The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
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I was sitting in my car, impatiently drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges as rain started to drizzle on the windshield.
My thoughts were swirling in their usual chaotic fashion—work deadlines, deals, and somewhere, buried deep, the image of her.
A faint knock on my car window pulled me out of my reverie. I rolled it down, only to find a small boy, his face smeared with dirt, holding a bunch of flowers.
"Saab, ek phool le lo. Aapke kisi apne ke liye." His innocent voice cut through the honking chaos around us.
I raised an eyebrow. “Ek kyun? Sab de do.” His eyes lit up, and he quickly handed me the entire bouquet. I handed him the cash, waving off his attempt to give me change.
The boy ran off, grinning ear to ear, and I placed the bouquet on the passenger seat, glancing at it for a moment before pulling up the window.
That’s when my subconscious decided to join the ride. “Aaj kal kuch jyada hi romantic nahi ho rahe ho, Arjun?”
I frowned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Stop it. It’s not what you think.”
“Phool kharid rahe ho, shayad kisi ke liye kuch feel karte ho?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I bought them because the kid was trying to make a living, not because of some… feelings.”
"Pehile toh aap kabhi itnne meherban nahi huye "
"It's nothing like that "
“Achha, toh phir woh din kya tha? Jab Meera ki taraf dekhte hue tumhare lips pe woh chhoti si smile thi?”
“What smile? I don’t smile,” I shot back, my jaw tightening.
“Right, right. The Great Arjun Singh Rajvansh kabhi smile nahi karte. Bas unka dil ab dhadakne laga hai. Ek din phool, kal kuch aur, aur agle din toh full-on Bollywood hero ban jaoge!”
I rolled my eyes, switching gears as the light turned green. “You’re insufferable.”
“Main? Insufferable? Arjun, main toh tumhare andar ka sach hoon. Accept it, tum romantic ho rahe ho.”
“Romantic? Me? Never. Now shut up.”
The bouquet in the passenger seat seemed to mock me silently. By the time I reached home, I was exhausted—not just from the drive but from the constant bickering with myself. I parked the car and grabbed the bouquet, heading inside.
The house was eerily quiet. Unusually so.
“Meera? Ira?” I called out, my voice echoing. No response.
