Page 8 of Protect my Heart
He flinches—just slightly. If I wasn’t watching so closely, I would’ve missed it.
Then, without another word, I scribble my name at the bottom.
Anika Kapoor.
He takes the contract, folds it, and turns away like that’s all we needed to say to each other. But I can’t stop myself. “What are you trying to prove, Aarav? That you are still in control? That I’m just a pawn in your business games or that I am so helpless that you have to jump in and save the day?” my voice booms in the empty room.
He pauses at the door. Doesn’t turn around. Just says, “I don’t care what you think, Anika. I only care about what’s necessary.”
Then he leaves. And I sit there, in full bridal makeup, heart pounding in my chest, and realize—I’m about to marry a man who doesn’t even look at me like I’m a person anymore. A lone tear slips from my left eye. A lump forms in my throat, my gaze fixed at the door.
???
There’s no music. Pure silence surrounds us. Numbness engulfs me.
No one from his side attends the wedding except Samarth, who doesn't look happy with his decision. Same.
My mother is smiling now. I want to shout at her that I am not happy, but I love her too much. She's the only family I have left, and I'd do anything for her. I wish she wasn't that stubborn. I wish for once she would not care about my future but about my happiness.
The chants of the mantras pull me out of my thoughts, and I blink away the tears that blur my vision.
It's just me, Aarav, and a priest who was supposed to marry me off to someone else on the stage.
Pandit Ji doesn’t question anything. His voice drones on in Sanskrit, calling out mantras I’ve heard in movies and childhood weddings. I try to keep my breathing steady. Aarav sits beside me, his shoulder brushing mine once as we adjust positions. It’s the only time our bodies come close.
He doesn’t look at me. I don’t look at him. The fire crackles. The pheras begin.
Seven steps. Seven vows. Seven lies.
He ties the mangalsutra around my neck. His fingers don’t tremble. Mine are frozen in place. Then, the sindoor. That blood-red line. That final, irreversible mark.
“With these seven steps, you are now husband and wife,” Pandit Ji announces.
Just like that. No cheers. No claps. No blessings. Just silence, smoke, and lies.
I blink.
Wife. The word hits me like a punch in the gut.
Not once in all my ridiculous teenage dreams did I imagine it like this. No mandap filled with laughter. No father’s proud smile and some tears. No love. Just a man who signed me like a deal and another who never showed up.
I sit there, still and quiet, as the weight of the mangalsutra presses against my chest like a chain. A heavy reminder of what I have become now—a deal.
Six months.
That’s what he promised. Six months and then freedom. I have to live with my favorite person, who is now just a stranger to me. It feels like I’ve already lost more than I bargained for.
CHAPTER 5
AARAV
I walk up to the front gate of our family home, and my chest feels tight. My feet move, but my mind’s all over the place. Everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours—Anika, the wedding, Vikram running away—it keeps replaying in my head on a loop.
Anika walks quietly beside me. Neither of us has spoken since we left Vikram's house. Not because we don’t want to, but because we don’t know where to begin. I have nothing to say to her. She must probably hate me for doing this.
I press the doorbell, my mind full of messy thoughts. The gate creaks open, and there she is—my bhabhi. She stands in the doorway, visibly surprised. “You’re finally here,” she sighs, her tone somewhere between relief and annoyance.
“Aarav, you’ve been missing for a whole day. Do you even realize how tense Chachi was?” She scolds, but then her eyes soften. A huff escapes her as she rests her hand on her baby bump, adding, “You shouldn't stress me out like this in this condition.”
