Not Meant to Be

Threshold

Armaan Poddar.

Abhira's husband.

Abhira peeked at him as he drove, getting off the NH58. His expensive Rolex glinted. His charcoal suit and white shirt looked expensive, just like the whiff of his perfume. Abhira's husband was richie-rich.

She knew that. As a law student, you had to know Armaan Poddar's name. Early in his career, he served as legal counsel for Rajasthan's prisoners' reform program initiatives. He also handled high-profile civil cases that spearheaded his reputation as one of the best; now, he charges up to twenty-seven lakh rupees for every appearance.

Along with his stellar reputation in the law world, he was a Poddar, and the Poddar family was one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the country. Affiliated with Udaipur royal lineage, the family was closely linked to politics and law for generations. Before, the family operated under a monarchy; now, it was under a democracy. In both systems, the family thrived.

As Abhira's mother would say, Poddars were old money.

Ancient money, Abhira mused sadly.

Now, she married the Poddar firstborn. She could imagine the rage his family would feel, and Abhira's head was already imploding with stress, fatigue, and grief.

Her mom was gone.

It felt like yesterday that she and her mother were enjoying noodles and giggling about a poorly-made mass action thriller. Abhira jerked, her body unable to suppress the jolt, as she remembered her mother falling to the ground and her blood staining Abhira's hands.

Her mom was gone, and all she left behind was several personal trusts where Armaan was made the power of attorney until Abhira finished her undergrad. Bitterness filled Abhira as she wondered if her mother thought she could not take care of herself, entrusting her well-being to this perpetual stranger that she only knew of due to her college.

Abhira looked down at her hands in her lap. Her white net dupatta was tightly held between her fingers as she looked out the window.

She remembered one of Akshara's lawyer friends saying, "You are allotted an educational trust of thirty-three lakh rupees. You are also allotted another trust, which is only meant for your resort chain's expenses, with sixty-five lakh rupees. The resort and house's ownership and any jewellery in Akshara Sharma's possession is to be bequeathed to you."

Financially, she was set. But Armaan was the key to everything.

He was her husband now, and she had no idea what to do. The word made her reel. She was twenty-one, hating the notion of marriage, relationships, and love. Now, she was tied to him until she got her degree.

Abhira tilted her head to peek at Armaan again. Then she frowned. Why was she acting like a shy bride to look at the man who was her husband now? She didn't even like this extremely tall idiot. She just had to tolerate him for a year or so.

"Are you hungry?" Armaan asked, setting his glasses, which had rested unruly on his nose.

"No, I am not," Abhira said, slumping comfortably against her seat. The powder blue anarkali clung to her skin, making her feel slightly itchy, but she admired the dress. It was beautiful and well-tailored, just like Abhira preferred, something Akshara always had to remember.

Plus, with the way Yuvaraj ran his hands all over her body when she was decked in that miserable red lehenga, Abhira was glad to be covered as much as she could. She felt traumatized by the way he touched her, pulled her to the mandap, and then taunted her mother.

Perhaps she should have quietly married him.

Perhaps her mother would have been alive.

A reprimanding voice—a voice that sounded just like Akshara's—scolded her, "Abhira, yeh tumhari galti nahi hain. Khabardar jho yeh socha ki tum uss Yuvaraj se shaadi karke..."