Do you?
Staggering backward at the taunting voice inside my head, I rip my eyes away from the garden below and dash toward the groom’s suite on the opposite side.
The door is wide open as I round the corner, looking ominous in the darkened hall.
Like a gateway to my doom.
I hear low murmurs of tense voices as I gingerly approach it.
“What is it you and your son want?” my father hisses, sounding livid and not at me for the first time. “Money? Another property?”
“Don’t insult us, Veer,” Aryan’s father, Nitin Arora booms. “We’ve never asked for a dowry. What kind of man do you think I am?”
“The kind who’s letting his cowardly son dump my daughter on their wedding day.”
I flinch, bone-numbing pain jolting me from head to toe.
A choking noise drags from the depths of my soul.
It’s true.
Aryan doesn’t want to marry me.
But why?
“I am ashamed at my son’s decision,” admits Nitin in a torn voice. “But I won’t force him into a marriage he doesn’t want.”
Aryan’s mother joins in, saying, “Honestly, it was Arya who kept pushing him for a proposal and then a wedding all these years. Aryan wanted to wait.”
Is that what he told his parents?
Another dagger goes through my cracked heart at his bald-faced lie. It was he who spoke about marriage and his desire to spend the rest of his life with me.
The reason I went down a path years ago that made me lose the person I loved the most in the world. I’ve been broken and a shell of a woman since then. Aryan was my rock and my anchor through it all.
If he’s gone too, who do I have?
“Don’t you dare pin the blame on my daughter,” warns my father vehemently. “If Aryan wasn’t ready, he had all the time in the world to say no. Instead, he chose to walk away today. Do you realize how it’s going to ruin Arya’s reputation? Nobody’s going to want her hand in marriage.”
Tears sting my eyes before free-falling down my cheeks.
“We’re sorry,” says Nitin.
My father scoffs.
I’m standing frozen in the doorway when my fiancé’s—no,ex-fiancé’s—parents fill my line of sight. They pause, taking in my lehnga and the jewelry. Their expression falls after one glance at my face, crumpled in misery and heartbreak. Guilt and shame descend on their features as they stare at the worst consequence of their beloved son’s action.
They know I heard every word they said a second ago.
It’s Aryan’s mom who takes a step toward me and speaks first. “I am so sorry-”
“Where is he?”
A nervous look passes between them.
“Tell. Me,” I demand, using the last of my strength to sound firm.
“He left for New York this morning,” answers Nitin.
