The sun had barely risen when Jiya’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from a restless sleep. Her heart sank as she read the message from her brother: "We need to talk. Urgent."
A knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. She knew what was coming. They had grown impatient, and her hesitation would no longer go unnoticed. She had managed to delay them for weeks, making excuses, claiming she was getting closer to the information they needed. But her family had never been the patient kind.
She quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Atharv, who was still fast asleep beside her. His arm had been draped protectively around her waist, a gesture she had come to find oddly comforting. Now, it felt like a chain, a reminder of the loyalty she had started to question.
Slipping into a simple salwar suit, she quickly tied her hair back and grabbed her phone, heading downstairs to the living room. The large windows allowed a stream of soft, golden light to bathe the room, but Jiya felt none of its warmth. She opened the door to the terrace, stepping outside to meet the crisp morning air.
Her fingers trembled as she dialled her brother's number. It barely rang before he answered.
"Jiya," his voice was sharp, filled with the impatience she had been dreading. "What the hell is going on? You’ve been there for weeks, and we’ve got nothing. You promised us you'd get the financial information by now."
"I’m trying," she whispered, glancing nervously toward the house. "But it's not that simple. Atharv isn’t as careless as we thought."
His silence on the other end only made her more anxious. She could imagine the disappointment on his face, the cold fury brewing in his eyes. Finally, he spoke.
"Don’t give me excuses. We put you in that house for a reason, Jiya. This isn’t a game. We’ve suffered too much because of that man’s father, and you know that. You owe this to us, to our family."
"I know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, guilt twisting her insides. "I haven’t forgotten."
"Then act like it," He snapped. "You’re getting too comfortable there. Remember why you're married to him in the first place. We can’t afford to wait any longer. This is your final warning. Either you get what we need, or we’ll take matters into our own hands."
Jiya’s heart clenched at his words. She knew what that meant—her brother and father wouldn’t hesitate to ruin Atharv’s business by other means if she failed. And that thought terrified her more than anything.
"I’ll get it," she said quickly, swallowing her fear. "Just… give me a little more time."
"Time is running out," He said coldly. "Don’t disappoint us, Jiya."
The line went dead before she could respond. She stared at the phone in her hand, her pulse racing, the weight of her family’s expectations heavier than ever. What had she gotten herself into?
Later that evening, Jiya found herself in the kitchen, preparing dinner in silence. Atharv had come home early, a rare occurrence, and had insisted on helping her. He was in the living room now, casually flipping through papers, occasionally glancing at her with a warm smile that made her chest tighten.
She stirred the curry absentmindedly, lost in thought. Her family’s warning echoed in her mind, mixing with the guilt that had been growing like a thorn in her heart. But more than that, the tenderness that had started to develop between her and Atharv was throwing her off balance.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt Atharv’s presence behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. The gesture was intimate, yet comforting, and Jiya felt herself relax into his embrace, if only for a moment.
"What’s on your mind?" Atharv asked softly, his voice low and warm in her ear.
Jiya froze for a second, her hands tightening around the spoon she held. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not when she was standing at the edge of a precipice, her loyalties split down the middle. She forced a small smile, shaking her head. "Just thinking about dinner."
Atharv chuckled, pulling her closer. "You’re a terrible liar, Jiya."
Her heart skipped a beat. His words, though teasing, hit too close to home. How could she lie to him when he looked at her with such trust? Such genuine affection?
He turned her around gently, his hands resting on her waist as he looked down at her. There was something different in his expression tonight—something softer, more vulnerable. "I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something."
"What is it?" Jiya asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze locked with his.
Atharv took a deep breath, his grip on her tightening slightly. "I know I haven’t always been the easiest person to be around. I know I’m… closed off at times." His brow furrowed as if he were struggling to find the right words. "But I want you to know that I’m trying. I want this marriage to work, Jiya. I want… us to work."
Jiya’s heart raced. She wasn’t prepared for this—for him to open up to her, to show her the side of him she had only glimpsed in fleeting moments. She felt her resolve crumbling even more.
"I—" she began, but he interrupted her, gently cupping her face with one hand.
"I don’t expect you to feel the same way right now," he said quietly. "But I want you to know that you’re important to me. This isn’t just about business or convenience anymore. You’re… you’re my wife, and I care about you."
Tears stung the back of her eyes. How could she do this to him? How could she betray him when he looked at her like that, when he spoke with such sincerity?
Atharv leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm on her skin. "I know I don’t say it often, but… you mean a lot to me, Jiya. More than I ever expected."
His words were a dagger to her heart. She had never expected to feel this way, to be so torn between her family’s vengeance and the love that was slowly, undeniably growing between them. Every time she was with Atharv, she felt the walls she had built around her heart cracking.
Before she could respond, he kissed her. It wasn’t rushed or demanding, but soft, filled with a tenderness that made her want to cry. His lips moved gently against hers, and for the first time, Jiya kissed him back with all the emotion she had been trying to suppress.
When they finally pulled apart, Atharv rested his forehead against hers again, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.
"I don’t know what the future holds," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But I want to build it with you."
Jiya’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. The guilt, the confusion, the overwhelming conflict inside her—it was all too much.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, noticing her silence.
"I… I need some air," she whispered, pulling away from him and stepping back. The look of concern on his face only made her guilt worse.
Before he could say anything, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, heading straight for the terrace. The cool night air hit her as she stepped outside, but it did nothing to ease the storm inside her.
Leaning against the railing, Jiya tried to catch her breath. How had things gotten so out of control? How had she let herself fall for him?
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and her heart sank as she saw another message from her father: "Final warning, Jiya. We can’t wait any longer."
Tears filled her eyes as she stared at the message. She was running out of time. She had to choose—her family or Atharv.
But how could she possibly choose when either option would break her heart?
