𝐈𝐬𝐡𝐪 𝐊𝐢 𝐃𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐚𝐧

16. 𝐌𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐝𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚 𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐡𝐧𝐚

✦ Siddharth’s POV ✦

Everything was going fine until my younger brother,

Our parents had been making plans behind my back. Again.

Being the eldest son already comes with enough responsibilities, yet now they want to add another—marriage. To a woman I don’t even know.

I don’t want to ruin someone’s life.

They asked if I had someone in my life. I don’t. Never have. Never tried. And now, as if the mere thought of marrying a stranger wasn’t frustrating enough, they’ve even arranged a meeting with her and her family once I return to Delhi.

Typical.

Just like always, I’ll make up some excuse to avoid it. I have no interest in handling a woman I barely know.

My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Rajat. My assistant

I answered, rubbing my forehead as I felt a headache forming. "Sir?"

"Yeah?" I replied, already exhausted.

"The case you're taking when you go back to Delhi next week..." Rajat hesitated. "They don’t want to pursue it anymore."

I let out a low grunt. Of course, they don’t.

"Why not?" My voice was calm, but the irritation was evident.

"I don’t know, sir. They just dropped it."

Right. Either they were threatened, or someone paid them off. I’d seen it a hundred times before.

"Fine," I muttered and hung up.

Just great. It seemed like the entire world was trying to push me over the edge today. Frustration boiled inside me as I made my way back to the function.

And then—I bumped into her. Again.

Himanshi.

Her balance faltered, and instinctively, I grasped her waist, preventing her from falling.

Her hands landed on my chest—her henna-adorned hands. And just like that, my kurta was ruined.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My patience snapped.

"Can’t you just stay away from me?!" I snapped, my breath heavy, my frustration pouring out in my voice.

The hurt in her eyes was instant. A flicker of something that made my chest tighten—something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on her. It wasn’t her fault.

But this is exactly why I struggle with women.

I should apologize.

But my pride, as always, held me back.

Huffing, I turned and walked away.

Inside the washroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror before glancing down at my kurta. The mehendi stain had faded after some scrubbing, but a faint handprint of her remained. Great.

Shaking my head, I returned to the hall.

Kavish and Jiya sat together, surrounded by family and guests. Women were applying mehendi, some were dancing, others chatting, while my friends? They were busy flirting.

And then there was Asher.

My best friend, Asher Aziz, was practically following Adiba like a lost puppy. The way he looked at her—he might as well have had hearts in his eyes.