“Shut up, bitch!”

“She is the reason for all this.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“I hate her, Mom!”

“You're the worst sister.”

“I hate you, Di!”

The voices crashed into her mind like relentless waves, sharp, brutal, and merciless. Each syllable etched itself into her skin, digging deeper, deeper—until she couldn't tell if she was bleeding or if it was just the weight of their words suffocating her.

“Why are you overreacting?”

“Are you eating, or should I throw this all out?”

“Are you pregnant? Is that why you didn’t get your periods? I mean, you stay awake till late—who knows what you do roaming around the house?”

Aira clutched her head, fingers gripping her hair so tight her scalp burned. The voices wouldn’t stop. They never stopped.

“Can’t you do one thing right?”

“Loser, loser, loser.”

“You were the one who taught me, and now I’m defeating you! Haha!”

Her breath hitched, lungs tightening like a vice as the cruel laughter echoed, surrounding her in the suffocating walls of her memories.

“If you're behaving like this now, God knows how you’ll treat us when you get successful.”

“If you get successful, you’ll treat us like some piece of shit.”

“You can never win against me.”

“Ew, you’re stinking.”

“Why are you always calling me? Mom this, Mom that—I have other work too. I’m tired of all this!”

The walls felt like they were closing in, a crushing weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She gasped—desperate for relief, desperate for a moment of silence.

“Can’t you take a stand for yourself?”

“Why can’t you fight for yourself? You’re not a kid anymore!”

“He is just twelve! How can you expect him to do everything on his own?”

“Let him be. He must be tired.”

“You’re a girl, and he is a boy. Stop comparing yourself to him! Everything we own belongs to him, but you? You have nothing. You have to earn everything on your own.”

“He is a boy. There’s no need for him to learn house chores. But you? You’re going to be someone else’s daughter-in-law.”

“Sir, don’t scold her—she’ll tell her mom! Haha!”

“She is so egoistic.”

“Why does she have such an attitude?”

“You’re a girl—you can’t have such a bad temper.”

SLAP

Aira flinched, the phantom sting of the slap burning across her cheek, though there was no one there. Just the shadows, just the memories, clawing at her skin.

“Why can’t you speak in public?”

Her breath grew ragged. Her vision blurred. The walls of the bathroom tilted, her body lurching forward as she lost control over her limbs. Her muscles locked up, stiff and unyielding, like a corpse frozen in time.

She wasn’t breathing.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her throat closed.

A choked sob tore from her lips, but no one could hear her. She curled into herself, pressing her hands against her ears, trying to shut out the voices, the echoes, the taunts that had never left her mind.

But it was too late.

The panic attack had seized her.

Cold sweat drenched her body, her nightclothes sticking to her trembling frame. Her hands turned clammy, her skin icy to the touch. Her chest burned—too tight, too painful—as though something had reached inside and squeezed her lungs in a merciless grip.

Her heart pounded violently, the rhythm irregular, frantic, terrifying.

A shiver ran down her spine, her body convulsing slightly as her breath came in short, desperate gasps. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. The world blurred into a mess of darkness and distant voices.

“Please stop it... I’m okay... everything is fine…”

Her own voice was nothing but a trembling whisper—a lie she didn’t even believe herself.

Her fingers dug into the bathroom tiles, gripping onto something, anything, as if the cold floor could anchor her back to reality. But nothing helped.

“It’s hurting... please…”

Tears slipped from her eyes, sliding down her temples, pooling into her hair as she lay motionless on the floor. Her body felt foreign, disconnected, like she was trapped inside someone else’s skin.

She felt small.

She felt weak.

She felt... like nothing.

And then—her body gave up.

Her limbs slumped, chest still rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The tension in her muscles eased, but it wasn’t relief. It was exhaustion.

Her mind finally surrendered to the darkness, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifted into unconsciousness, letting the panic attack consume her completely.

---

Raghuvanshi Mansion

The grand Raghuvanshi Mansion stood tall in its regal presence, its walls holding decades of legacy, pride, and unspoken emotions. The vast hall, illuminated by the golden glow of chandeliers, bore witness to yet another crucial family gathering.

Everyone sat in a semi-circle, their gazes fixed on Pandit Ji, the elderly priest who had been summoned to determine an auspicious date for Yunay and Aira’s engagement. The air buzzed with quiet anticipation, the weight of decisions and expectations settling over them.

It had been two weeks since their visit to the Deshmukh household. Aira, initially resistant, had taken an entire week before finally agreeing to the marriage. Her acceptance had not come easily—it had been a battle of emotions, one she had lost to circumstances.

Meanwhile, Yunay’s grandmother remained in the hospital. Though she had finally regained consciousness, her frail state still demanded constant care. When she was informed about the engagement, shock had flickered in her aged eyes, but knowing that the decision had been initiated by Yunay himself, she chose silence over opposition. Her heart wasn’t entirely pleased with the suddenness of it all, yet for her grandson’s sake, she kept her reservations to herself.

The priest, seated cross-legged on the carpet, flipped through his aged almanac, his fingers tracing the faded Sanskrit letters with practiced precision. A moment later, he looked up, his voice breaking the stillness—

“Next week, there is a good mahurat.”

All eyes instantly shifted to Yunay. A barely perceptible nod was his only response.

“On which day?” Samarth asked, his deep voice resonating through the hall.

“Friday,” Pandit Ji replied, his tone firm with certainty.

There were no protests. A collective nod signaled agreement, though Yunay barely seemed interested, his focus still absorbed in his phone.

With a practiced gesture of respect, Pandit Ji pressed his palms together and slightly bowed, bidding farewell to the family. Everyone reciprocated his respectful departure as he took his leave.

Yunay, too, was about to walk away when Divya’s voice halted him in his tracks.

“Yunay, Dhitya wants to go shopping. Go with her.”

Yunay turned to look at his sister, but before he could respond, Dhitya interjected, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, Bhai. I’ll take a bodyguard with me.”

Just as her words left her mouth, a sharp smack landed on her arm.

“Ouch!” Dhitya winced, glaring at Nirvigh, who stood beside her, looking absolutely unapologetic.

Yunay and Divya merely shook their heads at the siblings' antics, while Samarth, their father, stepped in with his own form of discipline—his large hand reaching out to tug Nirvigh’s ear.

“Ahh! Papa!” Nirvigh yelped in pain, his eyes shutting closed as he tried to escape. “It wasn’t even that serious!”

Samarth merely raised a brow, waiting for the inevitable apology. Nirvigh, seeing no way out, sighed dramatically before giving in to his father’s authority.

“Sorry, Dhitya,” he muttered, rubbing his sore ear.

Satisfied, Samarth let go, but not before delivering one final smack on Nirvigh’s head.

Laughter erupted in the hall. Dhitya and Divya chuckled openly, while Yunay, ever composed, stood there—his face devoid of amusement. Expressionless. Unaffected.

After a beat, he finally spoke.

“You have two brothers. Why would you go with a bodyguard?”

His statement immediately shifted the atmosphere.

Nirvigh, sensing an opportunity to align with his elder brother, smirked and swiftly moved to stand beside him.

“That’s what I was saying!” Nirvigh exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically.

But Yunay was not so easily fooled. His sharp gaze pinned his younger brother in place.

“You didn’t say anything. You just smacked her.”

Dhitya, feeling vindicated, bobbed her head in agreement.

Nirvigh, ever the dramatic one, puffed out his cheeks, lips curving downward like a scolded child.

“Bhai, it’s the same thing.”

He pouted his lips further, making himself look like a sulking kid who had been unjustly punished. But Yunay’s expression did not soften. Not even slightly.

Realizing there was no winning against Yunay’s piercing stare, Nirvigh huffed in frustration, stomping his foot like a petulant child before dramatically turning his back.

“Bhai,” Dhitya spoke up again, her voice calm yet firm. “Nirvigh Bhai has a shift in two hours. And you’re also exhausted—you came back late last night. It’s fine, I’ll go on my own. I’m taking a bodyguard with me, so don’t worry. You should get some rest.”

Yunay exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disapproval.

Before he could object, Divya chimed in.

“She’s right, Yunay. You should rest. You also have to visit the hospital tonight, remember? Maa Ji wants to meet you.”

Yunay’s gaze shifted toward Samarth, his father’s calm but firm nod sealing the decision.

He let out a sigh—a rare admission of exhaustion.

Without another word, Yunay turned and walked toward his room, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of responsibilities he never asked for but still bore without complaint.

Nirvigh followed suit, heading to his room to prepare for his work shift.

Meanwhile, Dhitya embraced her mother tightly before stepping out for her shopping.

As the commotion settled, Divya and Samarth exchanged a knowing glance before heading toward the kitchen. Their hands moved in quiet coordination, packing a tiffin box for Sarasvati Dadi, ensuring that the warmth of home accompanied her even in the sterile, lonely confines of the hospital.

The Raghuvanshi household, despite its grandeur, remained a web of unspoken emotions, responsibilities, and sacrifices—some noticed, some overlooked, but all deeply felt.

---

Deshmukh House

Lakshay arrived home much earlier than usual. Normally, he wouldn’t step foot inside until evening, but today, as the clock barely ticked past the afternoon, he was already here. His sudden arrival sent a wave of surprise through the household. Nisha, who was busy dusting the furniture, stopped mid-motion when she heard his voice calling out to her.

She turned around to head toward the hall, but before she could take a step, Lakshay was already there, standing with an unusual air of urgency around him. His face, though composed, carried a hint of anticipation.

“Samarth Raghuvanshi’s call,” he informed her, his tone sharp, laced with an eagerness he barely concealed. He gestured for her to come closer.

Nisha did as signaled, positioning herself in front of him while he picked up the call and put it on speaker. His voice, instantly shifting into a tone of excessive warmth, carried a desperate kind of enthusiasm.

“Namaste, Raghuvanshi ji,” Lakshay greeted, his voice almost dripping with forced joy, as if hoping to impress the man on the other end.

On the other side, Samarth Raghuvanshi wasted no time on unnecessary pleasantries. His voice was firm, commanding, and straight to the point.

“Namaste, Lakshay ji. I actually called to inform you about the engagement date. The pandit has suggested next week's Friday as an auspicious day. I know we didn’t consult you before deciding, but I don’t suppose you’ll have any problem with it, will you?”

His words were a statement more than a question, his tone making it clear that Lakshay’s opinion on the matter was inconsequential.

Lakshay, already accustomed to playing the role of an obedient subordinate in front of more powerful men, let out a nervous chuckle.

“No, no! We have no problem at all! The sooner, the better, right?” His voice wavered with an eagerness that bordered on desperation.

Samarth exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. He wasn’t blind—he could hear the greed behind Lakshay’s voice, sense the hunger for status disguised as enthusiasm. If it weren’t for Yunay, he would never have entertained dealing with such people.

“My manager will inform you about the engagement details and share the venue information. I have work to attend to, so I’ll be hanging up now. You must be busy too, right?” Samarth’s voice carried a subtle hint of mockery, as if testing Lakshay’s self-awareness.

“Yes, yes! Of course, right!” Lakshay responded hastily, not wanting to risk saying anything that could be perceived as disagreement.

Samarth merely hummed in response before cutting the call, the line going dead before Lakshay could utter another word.

As soon as the call ended, Lakshay released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his chest rising and falling rapidly. It was as if he had been holding his breath the entire conversation, afraid that one wrong word might shatter everything.

Nisha, standing beside him, crossed her arms. Her face was scrunched in disapproval, her brows furrowed in irritation.

“Don’t you think he was being too rude?” she remarked, her voice tinged with annoyance. Her eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as she replayed Samarth’s curt words in her mind.

Lakshay sighed, his patience thinning.

“They’re powerful people. Men like him see people like us as dirt in society. We should be grateful that they’re even forming a relationship with us,” he said, his voice laced with both admiration and resignation.

But Nisha wasn’t convinced. With an irritated huff, she stomped away, returning to her cleaning, muttering under her breath about arrogance and high-handedness.

Lakshay, however, was too busy basking in his own thoughts to pay attention to his wife’s complaints. His lips curled into a small smirk as he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

This marriage was more than just a wedding—it was his golden ticket.

After all these years of struggling to climb the social ladder, of fighting for a shred of respect, of being overlooked and dismissed by the so-called elite, finally—finally—things were falling into place.

After this marriage, he wouldn’t just be Lakshay Deshmukh. He would be Raghuvanshi’s in-law.

His name would carry weight. His reputation would soar. People who once looked down on him would bow their heads in acknowledgment. He could already picture the shift—the way people would speak to him with newfound reverence, the way doors that were previously shut would swing open.

And to think, all this was happening because of her.

His daughter.

The same ill-mannered, disobedient brat who had always been a thorn in his side. The girl who had no sense of respect, who consistently defied him, who thought she was too good for the rules set for her.

But for once—just this once—she had done something right.

Not by her intelligence, of course. She wasn’t smart enough to plan something like this. But she had still, somehow, managed to entangle a rich man in her web.

‘Maybe she inherited at least a sliver of my brain after all,’ he mused to himself, before shaking his head.

No, actually—she had no brain.

If she had, she wouldn’t have been stupid enough to reject the proposal in front of everyone.

That had been her biggest mistake—one that could have ruined everything.

If it weren’t for him stepping in at the right moment, all of this could have slipped through his fingers. He couldn’t allow that. Not when he was this close to achieving everything he had ever wanted.

His jaw tightened.

He would have to keep a close eye on her.

Aira was reckless, emotional. She was foolish enough to ruin everything over some silly notion of self-respect or personal choice. He couldn’t let that happen.

This marriage wasn’t about her—it was about him.

His future. His reputation. His place in society.

And he wouldn’t let his daughter—his foolish, naive daughter—mess it all up.

With that thought lingering in his mind, Lakshay leaned back, a calculating gleam in his eyes.

Everything had to go as planned. No mistakes.

Not this time.

---

Unaware of everything, Aira sat in her cabin after finishing a surgery. Her job was the only thing that made her feel worthy—after all the childhood traumas, she had spent years feeling nothing but useless.

Whenever she saved a life, and the patient’s family expressed their gratitude, she felt a little better. A little less empty. In those moments, she wasn’t just Aira, the girl who had been made to feel unwanted—she was a savior. Her existence mattered. Maybe not much, but at least somewhere in the universe, it held some value, even if it was just the tiniest fraction of percentage.

She leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on the armrests, legs casually placed on the desk. Closing her eyes, she let the quiet of the cabin wash over her, searching for a moment of peace.

But peace was impossible these days.

For the past few weeks, a single thought had been haunting her—Ishaan. The lover boy. It had been weeks since their last conversation, and ever since that night, everything had stopped. No flower bouquets, no love letters, no small gifts or surprise food deliveries. She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t felt his presence around her the way she once did.

She had told herself it shouldn’t matter. That she didn’t love him. But habit was a dangerous thing, and she had grown used to his presence, his persistence, his unwavering care. Apart from her best friend, he was the only one who had ever made her feel cherished.

And now that it is gone... it hurt.

A lone tear slipped from her eye, a soft sob escaping her lips. He was the only one who treated me like his world revolved around nothing but me...

If only he wasn’t what he was—a mafia. If only he had tried to convince her parents instead of pushing her to choose him, maybe things would have been different.

At least she would have married a man who loved her. A man she knew.

But look at her now—being forced into marriage with a total stranger. She didn’t even know if this man liked her. Didn’t know what kind of person he was, how he would treat her, or what his intentions were.

But Ishaan? She knew him. She knew he would never hurt her. She knew he would have respected her.

A fresh wave of guilt and sorrow hit her.

“I'm sorry, Ishaan. I'm really sorry. I just pray you find someone who will give you all the love you deserve... please forgive me.”

Her body trembled as she broke down, memories of that night flooding her mind.

For the first time in her life, someone had loved her with everything they had. And what had she done?

She had broken him.

Shattered his heart.

Destroyed his hopes.

Stabbed him with her words and actions.

Her chest ached as images of him filled her mind—his smile whenever he saw her, the way his eyes lit up, his gentle yet playful nature. His stubbornness, his refusal to give up on her... yet always keeping his distance, never crossing a boundary, making sure his presence didn’t make her uncomfortable.

Despite his persistence, he had always left when she asked him to.

Despite his dominance, he had apologized every single day, worried that something he did might have hurt her.

He had done everything for her—things she never thought she would get from anyone.

And yet, she had rejected him.

It was hard, but it was the only choice.

She couldn’t afford the shame her family would throw at her for loving someone. And more than that, she never wanted Ishaan to hear the dagger-like words of her parents.

To him, she had been ethereal.

And she never wanted him to regret thinking of her that way.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

What do you think about Samarth Singh Raghuvanshi and Raghuvanshi Family?

Lakshay Deshmukh?

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