Ojasvi
I sat in the guest room, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to silence the thoughts swirling in my mind.
It was already 11 p.m., but sleep felt like a far-off dream. My heart and mind were at war, and I couldn't shake the question that had been tormenting me all day: Should I stay in this marriage?
The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. Overthinking—it was one of the things I hated most about myself. I analyzed everything from every angle, often to the point of paralysis.
It was this very habit that had cost me so much—missed opportunities, hesitation, and the inability to trust my own instincts.
Vedant’s family had been kinder to me in the span of one day than my own family had ever been. The contrast between my past and my present was striking.
I had grown up in a household where love was a thing never given to me except my own mother.
But here, in Vedant's home, I had been treated with a level of warmth and care that I wasn't sure how to handle. It almost felt unreal.
My thoughts spiraled, and I found myself questioning everything. Was this marriage worth working on? Could I truly be part of a family that seemed so different from mine? What if it all fell apart? Could I walk away if it didn’t work out? Would they even let me?
Then there was Vedant. His name alone carried weight. Singhania. I hadn’t even fully processed the gravity of it until now.
The Singhanias weren’t just wealthy—they were one of the most powerful, influential families in India, with a business empire that spanned the globe. And me?
I was nothing in comparison. I was like a pebble tossed into a sea of diamonds, completely out of place.
I had just made up my mind to reject Vedant’s proposal to work on our marriage when there was a soft knock on my door. My heart skipped a beat. It was late—who could it be?
The knock came again, a little louder this time. I got up cautiously, feeling a knot of nervousness tighten in my chest. I approached the door, unsure of what to expect.
"Ojasvi, are you asleep?"
I pressed my ear against the door and instantly recognized the voice. It was Vedant.
I hesitated for a moment before opening the door just enough to see him standing there. He looked concerned, his brow furrowed as he studied me.
“Were you sleeping? Did I disturb you?” he asked, his voice low, yet filled with worry.
“No, I wasn’t asleep,” I said softly.
Without saying another word, he handed me a stack of papers. I took them, confused, until I saw what they were.
It was the land documents I had dropped during the incident with those men—the documents I thought I had lost for good.
“Don’t stand too long,” Vedant said, his gaze drifting down to my bandaged feet. “It’ll hurt you.”
I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him, feeling a wave of emotions I couldn’t quite describe.
This man, who was a complete stranger just a day ago, had saved my life, cared for me, and now stood here, concerned for my well-being. His actions were unexpected and kind, and I wasn’t sure how to process it all.
Before I knew it, tears began to spill down my face. The kindness, the concern, the sudden care—it was overwhelming. I had spent so many years being treated like I was invisible, unworthy, by my own family.
