✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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The remnants of the engagement ceremony clung to the opulent Sharma living room like fine, shimmering dust. It was past midnight. Inside, the heavy velvet drapes were partially drawn, filtering the distant city lights into soft, diffused pools on the Italian marble floor. The army of servers had retreated, leaving behind the three core families—the Agnihotris, the Sharmas, and the Agarwals —in a state of contented exhaustion.
Samaira's voice cut through the drone of wedding logistics, laced with a playful, yet genuine, pout. "But seriously, when will Vidyut Bhaiya come? He is missing all the fun here!" A wave of shared laughter, mostly nervous, rippled through the room.
Ada sat quietly beside her mother, her posture straight and regal in the heavy maroon and gold lehenga. The embroidered border felt like a chain around her waist, restricting her breathing. Her left hand lay conspicuously in her lap, fingers gently caressing the brilliant-cut diamond ring that now officially bound her. It flashed, reflecting the chandelier light—a small, blinding star promising a lifetime of partnership.
It was a beautiful ring. It was a beautiful night. She had a beautiful family surrounding her, and in a beautiful few months, she would marry a beautiful, successful man. Yet, seated amidst the loud, comforting bustle of her family, she felt an isolating emptiness that the cheers of the engagement ritual had only temporarily masked. The excitement of the day had vanished, leaving behind a cold, unsettling silence inside her chest.
He wasn't here.
The phrase echoed in the cavernous space of her mind, dull and insistent. It wasn't just that he was working; it was the chilling, familiar pattern. Work always, always took precedence. Tonight, of all nights, she had foolishly believed the personal milestone would trump the professional emergency. But the empty chair beside her, still retaining the faintest indentation where he'd sat during the brief ceremony, was a stark, undeniable refutation.
Ada twisted the ring, the sharp edges of the diamond pressing into her skin. She wasn't just missing him; she was angry. An acidic resentment was beginning to curl in her stomach, spoiling the lingering taste of celebratory champagne. The promise of the ring felt hollow without the presence of the one who had placed it there.
