𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 : Where Opposite Attracts

17 (𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧)

WISHING YOU A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR! 🍀🎀🥀💗

May God bless you with whatever you want and stay healthy! Because your immune system is very important readers. 💗💌🥂

Please read the author's note at last of the chapter. Also there is a surprise waiting for you at the end!

Now enjoy the chapter! <3

Take your time and read this chapter because it is more than 7000 words.

This chapter includes three people's POV; Author's, Aryan's, Vanshika's.

Also please this chapter should have 100 comments as I have pour my whole heart into it. Come on you guys can give me this atleast as a new year gift!

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AUTHOR'S POV

The sun had just begun to rise, casting that soft orange-pink glow over the sprawling lawns of the Rathore estate. The flowers were in full bloom—roses, mogra, rajnigandha—and their sweet fragrance mixed with the morning air, making everything feel a little too perfect.

Today was the day.

Aryan Singhania and Vanshika Rathore's wedding.

The whole mansion was alive—buzzing, rushing, loud. Someone was shouting at the florists to fix the mandap backdrop. Someone else was yelling at the kitchen staff about the starters. There were phone calls, footsteps, music, laughter, chaos.

Everyone was caught in the whirl of preparations.
Everyone... except her.

Vanshika.

Upstairs in her room, far from all the noise, she sat quietly. The door was shut. Her world, for now, was limited to the photos she was scrolling through on her phone—pictures from last night.

Her cousins had dragged her out for one last night of fun before the wedding. Nothing fancy—just a nearby club, loud music, a few drinks, and stupid dancing. She hadn't laughed like that in weeks.

But then, mid-song, mid-laughter—
A few men had walked in, looked around, and said her name out loud.

"Vanshika Rathore?"

And just like that, the night ended. They had all left without a fuss. No scene, no questions asked.

But something about that moment stuck in her chest. The way everyone had looked at her. Like she wasn't her anymore. Like she was just... someone's daughter. Someone's bride.

Now, as she stared at the same photos—faces smiling, arms around each other, lipstick slightly smudged—she tried to smile again. But it didn't reach her eyes.

Because there was something else on her mind. Something heavier.

Something warmer.

Aryan.

That memory hit her like a soft slap.

Just a few days ago, they'd been alone for a moment—barely a few minutes—in her room, right after the mehndi function. The lights were still on, guests still around, but they had drifted to a quiet corner.