But then—Vihaan’s face flashes in my mind. His steady gaze, his voice when he calls memeri jaan. The way he makes me feel like I belong just by standing beside him.
I inhale, shaky but strong enough.
“I am not your family,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “You made that clear since childhood.”
Her grip tightens viciously, her smile twisting. “Don’t be foolish, Poorvi. Don’t forget where you come from.”
I wrench my arm free, the motion sharp, my skin stinging where her nails left marks. My chest rises and falls quickly, but my voice is steady now.
“I haven’t forgotten. You reminded me every day by making sure I never belonged. And I don’t intend to now.”
Her eyes flash, but I don’t let her speak.
“As for the Shekawats,” I continue, my chin lifting, “you can contact Vihaan yourself. If it would really be beneficial for his family, he’ll go ahead with it. But I won’t beg him on your behalf.”
The silence between us stretches, taut and ugly. Her lips part, then close again, words faltering for once.
I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I walk towards the door, then pause and look back. “And Rajmata? It’s embarrassing to see how desperate you are, but I need you to keep this in mind. I’m not a pawn anymore who you will move as you deem fit. Please stay out of my way; I don’t care for you nor your family.”
I walk out the door, my head held high.Whoa. I finally did it.
The crowd swallows me up again—too bright, too loud. My arm throbs faintly where she gripped me, but my steps don’t falter. I force them steady, every movement deliberate.
And then I see him.
Vihaan stands a little apart from the others, his tall frame an anchor in the glittering chaos. His eyes find me instantly. They always do. His expression shifts in a heartbeat—from calm composure to sharp awareness. He sees me pale, sees the tension in my shoulders, though no one else would notice.
I stop in front of him, lift my gaze to his. “Can we leave?”
His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t ask questions here. Not now. He simply nods once, the weight of it solid and grounding. He offers his arm, as though nothing is wrong, as though this is just another part of the evening.
I take it, my hand slipping into the crook of his elbow.
And together, we walk out.
The hall fades behind us, the noise and lights shrinking into silence. My heart still hammers, but for the first time, it’s not from fear—it’s from the startling realization that I finally said the words I’d been carrying my whole life.
And Vihaan was there, steady and silent, to walk me away from it all.
CHAPTER 47
Your Voice Vs. the Whole World
VIHAAN
The night has already started to blur at the edges by the time we step into the car. All the clinking glasses, the brittle laughter, the shallow conversations—the whole charade feels heavy, like a mask that doesn’t fit right. But she, sitting right beside me, makes it tolerable. Poorvi has always had that effect, turning even the most unbearable evenings into something that I can endure.
The driver shuts the door behind us. Silence falls, broken only by the low buzzing of the engine. She folds her dupatta neatly in her lap, fingers curling and uncurling as if her hands are looking for something to hold on to. The delicate golden light from the passing street lamps touches her face, painting her skin with warmth, but her eyes—they’re far away.
I wait for a beat. Then another. The knot in her brows doesn’t ease. I can’t take it anymore.
“What is it, meri jaan?” My voice comes out softer than I expect, almost tentative.
She turns to me, startled, like I’ve pulled her from a world she was trapped in. Her lips part, and for a moment I think she’ll shake her head, brush it off like she usually does. But tonight, she doesn’t.
“I met Rajmata Sumitra,” she says finally. Her voice is steady, but I can feel the weight beneath it.
“Did she say something? Are you alright?” I keep my tone even, but the questions pull from somewhere that isn’t only curiosity. I need to know which part of her I should reach for.
