Mending Hearts With A Contract
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- Votes 13
- Parts 6
As I turn to go back, I hear a faint sound of a twig snapping. I turn to the broken furniture again and bend on my knees, trying to look under the tables.
There I come in direct contact with two fearful, utterly beautiful and innocent pair of dark brown eyes with overwhelming intensity. Those eyes belong to a little girl who is hiding under the tables from God knows what. They look afraid and frightened as I first look at them. But as the girl looks at me timidly, her fear seems to radiate away and her lips twitch into a brief relieved smile. I can't help but smile at her, completely mesmerised by her wonderful eyes and cute face. Her tear stained cheeks look so chubby and soft. I move closer towards her to offer my hand for her to get out from there. But she unusually smiles at me as if she knows me. As I forward my hand, she hesitates a little.
"Mommy?" she speaks in her baby voice, so soft like a melody.
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She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the blur of soft golden lights and the scent of fresh roses lingering heavily in the air. The room around her was beautifully adorned-delicate drapes, scattered petals, and the faint echo of wedding music still humming somewhere in the distance. But something felt wrong. Terribly wrong. Her breath caught in her throat as unease curled deep within her chest. Why was she here? This wasn't her dream. This wasn't her moment. It was her step-sister's wedding. So why was she the one waking up in this bridal chamber... as if she had been written into a story that was never hers? Her heart pounded as she turned toward the ornate mirror across the room. But the moment her gaze met her reflection, her world shattered. A strangled scream tore from her lips. The heavy door burst open. People rushed in, their faces draining of color, horror settling into every expression. But one pair of eyes didn't hold shock. One pair of eyes... burned with something far darker. Something that felt like anger... like possession... like a truth she didn't yet understand. Her trembling gaze fell back to the mirror. The black beaded mangalsutra around her neck- It wasn't hers. The vermilion boldly streaked across her hairline- It was never meant for her. It was meant for her step-sister. But now... it marked her. Aavya Verma. As if somewhere, in lines she never wrote, in a fate she never chose... his name had already been etched into hers. And in one cruel twist of destiny, she was bound in a marriage she never wanted-wrapped in traditions that now felt more like chains than blessings. The vermilion on her forehead wasn't love. It was a mark. Of betrayal. Of a decision made without her. Of a story rewritten without her consent. She was never meant to be the bride. But she became one. Not by choice... Not by love... But because somewhere... somehow... she had been written into him- his name in every line of a life she never chose.
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