A whole year had passed, yet nothing had changed. Every day felt like a repeat of the last — the same arguments, the same taunts, the same unbearable weight pressing down on her chest. The house remained just as stifling, the air heavy with tension.
Rahul never messaged again. Neither did Aisha. The brief connection they had shared, the small moments of hope, had vanished quietly, leaving only silence and the echo of unspoken words.
Aisha moved through her days like a shadow, alone in every sense. Her room had become both a sanctuary and a prison — the only place where she could breathe, yet even there, the memories of loss and betrayal lingered like a ghost.
She had grown used to solitude, but it was a hollow kind of comfort. No one noticed the small victories or the quiet pain behind her calm exterior. She walked through life carrying a silent storm, never speaking, never asking, never expecting.
A year of repetition had carved her into someone who could survive alone, but at the cost of hope. The girl who had once wanted love and understanding now only longed for peace — a fragile, fleeting escape from the relentless cycle she could neither change nor escape.
It was a quiet evening, the same as always — until her mother's voice broke through the silence.
"Aisha, get ready quickly," she said, stepping into her room.
Aisha looked up, confused. "Why? What happened?"
Her mother didn't waste a second. "A boy's family is coming to see you. They'll be here soon, so get ready fast."
Aisha froze, disbelief flashing across her face. "What? Are you serious?" Her voice trembled, half in shock and half in anger. "Is this some kind of joke? I'm not getting married! And you didn't even think it was necessary to ask me once before calling them?"
She stood up, her hands clenched in frustration. "I won't get ready, and I'm not meeting anyone. Do you understand?"
Her mother's patience snapped. "Enough of your drama, Aisha! Do you even realize how lucky you are? The boy is perfect — rich, well-mannered, and the CEO of The typhoon company. The world's second largest company. Girls line up just to get a chance to talk to him, and I still can't understand what he saw in you that made him say yes."
She glared at Aisha, her tone sharp as glass. "It's your good fortune that someone like him even noticed you. So stop this nonsense and get ready. Don't make me lose my temper."
Aisha stood there, stunned and speechless, feeling her heart tighten. The room felt smaller, her breath heavier. Once again, her choices meant nothing — and her life was being decided without her consent.
Aisha stood there for a long moment, her mother's harsh words echoing in her mind. Her hands trembled slightly, not out of fear — but from the weight of everything she'd been forced to swallow all these years.
She let out a faint, bitter laugh and whispered to herself, "Fine, Mom. This is what you want, right? You want me to get ready, to sit there like some doll in front of those people?"
Her eyes glistened, though she didn't let the tears fall. "Alright then… I'll do exactly what you want. But let's see how that perfect boy and his perfect family say yes to me."
Her voice turned colder, quieter, but heavy with emotion. "Whatever happens next… every bit of this drama will be on you, Mom. Not me."
With that, she turned toward the mirror — her reflection blurry through unshed tears — and began to prepare, not for a meeting, but for the storm she knew was about to come.
***************
*The Grand Arrival*
The soft hum of an expensive engine broke the stillness of the lane outside Aisha's house.
Within moments, a sleek black Mercedes glided to a stop in front of the small gate — its polished surface shining under the golden rays of sunset. Behind it, another luxury car halted, followed by a third.
Neighbors peeked out of their windows, whispering among themselves. Children stopped playing on the street, their eyes widening at the sight of the grand convoy.
"who are they?" someone murmured, awe clear in their voice.
The first door opened — a tall, impeccably dressed man stepped out. His presence alone demanded attention. Ansh Mehra.
A perfectly tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders; a silver watch glimmered on his wrist. His expression was calm, confident — the kind that could silence a room without a word.
Behind him, his parents emerged — his mother in an elegant saree, his father in a crisp blazer — followed by his younger brother, sister, and a couple of well-dressed relatives. Even their bodyguards, standing silently near the cars, looked intimidating yet disciplined.
The entire street seemed to pause.
Aisha's mother rushed to the door, adjusting her saree nervously, while the neighbors whispered in disbelief — "CEO hai… itne bade log!"
Inside the house, Aisha could hear the noise, the murmurs, the footsteps — the sound of power entering her world.
Her heart raced, not out of excitement, but out of the strange mix of anger and curiosity.
She took a deep breath, looked at her reflection one last time, and muttered under her breath,
"So this is the man everyone's so proud of…"
The moment Ansh and his family stepped inside the small courtyard, it felt as if the entire place had transformed. Their graceful aura, their perfume, their elegance — everything screamed of class and money. Even the soft sound of their footsteps on the marble floor felt too refined for that house.
"Namaste!" Aisha's mom greeted them warmly, her smile wide but slightly anxious.
"Please, please come in," she said, opening the door wider and gesturing toward the sofa with both hands.
Ansh's mother smiled politely, his father nodded, and the rest of the family followed with calm grace. Even the air seemed to pause as they entered — the neighbors outside whispering through the windows, peeking to get one last glimpse of the "CEO family."
Inside, the fragrance of fresh flowers mixed with the scent of expensive perfume.
Aisha's mother rushed to serve them refreshments — plates of samosas, sweets, and glasses of cold juice neatly arranged on a tray.
"Please have something," she said softly, her tone respectful, almost pleading. "I'll just bring Aisha."
Everyone smiled politely, murmuring a soft "Of course," as Aisha's mother turned toward the hallway — her saree rustling against the floor, her heart pounding as she prepared to bring her daughter face-to-face with the man who might change everything.