His Bleeding Rose

A TRAP

I entered the event hall with Maa beside me, my saree flowing elegantly as we walked. The hall was abuzz with chatter, yet I could feel the shift in energy as we stepped in. People's eyes were on us—on me—but no one dared to say anything aloud. After all, Papa and Atharva Bhai were not far behind, their authoritative presence enough to silence even the boldest whispers.

Despite their restraint, I could sense their vigilance. Both of them noticed the subtle glances, the murmurs exchanged in hushed tones. It was getting harder for me to control them, especially Atharva Bhai, whose temper was always a loaded gun, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. My palms itched to drag him out of here, but I knew leaving wasn't an option—not when Maa's charity group had organized the event.

It's been two and half hours and everything was fine until..

"Hi, Ms. Rajvansh," a shrill voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see a young woman striding toward me with her mother in tow, their expressions laced with disdain.

"Hello," I replied curtly, already sensing trouble.

"What are you doing here?" she sneered, looking me up and down. "This is not a satsang. Who wears a saree to such an event?" Her mother burst into laughter, a mocking, hollow sound that echoed in my ears.

I didn't miss the way Atharva Bhai's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. He was ready to storm across the room and, quite possibly, end her entire existence for that one remark. I met his gaze and gave him a warning look. It was enough to keep him rooted in place—for now.

With a calm I didn't fully feel, I turned back to her. "Hmm," I mused, my lips curling into a slight smirk. "So is it a strip club? Which is why you're half-naked."

The room went still for a beat, and then her face flushed crimson. "How dare you!" she screeched, her voice rising in pitch. "A woman like you thinks she can tell me what to wear, you are just a substitute for the King."

I tilted my head slightly, my expression unbothered. "Women like me?" I echoed, stepping closer. "Darling, women like me can crumble your entire existence in the blink of an eye."

Before she could react further, I slapped her. Not too hard, but enough to deliver a clear message. Some people needed a reality check to remind them of their place. "And yes," I continued, my voice steady, "I can tell you what to wear—or not."

Her shrill indignation turned into tears as she grabbed her mother for support. "Look at her, Anuradha!" she wailed. "She slapped my daughter!" Her mother turned to Maa, hoping for backup.

"Did she?" Maa asked, her tone nonchalant, almost bored. She didn't even spare them a glance, adjusting her pallu as if the incident was beneath her notice.

The mother-daughter duo stormed off, their shouts and sniffles fading into the distance. I couldn't help it—I laughed. The absurdity of it all was too much to keep bottled up.