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...
Aayara’s heart raced as the sound of the men’s laughter echoed closer and closer, their footsteps pounding behind her. She cursed herself for wearing such a tight saree and those cursed heels, which made it nearly impossible to run. Each step was a struggle, and the fear only made her limbs heavier. The cold night air did nothing to cool the fire of panic burning inside her.
Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she glanced back over her shoulder. The men were gaining on her, their grins wide and malicious, their eyes gleaming with cruel intent. One of them whistled, the sound sharp and mocking in the empty street.
"Where do you think you're going, doll?" one of them sneered, his voice dripping with menace.
Just then, her heel caught on a crack in the pavement, and she stumbled. Her hands flailed to catch her balance, but it was too late. With a gasp, Aayara fell to the ground near a dark alley, her body hitting the cold, hard pavement with a painful thud. Her saree tangled around her legs, making it difficult for her to move quickly.
Before she could scramble to her feet, the men surrounded her, their shadows looming over her like vultures circling their prey.
"Looks like you’ve nowhere to go now," one of them said, his voice filled with sickening satisfaction as he approached her, his eyes running over her body with a disgusting hunger.
Aayara’s heart pounded wildly, her mind screaming at her to get up, to run, to fight. But her body refused to cooperate, frozen in terror as the reality of the situation hit her. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, trying to muster the strength to fight, to scream, anything.
"Please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, but they only laughed harder, their leers growing more menacing.
One of the men crouched down in front of her, reaching out to grab her arm. "No need to beg, sweetheart," he mocked, his fingers brushing against her skin.
Aayara recoiled in horror, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened. The other two men stood behind him, grinning like wolves about to feast, blocking any hope of escape.
She screamed in her mind, praying for something, anything to save her.
The men’s laughter grew louder, more sinister, as one of them roughly grabbed the edge of her pallu, yanking it with cruel intent. Aayara’s heart raced, the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears as her worst fears began to unfold. She screamed, the sound piercing the cold night air, but no one was around to hear her desperate cry for help. Tears streamed down her face, her vision blurring as panic set in.
“Please! Stop!” she begged, her voice cracking under the weight of fear.
But her pleas only seemed to encourage them further. One of the men pulled harder, dragging the fabric of her saree from her shoulder, exposing her skin to the cold night. A wave of disgust and shame washed over her as she tried to hold onto the remaining fabric, her fingers trembling in a desperate attempt to shield herself.
"She’s got some fight in her!" one of them jeered, stepping closer as Aayara struggled against them.
The cold, filthy ground beneath her only amplified the sense of helplessness. Every time she tried to get up, the weight of the men and their cruel intentions pushed her back down. Her hands reached out, trying to push them away, but her strength was fading fast.
Tears blurred her vision as she screamed again, louder this time, praying someone would hear her, praying for a miracle. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to fight them off.
Just as they were about to strip her further, a loud voice cut through the night like a blade.
“Get your filthy hands off her!”
The men froze, their heads snapping up in shock as the authoritative voice echoed through the alley. Aayara, too, stopped struggling for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest as she dared to hope.
Out of the darkness, a figure emerged, tall and menacing, his eyes burning with fury. It was Arjun. His jaw was clenched, his fists tight, and the look in his eyes was enough to send a shiver down anyone’s spine.
Without a second thought, he charged toward them, his anger like a storm ready to destroy anyone in its path. The men hesitated, realizing the danger they were in, but before they could react, Arjun’s fist collided with the face of the man holding Aayara’s pallu, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Arjun's gaze fell on Aayara, but there was no softness, no hint of the man she had once hoped he could be. His eyes were cold, burning with a fury that chilled her to the bone. For a brief moment, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—crossed his face, but it disappeared just as quickly, replaced by the icy mask of anger he wore so well.
He didn’t speak to her, didn’t offer her comfort or reassurance. Instead, he turned his back on her, focusing on the men who had dared to touch what was his. His neck cracked as he stretched it, the sound echoing ominously in the alley. His knuckles followed, popping loudly as he clenched his fists, the air around him thick with the promise of violence.
Without a word, Arjun lunged at the men, his fists connecting with bone and flesh in a brutal symphony of destruction. The first man went down hard, blood spraying from his nose as Arjun’s fist slammed into his face. The second tried to run, but Arjun was faster, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him into the wall with a sickening thud.
The third man, now terrified, attempted to crawl away, but Arjun was relentless. He kicked him in the ribs, the force of the blow lifting the man off the ground before he crumpled in a heap, gasping for breath.
Aayara watched in stunned silence, her body trembling from fear and shock. This was a side of Arjun she had never seen before—a man consumed by wrath, merciless in his need to punish those who had wronged him. It wasn’t for her, though. She knew that. This was about his pride, his dominance. She was just the trigger for his rage.
As the men lay groaning on the ground, Arjun stood over them, his breathing heavy, his hands stained with blood. He didn’t look at Aayara. His anger wasn’t for her, but the distance between them felt more profound than ever. He wiped his hands on his shirt, turning away from the broken bodies of the men without a second glance.
He threw his jacket on the ground and aayara wore it around her body , hey body shivering work cold and fear.
Without a word, he started walking back toward the car, his silence cutting through the night like a blade.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
