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A Week After the Inauguration

The grand inauguration had passed without a hitch. Vayran and Aaravika had played their parts to perfection, masking the reality of their contract marriage. To the world, they were the picture-perfect couple—him introducing her to his business associates while holding her possessively by the waist, ensuring his little patrani couldn’t slip away. Their indirect taunts were subtle yet sharp, adding an undercurrent of tension only they could decipher.

Now, a month into their marriage, Aaravika was alone in her room, battling the stress of her mounting study pressure. Deciding to distract herself, she opted to watch the horror movie Scream. It was a decision she regretted as soon as the chilling scene of Ghostface cornering a victim with a bloodied knife flashed across the screen. The guttural screams, the menacing whispers over the phone—it all had her heart racing. But curiosity had its grip, and she couldn’t stop.

By the time the credits rolled, it was 1:30 a.m., and fear was coursing through her veins. Her mind raced with paranoia as she recalled tales of ghosts roaming at such hours. Tugging the blanket over her head, she closed her eyes tightly, praying sleep would rescue her. But every time she closed her eyes, Ghostface’s image flashed in her mind.

Finally, she threw off the blanket in frustration and decided to ruin someone else’s peace—specifically, Vayran’s.

Without knocking, Aaravika barged into his room, coughing as cigarette smoke enveloped her. Vayran, seated on the edge of his bed, held a cigarette in one hand and an iPad in the other, reviewing intel on an enemy meddling in his business. His sharp features were shadowed by the soft glow of the screen, and his frustration was palpable.

“Why the hell are you here in the middle of the night?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Aaravika coughed harder, waving her hand in front of her face. He sighed, tossed the cigarette into an ashtray, and slid open the balcony door. “Go. Breathe before you die.” He says sarcastically though concerned from inside.

She hurried to the balcony, her light pink kurta and white pajama brushing against the breeze. Vayran leaned against the glass door, his black T-shirt stretching over his chest as he observed her. She looked delicate in the moonlight, but he hated how his chest tightened at the sight. He was supposed to be angry at her for invading his space, not worried about her cough.

Shaking his head at his misplaced concern, he asked again, “Why are you here?”

Aaravika turned toward him, flashing a smile so sweet he knew it was fake. His criminally offensive side-eye landed on her immediately. “What do you want?”

“Bend down and close your eyes,” she said, avoiding his question.

His brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Just do it!” she insisted, her tone daring him to argue.

He hesitated but leaned down, closing his eyes, his heart inexplicably hammering in his chest. A man like him shouldn’t feel nervous, yet her proximity stirred something foreign. When he sensed her nearing, his instincts kicked in. His hand shot up, pushing her face away, but he didn’t let go.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his tone sharp but his grip gentle.

Aaravika slapped his hand away, glaring. “Tharkulla! Why are you so nesharam (upgraded level of besharam)? I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

“Oh, really?” he retorted, a mocking smirk curling his lips. “We’re husband and wife, contract or not. Shouldn’t we act the part?”

“Congratulations,” he added sarcastically. “One month down, nine to go. But don’t worry—I’ll manage.”

Before she could retort, he leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. Aaravika froze, wide-eyed, then shoved her hand against his mouth. “Stop it, tharkulla! I wasn’t doing anything like that!”

Vayran pulled back, a smug grin on his face. “Then what were you doing, patrani?”

“I was going to scare you by whispering a scene from Scream in your ear,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “But of course, your dirty mind went straight to the gutter! I’ll need holy water to cleanse your thoughts.”

She grabbed a pillow and launched it at him. Vayran laughed darkly, catching it mid-air. “My fault? You’re the one who understands a dirty mind well enough to recognize it. Maybe you need some holy water too.”

Aaravika scowled and grabbed another pillow. “You’re impossible!”

The room descended into chaos as pillows flew back and forth. Vayran, nimble and amused, leapt onto the bed to dodge her attacks. Aaravika, determined, chased him relentlessly, even following him into the wardrobe room.

As she stormed in, her foot caught on the edge of the carpet, and she tripped. Vayran caught her instinctively, one arm around her waist, the other steadying her neck. For a moment, time stilled. Her wide, startled eyes met his intense gaze, and the proximity stole the breath from her lungs.

His grip tightened slightly, his jaw clenching as he fought the urge to acknowledge the flutter in his chest. “Careful,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

Aaravika blinked, breaking the spell. “Let me go!”

Vayran smirked, leaning closer as he whispered, “What if I don’t?”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, she forgot how to respond. Then, with all her might, she pushed him away and bolted out of the wardrobe, her heart pounding as she heard his low chuckle echo behind her.

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