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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That evening, as Arjun was immersed in his work, going over business meetings and important documents in his study, Meera seized the opportunity to call Aayara downstairs. Her mind was already scheming, intent on breaking Aayara down both mentally and physically.
Meera knew Aayara would never refuse her, no matter how unreasonable the demands. She had watched her closely, learning that Aayara was bound by duty and respect. And Meera intended to exploit that.
"Aayara!" Meera’s voice echoed through the house, sharp and authoritative. Aayara, who had been quietly resting, immediately stood up and hurried downstairs, her heart sinking with a sense of dread. She could feel the weight of what was to come.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Meera was already waiting with a list of tasks. Her eyes cold, yet her smile deceptively sweet, she handed Aayara the first set of impossible chores. "I need you to start preparing for tomorrow’s dinner party. Clean the entire house, and make sure the kitchen is spotless. Also, wash the curtains... they’re dusty."
Aayara nodded quietly, knowing she couldn't refuse. She looked at the long list, her heart sinking further. Meera's intention was clear—overwork her, push her to the brink. But Aayara bit her lip, determined not to break down, no matter how difficult the tasks ahead were.
Aayara quietly began her work, determined to complete the overwhelming tasks Meera had assigned. She tightly stuffed the edge of her pallu into her waist, securing it in place as she prepared for the long evening ahead. The weight of the chores seemed immense, but she couldn’t afford to falter—not when Meera was watching her every move, waiting for her to stumble.
She moved quickly, sweeping through the rooms with quiet efficiency. First, she began scrubbing the kitchen floors, her hands raw from the harsh cleaning supplies. Then, she washed the curtains, the heavy fabric making the task even harder. Her body grew sore from the constant bending and lifting, but she pushed through, refusing to give in to the exhaustion creeping into her bones.
Every now and then, she would glance at the clock, silently hoping for the hours to pass. The house was silent, save for the sound of her working, and she felt the weight of the loneliness that came with it.
As Aayara made her way to the washing machine, carrying the heavy blankets, Meera approached her with a smirk, her voice filled with condescension. "Handwashing is much better, you know," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "These blankets are imported from abroad, not the cheap kind you can just toss into a machine."
Aayara paused, her hands trembling slightly as she looked at the heavy blankets in her arms. She could feel Meera’s gaze on her, challenging her silently. It was clear that Meera wasn’t offering advice—she was making things harder, deliberately trying to push Aayara to the point of exhaustion.
Nodding quietly, Aayara turned away from the machine, taking the blankets outside. Her muscles ached already from the day's work, and the thought of scrubbing the thick, heavy fabric by hand made her heart sink. But she couldn’t refuse. She never could.
She filled a large tub with water, her hands moving slowly as she began scrubbing the blankets, the cold water stinging her fingers. Every stroke felt like a battle, but she kept going, determined to not let Meera see her break.
As Aayara was silently scrubbing the blankets, her hands aching from the effort, she felt Meera's presence beside her, the older woman sipping a hot cup of coffee, watching her struggle with satisfaction. Aayara’s mind was focused on her task, her thoughts racing about how much more she had to do.
Then, without warning, Meera tilted the cup deliberately, and scalding hot coffee splashed onto Aayara’s wrist. She gasped in pain, instinctively pulling her hand back, her skin burning from the heat. Her eyes widened, but she bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
Meera looked at her, feigning surprise. "Oh dear, how clumsy of me," she said, her voice laced with mock concern. "You should be more careful, Aayara. You wouldn’t want to ruin those imported blankets, now would you?"
Aayara swallowed the pain, her wrist throbbing as she glanced at the burn. She knew it wasn’t an accident, but she couldn’t say anything. She simply nodded, her voice caught in her throat, and went back to scrubbing the blankets, the pain from the burn adding to the exhaustion that was already weighing her down.
As Arjun sat at his desk, engrossed in his work, a stray thought crossed his mind. Curious about what his wife was up to, he opened the live footage from the cameras installed all over the mansion. His focus shifted from the business deals on his laptop screen to the security feed, and what he saw made his jaw tighten.
There, on the screen, was Aayara, her slim frame struggling to wash three heavy blankets by hand. His eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on her wrist—red and burnt. Anger surged through him as he noticed the slight tremble in her movements, and the clear exhaustion in her posture. How could she be enduring this without a word?
He leaned back, his fingers tightening into fists. Arjun had always been cold and distant with Aayara, but seeing her like this—pushed to her limit, silently enduring pain—ignited a possessive fury within him. Someone had done this, and he had a feeling who.
Without wasting another second, he stood up abruptly, slamming the laptop shut. He grabbed his phone, his face hard as stone, and stormed out of his study. No one—especially not his wife—would suffer under his roof while he was in charge.
