Book One of "The Roses" Series
✿PINK ROSE✿
Vikrant was a man shaped by shadows-ruthless, calculating, and unyieldingly cold. In his world, softness was a weakness, and mercy was a foreign concept. He had climbed the ranks of the underworld, his name...
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I gently draped the chunni over one shoulder, my eyes fixed on the mirror. A pink kurta adorned with gold, perfect for the meet. Jhumkas, check. Bindi, check. Bangles, check.
All set. Grabbing my handbag and phone from the bed, I glanced at the clock—9:20. There was still some time. I took a deep breath, my gaze shifting to the empty wall. Straightening my posture, I could feel the confidence pulsing through me.
“Vikrant ji, I don't want to marry,” I practised, speaking to the silent wall. “Ohh, it's okay Jaanvi ji, I understand,” I imagined his response, bracing myself for the moment to come.
“I don’t want to marry.” “I don’t want to marry.” “I don’t want to marry.”
I kept repeating the same five words, over and over since yesterday. Such simple words, yet they felt so heavy, like a weight pressing down on my chest.
Yesterday, an unknown number flashed on my screen. When I opened it, the message read:
Vikrant here. This is my number. I believe your Dad has discussed this with you. Let’s meet at the restaurant at 10:00 am tomorrow.
So formal, of course. Just like him.
I descended the stairs, noticing Maa and Dadi standing near the doorway, their arms crossed, worry etched across their faces. The moment they sensed me, their heads turned in unison, and they rushed over, their expressions softening.
“You’re looking so beautiful,” Dadi cooed, gently patting my cheek. A shy smile tugged at my lips as warmth spread through me. The entire household knew where I was headed—on a date. A freaking date. The thought alone made me feel both embarrassed and out of place.
“Your brother’s outside, waiting to drop you,” Maa added. The original plan? Vikrant was supposed to pick me up, but guess who decided to play the villain in this plan—my dear bhaiya.
“Bye,” I called out, stepping outside the house. Bhaiya was waiting by his car, his face set in a grim expression—clearly not thrilled about this date. His irritation was almost palpable.
“Let’s go, bhai,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat. He took his time settling into the driver’s seat, his every movement slow and deliberate. My brows knitted together when I realised he hadn’t even started the engine.
I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow in silent question. His jaw clenched, and finally, he broke the silence. “Do you really want to go?” His voice was heavy with concern.
I sighed. I had been hearing this question since yesterday.
“Yes, bhai,” I replied softly. I needed to clear things between Vikrant and me, and this was the only way.
Then the atmosphere turned silent, filled only with the soft whooshing of the wind as it brushed past us. Bhaiya drove in silence, not uttering another word, though I could sense the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior. He was angry, perhaps even worried, but chose not to press further.
