Vihana Agarwal is a sweet, caring woman who has spent her life longing for the love she never truly received from her adoptive parents. Despite the illusion of a perfect family, she's always felt a void. Her marriage to Rajveer Suryavanshi, a powerf...
किसी शायर की गजल, जो दे रूह को सुकून के पल कोई मुझको यूँ मिला है, जैसे बंजारे को घर नाये मौसम की सेहर, या सर्द में दोपहर कोई मुझको यूँ मिला है, जैसे बंजारे को घर
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Vihana's POV
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull, aching pain that stretched across my body, like I had been carrying a heavy load for far too long. The room smelled like a hospital, and even before opening my eyes, I knew where I was.
This wasn't the first time I'd fainted from stress or exhaustion, but something about today felt different—as if something inside me had finally broken.
I could hear faint voices, growing clearer with each second.
"She'll ruin everything if she keeps this up," my mother's sharp voice pierced through the fog. "This fainting, this weak display—it's embarrassing. People will start asking questions."
I wanted to open my eyes, but I stayed still, too weak and too afraid to face them. They didn't care that I was lying in a hospital bed; they only cared about what other people would think.
"Tumhe is ladki ko control me rakhna chahiye, ek kam thik se nahi kar sakti?" my father muttered, frustration heavy in his voice.
"Ye meri galti hai ki ye ladki itni kamjor hai? Mujhe nahi pata me kab tak ye care karne ka natak kar sakti hu," my mother added bitterly. "Ye ladki hamari izzat mitti me mila degi..."
My father sighed. "Bas thode dino ki baat aur hai," he said in a low, firm tone. "Ise thoda khane ko jyada diya karo, nahi to ye ese hi behosh hoti rahegi."
"We're almost done with this," he added. "After our plan is successful, she won't be our problem anymore. Until then, keep your temper in check. We can't let anyone start suspecting anything."
My mother huffed in frustration. "Fine. But if she doesn't stop behaving like this, I'll make her wish she had."
The silence that followed was suffocating. My heart ached—not just from their words, but from the truth I had always known but tried to ignore. I wasn't their daughter. I was a tool, a pawn in their game, useful only for their selfish plans.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the light. My vision blurred at first, but soon I saw my parents standing over me. My mother's lips were pressed into a thin line, while my father stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.
"Oh, look who's finally awake," my mother sneered, her eyes narrowing at me. "Ye kya tamasha laga ke rakha tha party me, huh?"
I swallowed, my throat dry and rough. "I-I'm... sorry," I whispered, but the words felt meaningless. I wasn't sorry for fainting. I was sorry I was still trapped in this life, in their control.
She scoffed. "Sorry? Tumhe kya lagta hai sorry bolne se sab thik ho jayega? Rajveer Suryavanshi kaise hame dekh raha tha, jaise hamari vajah se tum behosh ho gayi thi! Ek dieting dang se nahi kar sakti ho?"
Dieting? Did she seriously call this torture "dieting"? She never let me eat properly, always saying that if I gained weight, no businessman would want me. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give her that satisfaction.
"That's enough," my father said, though his tone wasn't kind—it was more cautious. "We don't want her fainting again. Not here."
My mother shot him an annoyed glance but backed away from the bed. "Fine," she muttered, her cold eyes giving me a look that said, 'This isn't over.' "But you better be ready to leave soon. We've been here long enough."
I turned my head slightly, trying to block out their words, trying to escape the suffocating weight of their expectations. The door opened, and they left without another word, their footsteps fading into the background.
I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. Tears slipped out before I could stop them. I always knew they didn't care, but hearing it so bluntly—so cruelly—shattered whatever small hope I had left.
I'm just a pawn in their game. Nothing more.
Later, when I was helped into the car, my mother sighed loudly, as if this whole situation had been nothing but an inconvenience. "We'll have to be more careful," she muttered to my father. "She can't keep doing this."
I rested my head against the cool window, closing my eyes and letting their voices fade into the background. I was too tired to care, too drained to respond.
As the car pulled away from the hospital, I braced myself for whatever awaited me back home.
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