______13______

Aaravika
_______________

I was in complete shock. I had just opened my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind about how this was just a contract and that I didn’t belong to him—anger written all over my face. But before I could even get a word out, this man—this devil—plopped a spoonful of pulaav into my mouth. I blinked, my mind still processing the absurdity of it all. There I was, caught in a battle of rage and confusion, and instead of answering me back, he was feeding me.

I still had that angry expression though, like I was ready to throw hands or something. Meanwhile, he dismissed the others—Mom, Parth, Shruti —and ordered Tanvik bhaiya to bring the medicine. Was he trying to make me choke? ‘Cause at this point, I was just staring at him, still unsure whether I should protest or punch him in the face.

He just stared back, calm as a monk, and said, “Chew the food, Aaravika. Don’t just hold it in your mouth.”

What the heck is going on here? I realized then, I wasn’t even chewing. I was just standing there like a statue, probably looking like I’d seen a ghost. But then, the taste hit me. My taste buds lit up like a firecracker, and my expression—my fierce, angry expression—suddenly morphed into one of pure satisfaction. Okay, fine, it’s really good... I thought to myself, but of course, I wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

But noooo. This man—Vayran Singh Chandravansh, the unfeeling beast—had another spoonful ready to shove in my mouth. I stared at it, confused. Was he poisoning me? Is that why he’s feeding me? I mean, he’s done nothing but mess with my life since the very beginning, so who knows?

Before I could even process my thoughts fully, he said, “There’s no poison in it. Eat.”

My eyes went wide. Did he just read my mind? I was about to yell at him when he casually said, “Your expressions, your eyes… they scream what you’re thinking. Now, are you going to eat or not?” He didn’t even flinch, still holding the spoon in front of me.

Hesitantly, I took a bite, my mind still whirling with confusion and, dare I say, fear. I ate it. Slowly. And then, as if fate was mocking me, my gaze fell on my hands, which were drenched in mehendi. It was so dark, almost like I’d accidentally dipped my hands into a bucket of ink instead of mehendi.

And then I remembered my mom's words. "If the mehendi turns out dark, especially if it’s the name of the person written on your hand, it means they love you a lot." The thought made my stomach twist. But just as I was thinking, Oh hell no, that can’t be true, he said, “You’ve already given up, haven’t you?”

I looked up at him, my mouth still full of pulaav, confused as to what the hell he meant. And then, like he had just cracked the code of my thoughts, he said, “Because you’ve been so obedient to me.”

I scoffed, the back of my head still pounding with a headache and my body aching under the weight of the heavy lehenga. “Really? I’ve given up? You’re feeding me pulaav like it’s the last meal of my life. Who does that?” I said, still trying to keep the fire in my voice. But this guy, he was unshaken, even smiling slightly.

He leaned in, smirking. “Don’t get it wrong. I’m just doing mehmaan nawaji—hospitality. You’re my guest. Not my wife.”

That hit harder than a blow to the stomach. I knew this was a contract marriage, but hearing it straight from his cold, emotionless lips? Yeah, that stung. But I was a warrior. I wasn’t going to let him see me falter. “Who the hell feeds their guest like this?” I snapped back.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at me like I was an idiot. “I treat my ‘guests’ like this. Just don’t get too used to it. When you’re no longer my guest, you’ll get nothing but silence.”

My heart twisted in a way I refused to acknowledge. But just as I tried to push it down, it hit me: I was the only “guest” here. No one else. And just like that, a lump rose in my throat.

I forced myself to keep my expression neutral, though it felt like my face was made of stone, cracking from the inside. Suddenly, a stranger came up to us, wished us both well, and said something in a low tone to Vayran. His reply was quick and sharp: “Go.”

As the stranger left, I looked at Vayran, who once again had a spoonful of pulaav ready for me. The guy—he didn’t even flinch. No surprise there. I looked up at him and couldn’t help but ask, “Do you take money for smiling or laughing, or is that just too much effort for you?”

He stared at me for a second before responding. “Maybe if I laugh, you’ll choke on the pulaav.”

I almost choked on it right then and there. What was this guy even saying? He was feeding me like I was a child and making me question everything about my life, my marriage, and now... my dinner. I blinked at him, but there was no getting out of this. At least, not yet.

───୨ৎ───
Don't forget to like and follow🥰

Byeᥫ᭡

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗