In a society bound by rigid traditions, Aarushi, a young widow, endures daily hardships and abuse. Her life takes an unexpected turn when Anshul, a principled and compassionate man, rescues her from a dire situation. Despite societal scorn and obsta...
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Anshul Sehgal Pov
I stood by the fence of an expansive, verdant meadow, savoring the picturesque panorama that stretched before me. The lush greenery was a balm to my senses, soothing my weary mind. Suddenly, my attention was captured by a pair of enchanting black eyes shimmering in the distant woods. I squinted, trying to discern if the vision was real or merely a figment of my imagination, a product of my fatigue.
To my astonishment, the eyes remained, gazing at me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. The woman they belonged to was concealed behind the dense foliage, her eyes the only visible part of her. They seemed to communicate a silent message, one meant exclusively for me. Curiosity ignited within me, compelling me to move closer.
"Hey! Who are you?" I called out as I approached, my voice tinged with both curiosity and urgency.
In response, she retreated, her movements graceful yet swift. My breath caught as I caught a fleeting glimpse of her slender back. She was draped in a flowing white garment that trailed behind her, her long, ebony hair cascading down to her waist, framing her delicate frame like a silken veil. Her skin glowed with an ethereal luminescence under the morning sun, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance.
"You can't catch me," she taunted, her voice a melodic whisper that seemed to resonate with the very essence of nature.
Driven by an inexplicable desire, I pursued her into the forest. The chase was a dance of shadows and light, her figure darting through the trees like a wraith. After what felt like an eternity of cat-and-mouse, I finally managed to grasp her hand. It was as soft and delicate as a petal.
"Now you are mine," I declared, my voice betraying a desperate need to hold onto her.
She yanked her hand away, her movements fluid and swift. "It will never happen... not now, not ever," she replied, her voice a haunting melody. Before I could react, she vanished into the mist, leaving me standing there, rooted to the spot. My hand remained outstretched, clutching at empty air. I looked down, defeated, and noticed something glistening on the leaves where she had stood. Bending down, I touched the wetness, only to recoil as it burned my fingertips. Was it a tear? And if so, why was she crying?
"Ansh, wake up. It's already 9 am. You have to meet someone today. Do you remember it?" My mother's voice shattered the remnants of my dream.
"How could I forget, Mom, when I have you to remind me of every little thing?" I grumbled, dragging myself out of bed. The dream had left me disoriented, the mysterious woman lingering in my thoughts. Ever since I returned to Uttar Pradesh, my ancestral home, these dreams had plagued my nights. The enigmatic woman with the piercing eyes haunted my sleep, her presence both alluring and unsettling.
As I prepared for the day, I couldn't shake the feeling that the dreams were more than mere figments of my imagination. Were they a premonition of things to come? I dismissed the thought, trying to focus on the present.
Downstairs, my parents were engaged in a serious conversation about my future. Their expressions were somber, a stark contrast to the carefree atmosphere of the morning.
"Why do you both look so serious?" I asked, plopping down on the sofa and reaching for a piece of fruit from the plate on the glass table.
"This time, you will say yes, understand? They are from a high and wealthy class, just like us. My friend spoke with them personally, and they are also here on business. They have only one daughter, Siya. She is well-educated and raised with great care. You two would make a perfect match," my father, Rajeev Sehgal, said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I sighed, finishing the fruit. "Okay, Dad. I'll say yes, but can't I just get her number and talk to her?"
"No, you have to meet Siya in person. Her parents want to see you, so be on your best behavior," my mother, Sakshi Sehgal, insisted, her voice firm.
After a lengthy discussion, I reluctantly grabbed my car keys. "Can I go now?"
"Don't go empty-handed. Take something like flowers or fruits," Rajesh added.
Rolling my eyes, I agreed. As I drove, my thoughts wandered back to the mysterious woman from my dreams. I stopped at a flower shop, noticing people on the street joyously playing with colors.
"Oh yeah, today is Holi," I muttered as I stepped out of the car. Inside the shop, I selected a bouquet of roses. The shop was filled with vibrant blooms, their fragrances mingling in the air.
A girl in a dupatta, her face mostly hidden, approached me hurriedly. "Your bouquet," she said softly, handing it to me while adjusting her veil further down her face. Her nervous movements intrigued me.
"200 rupees," she whispered, her voice trembling.
As I handed her the money, our fingers brushed. She recoiled, and I felt a sudden jolt of electricity. "I am so sorry," I apologized, though I wasn't sure why.
"Please, Dada ji, can you handle this? I'm already late for work. Ma'am will scold me," she mumbled, then disappeared from sight.
"Aarushi, be careful today. It's Holi, and the streets are full of people playing with colors. Stay away from that," an elderly man called after her.
"Yes, Dada ji," she replied, her voice fading as she turned a corner.
Puzzled by the interaction, I got back into my car. As I drove to Siya's house, the image of the girl in white lingered in my mind, her nervous demeanor and hidden face stirring a deep curiosity.
Aarushi Sharma pov
On my way, I paused to watch a group of children playing Holi, their laughter filling the air with joy. It reminded me of my own childhood, a time when I reveled in the vibrant colors of the festival. But those days were gone, lost to a past I could never reclaim.
Three years ago, on my wedding day, my husband died in a car accident. We were on our way to Mumbai, where my in-laws lived, when tragedy struck. I never even got to see his face properly before everything went black. Since then, my life had been shrouded in a veil of sorrow and restriction.
Society's expectations weighed heavily on me, forbidding me from participating in many things, including Holi. The festival of colors had become a painful reminder of my loss, its joy a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt.
A tear escaped my eye as I watched the children, but I quickly wiped it away. I had learned to hide my pain, to endure the scrutiny and judgment of those around me. My life was a constant struggle, a battle against the constraints imposed upon me by tradition and circumstance.
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