CHAPTER 7: Part 2 (NO GOING BACK)
~ ISHIKA (POV) ~
I exited the office building, the evening air offering a brief moment of sanity after a day of escalating absurdity.
I adjusted my handbag. Leaning against a very expensive car, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do, was Hukum Sa.
My hand instinctively went to my handbag, ensuring the newly corrected ID card was safely tucked away. I didn't want him to see it, not after the whole "Jayshree" debacle.
Seeing him there, so imposing and entirely out of place, a flicker of memory sparked in my mind, a weird echo from this very morning.
Flashback:
The morning had started in typical, chaotic fashion. I was rushing out, already late, when I ducked into the drawing-room. Dadu was engrossed in the morning news, the TV blaring.
Little Aaru, bless his energetic heart, was gleefully "playing" with a crucial file I needed for my meeting today, scattering papers across the rug like confetti.
"Aaru, no!" I'd exclaimed, snatching the file just as he was about to make it airborne. I was trying to smooth the crumpled pages when a voice from the TV cut through the morning commotion.
"Breaking news from the royal palace! Very close sources have confirmed that the King of Jodhpur is about to get married! It is rumored this alliance might finally bring peace to the long-standing feud between the royal family and a powerful, influential family." My head snapped up, my eyes widening.
"While the identity of the future Queen of Rajasthan remains unknown, there are four candidates with high probability. We have Princess Ananya Devi of Jaipur, known for her philanthropic work and equestrian skills."
"Then there's entrepreneur Miss Rhea Sharma, who recently launched a successful tech startup and comes from a prominent industrialist family. Next, the esteemed historian and author, Dr. Nithya Kapoor, who advises several cultural foundations."
"And finally, a mystery woman, Ishika Jaiswal, whose name has only recently surfaced. Notably, no photograph of Miss Jaiswal could be found, as she maintains no social media presence."
"And sources confirm that despite her recent emergence as a candidate, she hails from a non-royal background right here in Jodhpur."
My fingers tightened on the file. Mrityunjay. The name, combined with the news, hit me like a misplaced brick.
Ishika Jaiswal?
The news anchor couldn't possibly be talking about me, could he? The thought was so preposterous it was almost funny. Almost.
Dadu turned from the TV, a strange, hesitant look on his face. "Beta," he started, his voice a little softer than usual.
"Hum aapko batane hi wale the..." (Beta, we were just about to tell you...)
My eyes, already wide with shock from the news, filled with a hundred questions.
Tell me what? What was he talking about? Was this true? Was it about me?
Before I could even formulate a single coherent thought, my phone vibrated in my hand - a frantic call from the office, demanding my immediate attention for the meeting.
The moment, and Dadu's half-finished confession, evaporated as I rushed out the door.
End Flashback
And now, here he was.
Not on a news report, but in person, a very real, very inconvenient king. And a fiancé, apparently, though the identity of his future queen was still a mystery to the rest of the world.
Just not to me. Not if he had anything to say about it.
My jaw tightened, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
The "Jayshree" act, the demanding dates, the marriage talk - it all clicked into place, twisting the absurd into something menacing.
He wasn't just arrogant; he was playing a cruel game.
He knew exactly who I was, or at least, who my family was in relation to his. This wasn't some chance encounter.
This was revenge. A calculated move, designed to humiliate, to exploit the long-standing feud. He was going to expose me, expose us, using me as a pawn in some ancient, royal power play.
The sheer audacity of him, pretending not to know my name, acting like this was some random, charming pursuit.
My anger flared, hot and sharp, pushing aside the lingering shock.
"Ishika," he said, his voice cutting through my furious thoughts, utterly calm, utterly oblivious to the tempest brewing inside me.
"You're looking rather... pensive. Did your day not conclude to your satisfaction?" He then pushed off his car, a step closer, gesturing subtly down the street.
"There's a quaint little cafe just around the corner. Perhaps a coffee would... clarify things between us?"
The suggestion ignited my fuse. A cafe? Clarify things? He had some nerve! My control snapped.
"A cafe?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, laced with a raw fury I could barely contain.
"Aapko kya lagta hai, main kitni bewakoof hoon? (What do you think, how foolish am I?)" I practically spat. "I don't get into cars with strangers. But fine, a walk. And we're not getting coffee."
He raised an eyebrow, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze, but didn't argue.
He simply gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, falling into step beside me as I began walking, my pace quick and agitated.
"Toh, Mrityunjay Singh Rathore," I seethed, my voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"Aapka yeh naya natak kya hai? (So, Mrityunjay Singh Rathore, what is this new drama of yours?)" My hand flew to my bag, pulling out my phone with a speed that startled even myself.
My fingers trembled slightly as I navigated to the news article, the headline a blazing accusation. I thrust the phone towards him, practically shoving it into his hand.
"You want to clarify things?" I spat, my eyes burning into his. "Toh chaliye, yeh saaf karte hain! (Then come on, let's clear this!)"
"How about you tell me, King of Jodhpur, about this news? About your grand plans for marriage? And how exactly does 'Ishika Jaiswal' fit into your little royal schemes?" My chest heaved with the force of my outburst.
The phone, still displaying the article, was a stark witness to my accusations.
He took the phone from my trembling hand, his expression finally, for the first time, showing a flicker of genuine confusion as his eyes scanned the screen.
His brow furrowed, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "You knew I was..." Then, his gaze snapped back to me, not with hatred yet, but with a bewildered intensity.
"What is this nonsense?" he demanded, his voice sharp, pointing at the screen.
"Marriage? To Ishika Jaiswal? Yeh sab bakwaas hai! (This is all rubbish!)" He crumpled the phone slightly in his hand, his irritation clear.
"If I were to ever marry, it would be you. This 'Ishika Jaiswal' is likely some desperate, social-climbing fool trying to leech onto my name!" His eyes narrowed, a cold fury rising within them.
"Hum nafrat karte hain un Jaiswalo se. Un ghatiya logon se! Us Ishika Jaiswal se shaadi? Usse pehle hum unke poore khandan ko khatm kar denge! Ek-ek ko! (I hate those Jaiswals. Those despicable people! Marry that Ishika Jaiswal? Before that, I will destroy their entire family! Each and every one of them!)"
The violence in his gaze, the terrifying promise in his voice - it was pure, unadulterated menace.
My eyes, which had been burning with anger, now welled up with tears of pure terror. My breath hitched in my throat.
This wasn't just a feud; this was a war, and I was caught in the crossfire. My legs felt like jelly.
I was genuinely, profoundly scared.
"Itni nafrat karte hain aap?" (Do you hate so much?) I whispered, the words barely audible past the lump in my throat, hot tears finally spilling down my cheeks.
The bitter irony of it, his hateful words aimed directly at me, yet he had no idea.
His furious expression instantly melted into one of utter panic.
He dropped the phone, his hands reaching out, hovering awkwardly as if unsure whether to touch me.
"Hey, hey, kya hua? (Hey, hey, what happened?)" he stammered, his voice suddenly softer, laced with concern.
"Arey, aap ro kyun rahi hain? Shhh... (Hey, why are you crying? Shhh...)" He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes wide with confusion.
"Aapko is sab se koi lena dena nahi hai. (You have nothing to do with all this.) Yeh news bakwaas hai, aur woh Jaiswal... woh log aapke aansu ke layak nahi hai, Miss Jayshree. Aap itni sensitive kyun hain? (Those people are not worth your tears, Miss Jayshree. Why are you so sensitive?) Please, stop crying." He fumbled for a handkerchief, his focus entirely on my tears, oblivious to the true cause of them.
I shook my head, pulling back from his clumsy attempt at comfort. The fear was still there, but a desperate need to escape, to end this nightmare, overwhelmed it.
"Humein jaana hai," (I need to go) I choked out, pushing past him. My voice was raw, laced with the lingering terror.
"Aur hum aapke saath kisi date par nahi jaa sakte. (And I cannot go on any date with you.) Please, isse yahin khatam karte hain. (Please, let's end this right here.)" I started to walk away, my legs still wobbly, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible.
Just as I took my second step, a gentle, almost hesitant touch landed on my arm. His fingers, surprisingly light, brushed against the sleeve of my coat, just enough to stop me without force.
I froze, turning my head slightly, still avoiding his gaze.
"Please," he murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading, a stark contrast to his earlier fury.
When I finally looked up, his expression was utterly pitiful, his eyes wide and clouded with something that looked suspiciously like genuine distress.
He looked utterly lost.
"Aap hamein kyun pasand karte hain?" (Why do you like me?) I asked, the question escaping me, tinged with disbelief, amidst my tears.
His eyes, which had held that unsettling pity, now darkened with a pained intensity.
His grip on my sleeve tightened almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenching as if to suppress a groan. He stared at me, his gaze scorching with a fierce, aching need, as if her question had pierced a part of him he couldn't protect.
He looked away for a fleeting moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. When his gaze returned to mine, it held a rare flicker of something that looked like genuine confusion.
"Hum nahi jaante. (I don't know.)" The admission was so quiet, so unexpected, it stole my breath.
"I have no answer for you. It's not a decision I made. Ek saans ki tarah, ek dhadkan ki tarah... yeh bas hai. (Like a breath, like a heartbeat... it just is.) You are an irritation. A complication I did not want. A mystery I am utterly consumed by. The question isn't 'why do I like you?' The question is 'how did I ever lived without you?'"
To Be Continued...