lingered in my mind, a constant reminder of his audacity. And now, as we gathered around the breakfast table, I was faced with an even more grating presence.
Arman's very existence at the table was an affront, his gaze piercing through me like a dagger. I couldn't bear to eat, my appetite lost amidst the suffocating tension. His stare was like a weight, pressing down on me, making me squirm in my seat.
Every glance he shot my way was like a thinly veiled challenge, a silent declaration of his disdain. Meanwhile, my husband sat next to me, his eyes fixed on his plates, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. The air was thick with unease, heavy with the weight of unspoken words.
I felt trapped, unable to escape the suffocating atmosphere, my skin crawling with every passing moment.
Just as my hand was about to wrap around the glass of juice, a sudden, unwelcome touch sent a shiver down my spine. Arman's hand brushed against mine, his fingers grazing my skin with a deliberate, taunting gentleness.
I felt a surge of irritation course through my veins, my heart racing with the effort of restraining my anger. My eyes snapped shut, and I drew in a deep, slow breath, the air filling my lungs like a calming balm.
I counted to ten, my jaw clenched in frustration, my mind racing with the urge to lash out at him. The touch was like a match to dry kindling, igniting a firestorm of emotions within me - annoyance, frustration, and a hint of fear. I slowly opened my eyes, my gaze locking onto Arman's, a silent warning flashing between us like a red flag waving in a bull's face.
The air was heavy with tension, the moment hanging suspended like a precipice, waiting to plummet into chaos.
But before I could even process what was happening, Vansh's hand shot out, swift and sudden, and snatched the glass away from me. In a lightning-fast move, he dropped it between our chairs, the glass crashing to the floor with a loud, startling shatter.
