Pyar ek zaher hai aayara, aur ye kambakhat ishq , ek din zaan le lega ye meri .
kabhi naa kabhi to mujhe pta chalega ki tumhari aankhein aur tumhari baatein ek dusre se alag kyu hai.. aur tab tak.. sabr .. aur pyar .. pyar sikhaungi tumhe aur sabr...
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Arjun's fingers brushed against her neck as he gently moved her hair to one side, exposing the soft skin at the nape of her neck. Aayara shivered involuntarily at the sensation, a mix of surprise and the intensity of the moment making her heart race.
His gaze lowered, focused on the mangalsutra in his hand, his eyes dark with a possessiveness she had felt many times before but never this strong. Slowly, he brought the sacred necklace to her neck, his fingers skillfully clasping it in place, the cool metal resting against her skin.
As he did, his eyes never left the black and gold beads, his expression unreadable yet intense. It was as though, in that moment, the act of making her wear the mangalsutra was a declaration, not just of their marriage but of his claim on her.
"Yeh sirf ek gehna nahi hai," he said softly, his voice deep and commanding. "Yeh ek yaad hai ki tum meri ho, aur hamesha meri raho gi."
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt the weight of the mangalsutra in a way she hadn’t before—both literal and symbolic. The look in his eyes told her there was no escape from his hold on her, and perhaps, deep down, she had never really wanted to escape at all.
Arjun's hand moved deliberately toward the small sindoor box on the cabinet, his eyes still locked on her through the mirror. Aayara's breath hitched, her pulse quickening as she watched him, unsure of what to expect next.
He opened the box with a measured grace, the red powder inside glowing under the soft morning light. His fingers dipped into it, taking a pinch of the sindoor. With a calm, almost ritualistic precision, he brought it to her forehead.
Aayara's eyes widened as she felt his fingers press lightly against her maang, filling the parting of her hair with the sacred red powder. It was a bold, possessive gesture—marking her once again as his, a silent reminder of the vows they had taken, even if the love between them was still uncertain.
"Ab tum poori tarah meri ho," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet dominance. His gaze flickered to her eyes in the mirror, a rare intensity flashing through his normally unreadable expression.
The weight of the moment settled around them as Aayara sat frozen, feeling the significance of his actions. The sindoor and mangalsutra were symbols of their marriage, but in Arjun's hands, they were something more—a claim, a bond that he reinforced not just for her, but for himself as well.
She swallowed, her fingers brushing lightly over the fresh sindoor, and in that moment, she realized just how deep Arjun's control over her ran, and how much she was bound to him in ways beyond words.
Arjun’s smirk deepened as he set the sindoor box aside. Without a word, he reached for the hair dryer on the cabinet. The soft hum of the machine filled the room as he turned it on, and Aayara sat still, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness in his actions.
He gently lifted sections of her damp hair, his movements surprisingly careful for a man so accustomed to control and power. The warm air brushed against her scalp as he dried her hair, his fingers lightly grazing her neck from time to time, sending shivers down her spine.
Aayara glanced at him through the mirror, confusion flickering in her eyes. It was rare for Arjun to show any softness, yet here he was, tending to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a quiet focus in the way he handled her, as if even this simple act carried a deeper meaning.
Once he was done, he ran his hand through her now-dry hair, smoothing it out. His gaze met hers in the mirror, that familiar possessive glint returning to his eyes.
"Perfect," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of satisfaction and dominance. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear, and added, "Ab tum bilkul meri tarah lag rahi ho."
Aayara swallowed, her heart pounding, unsure of how to respond. There was no denying his hold over her, but in moments like this, where his actions seemed to speak more than his words, she wondered if there was more to him than the cold exterior he always showed.
Arjun’s calm, deliberate movements startled Aayara as he walked over to his closet, returning with a long maroon jewelry box. She watched in shock as he came to her, crouching on his knees. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening at the sight of him in such an unfamiliar position.
“Wh-what are you doing!?” she stammered, her voice trembling. This was the Arjun Oberoi Singhania, a man who never bowed to anyone, let alone knelt in front of her.
Without a word, he gently touched her feet, sending a jolt through her. The intimacy and the gesture left her frozen in disbelief. His eyes, usually cold and distant, now held a rare warmth as he looked up at her.
"I never gave you a wedding gift," he said with a smile that held both charm and something deeper, "so I thought I should give you one now."
With that, he opened the maroon box, revealing a delicate pair of anklets—diamond beads woven together with small, intricate drum-shaped charms. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each diamond catching the light as it sparkled in the box.
Aayara’s heart raced as Arjun gently placed her foot on his knee, his fingers lifting her saree slightly to make room for the anklet. She could hardly believe what was happening, her mind struggling to process the tenderness and reverence in his actions.
His touch was firm yet careful as he fastened the anklet around her ankle, the cool metal brushing against her skin. He took his time, his eyes focused on the task, as though this simple act carried a significance far greater than just a gift.
"There," he said, his voice soft but filled with meaning, "Now it’s perfect."
Aayara's breath hitched as she stared at him, her mind reeling. She had never seen this side of him—a man who could be ruthless, cold, and distant, now kneeling before her, placing anklets on her feet as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her heart fluttered, caught between confusion and something deeper, something unspoken that lingered between them.
Arjun’s gaze darkened as he stared at Aayara’s ankles, his fingers lingering on the delicate anklet he had just placed on her. There was a shift in the air, a tension that wrapped around them, as if his words held a weight far beyond what they appeared to say.
"Ab kahan jaogi..." he murmured, his voice deep, low, filled with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine. "Yeh pyaar ki nishani nahi… meri zanzirein hain."
His fingers caressed her ankle, moving slowly over the anklet, brushing over her skin with an intensity that made her heart pound. As his touch slid to her toes, gently tracing along her nails, Aayara’s breath hitched. There was something dangerous in his words, something that spoke of control—of her being bound to him, not just by these anklets, but by something far more powerful.
Her gaze flickered to his face, and she saw the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, as though he took pleasure in her reaction, in the knowledge that she was his, bound by his unyielding will.
Arjun's hand lingered on her foot for a moment longer before he finally stood, towering over her once again. His smirk returned, filled with the same dark, possessive energy that defined him. "Yaad rakhna, Aayara," he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge, "tum meri ho... aur meri rahogi."
The words echoed in her mind, leaving her frozen, unsure of what to say or feel. The anklets jingled softly as she shifted, the weight of them a constant reminder of the invisible chains he had wrapped around her. She knew, deep down, that escaping him was impossible—because she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to.
