Tangled Vows

Part 4

I stormed into my room, the lilac saree brushing against my legs with every frustrated step. The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. My thoughts were racing, tangled between the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded and the words that refused to leave my head.

Four days.

How could they possibly expect me to get married in four days?

I shut my eyes, and his face flashed before me—the man I'd bumped into when I tried to escape the roka. Aarav Kapoor.

The memory of our brief encounter earlier in the garden surfaced, making my cheeks burn. There was no denying it: he was attractive in that effortlessly infuriating way. The sharp angles of his face, the confidence in his stride, and those deep, observant eyes that seemed to notice everything without giving anything away.

For a fleeting moment back there, I had thought—maybe, just maybe—I could give this arrangement a chance. Something about him intrigued me, pulled me in despite my reservations.

But then his mother had dropped the bomb about the wedding deadline, and any fleeting warmth I felt evaporated.

I paced the room, tugging at the pallu of my saree in frustration. This wasn't just rushed—it was absurd. Who got married in four days? What about planning, preparing, making sure I was ready to start a new life with someone I barely knew?

Unable to contain my anger, I marched downstairs. The house was quieter now, the energy from the roka fading into a hum of subdued conversations. My parents were seated in the living room, sipping tea as though everything was perfectly normal.

"Papa," I began, my voice sharper than I intended. "Maa. What is going on?"

They both looked up, startled.

"What do you mean, beta?" my father asked, his tone careful.

"I mean this!" I gestured wildly. "You're rushing me into a wedding in four days with a man I just met! This isn't like you. You've always let us choose our paths, make our own decisions. So why are you doing this now?"

My mother frowned, placing her cup down. "Aanya, this is a good match. The Kapoors are a respectable family, and Aarav is a wonderful boy. You'll have a secure and happy life with him."

"How do you know that?" I countered, my voice rising. "How do I know that? I don't know anything about him except his name and the fact that he apparently comes with a five-year deadline for marriage."

"Enough, Aanya," my father interrupted, his voice firm. "Whatever is happening is good for you. We're your parents. We will do what is best for you."

I stared at him, stunned by his response. This wasn't the father I knew—the man who had always encouraged me to think for myself, to question everything.

"But—"

"No buts," he said, cutting me off. "You agreed to this. And now it's happening. Trust us."

The finality in his tone sent a chill through me.

I looked between them, searching for any sign of the parents I had known all my life—the ones who had always been my allies, my biggest supporters. But all I saw was resolve.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Fine," I said finally, my voice trembling. "If this is what you want, then fine."

I turned on my heel and walked back to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Once inside, I sank onto the bed, the weight of everything crashing down on me. I didn't know what was more overwhelming—the fact that I was getting married in four days or the realization that my parents, the people I trusted most in the world, were pushing me into this without a second thought.

And yet, in the chaos of my thoughts, his face lingered.

Maybe it's not him I'm angry at, I thought bitterly. Maybe it's everything else.

The night was eerily quiet, with the occasional rustle of leaves outside my window breaking the stillness. I lay curled under my blanket, trying to block out the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed me all day. My mind swirled with unanswered questions, my parents' uncharacteristic behavior, and... him.

Just as I was drifting into an uneasy sleep, a faint noise startled me. It wasn't loud—just the soft creak of the floorboards near the door. My eyes fluttered open, and I squinted in the darkness, my heart beginning to race.

Someone was in my room.

My breath caught in my throat as I focused on the figure standing near the window. The dim moonlight streaming through the curtains illuminated a face partially obscured by a hoodie.

It took a moment for me to fully register the situation, and when I did, panic surged through me. Before I could react, I locked onto the one detail that stopped me cold—his eyes.

I'd seen them before.

Recognition hit me like a bolt. "Aarav?" I whispered, my voice shaky.

I barely had time to process the thought before he moved. In an instant, he crossed the room, his hand pressing against my mouth to stifle the scream that was building in my throat.

"Shhh," he whispered, his voice low but steady. "Don't scream."

His weight on the bed pinned me in place, and I froze, staring up at him in disbelief. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear, confusion, and something else I couldn't quite place.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. His hood shadowed part of his face, but I could still see his expression—intense, almost conflicted.

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled against his hand, my voice muffled.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he seemed to hesitate, his dark eyes locked on mine. Slowly, he released his hand from my mouth, his touch lingering for a moment before pulling away.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sorry?" I repeated, confused. "For what?"

He didn't respond. He just kept staring at me, his gaze flickering with something I couldn't decipher—regret, perhaps? Guilt?

I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, but he stood abruptly, his movements swift and purposeful. Before I could process what was happening, he was at the window, pulling the hood tighter over his head.

"Wait!" I called out, sitting up in bed. "What are you doing here? Why did you—"

He glanced back at me, his expression unreadable.

"I shouldn't have come," he said quietly. And then, without another word, he slipped out of the window, disappearing into the night.

For a few moments, I just sat there, stunned. My breathing was shallow, my mind racing to make sense of what had just happened.

Why had he been here? And why had he apologized?

The encounter left me more confused than ever, a knot of unanswered questions tightening in my chest. As I sat there in the dark, staring at the empty window, one thought refused to leave my mind:

Who exactly is Aarav Kapoor?