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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The morning air was crisp, but I could feel nothing except the simmering rage bubbling inside me. I fastened the last button of my kurta, my fingers trembling-not from nerves, but from pure resolve. Today, I wouldn't ignore, wouldn't sidestep. Today, I'd face her.
I walked through the corridor like a woman on a mission, the sound of my anklets sharp against the marble. I found her exactly where I expected-in the corner of the garden, sipping her imported coffee like she owned the damn sky. Priyanka.
She looked up the moment I stepped closer, and her lips curved into that same smug smile she wore on Karwachauth. The same one she wore when she faked fasting, just to be seen sitting beside my husband.
"Here to whine again, Meera?" she asked, voice laced with condescension.
I didn't let her provoke me. "You crossed a line that night," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside. "I ignored your antics before. But try coming between me and my family again, and you'll regret it."
She rose to her feet with a grace that made my fists itch. "Aww, territorial, are we?" she mocked. "You think just because you sit beside Arjun every morning , you're some queen of the house?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "So what if one plan failed? I always have another."
I clenched my jaw.
She continued, "You think Arjun is yours, Meera? Just wait. He'll be the one to throw you out of this house. Mark my words."
I didn't speak. I simply met her gaze, eyes burning. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
She turned, heels clicking against the marble, leaving behind the venom of her challenge hanging thick in the air. And for the first time, I felt it wasn't just a petty rivalry. This was war.
---
That evening, the house shimmered with the scent of ghee and cardamom. Dinner was lively, the usual Rajvansh chaos and chatter filling the room. Ira sat beside me, swinging her little legs as I fed her spoon after spoon of her favorite-gajar ka halwa.
"Slow down, mithu," I chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
