Before
marriage, Aarya Malhotra was known for being warm.
Not loud. Not
fragile. Just… present.
She listened
when people spoke. She laughed without guarding herself. She believed love was
something you chose every day, quietly, without fear.
When Rudra
Singhania proposed, she said yes because she liked
him—and because she believed liking could grow into love.
Rudra liked her
too.
He admired her
calm intelligence, her grace, the way people trusted her. She fit perfectly
into the image of the wife his world expected.
But love had never entered the room.
Their wedding
was elegant. Sacred chants, silk, gold, blessings. Everyone said she looked
radiant.
Rudra stood
beside her, composed, distant, respectful.
That distance
followed her home.
Marriage did
not change Aarya overnight. It changed her slowly.
She waited for
him to return at night. Asked about his day. Reached for him in bed, hoping
closeness would come naturally.
He responded
when expected. Touched her when necessary. Turned away when finished.
She told herself this was normal.
That love matured into routine.
Meera was always there.
Efficient. Calm. Necessary.
"She helps with things you don't
need to worry about," Rudra said once.
So Aarya stopped worrying.
When she became pregnant, she
cried—not from fear, but from hope.
Rudra nodded when she told him.
"That's good."
Nothing more.
Meera insisted on managing her care.
"You should rest," she said kindly,
organizing pills, setting reminders. "I'll make sure everything's done
properly."
Aarya trusted her.
The miscarriage
came in the middle of the night.
Pain ripped
through her body. Blood soaked the sheets. Her hands shook as she whispered
apologies to a child she would never hold.
Rudra was away.
By the time the
doctor spoke, there was nothing left.
When Rudra
returned, he stood beside her hospital bed, hands in his pockets.
"I'm sorry," he
said.
He didn't stay
long.
After that, Aarya became quieter.
She tried to be
less emotional. Less demanding. Less there.
It didn't help.
"She's too
attached," Meera said one evening, casually, like an observation.
"She worries constantly. It's exhausting—for you and for her."
The word
settled into Rudra's mind.
Exhausting.
Soon, even
Aarya's concern felt like pressure.
One morning,
Rudra asked her to sit down.
"I think we should separate," he
said calmly.
The room felt
too still.
"Why?" she
asked.
"You're not
well," he said. "You've changed. You're too emotional. Meera thinks space will
help you recover mentally."
Aarya laughed
once—soft, hollow.
"So leaving me
is for my good?"
"I can't handle
this anymore," he said. "I'm tired."
That was when
something inside her went silent.
She signed the
papers without protest.
Weeks later,
alone, she reviewed her medical records.
The dates didn't match. The dosages
felt wrong.
At the
hospital, the doctor went quiet.
"This
medication was altered," he said carefully. "It could cause a miscarriage."
The
authorization belonged to Meera.
Aarya
confronted Rudra with the truth.
"She changed my
medication," Aarya said. "She caused it."
Rudra didn't
sit down.
"You're
grieving," he replied. "Don't accuse people because you're unstable."
That was the
moment she stopped trying to be understood.
What followed
was not rage.
It was clarity.
Evidence
surfaced. Deals collapsed. Investigations followed.
Rudra died of a
sudden heart failure before apologies could be spoken.
Meera tried to
escape.
She didn't
succeed.
Years later,
Aarya adopted a boy.
Arjun.
At three years
old, he sat beside her like a shadow—quiet, observant, fiercely loyal.
"I won't leave
you," he said seriously.
She lived long
after that. Powerful. Controlled. Alone.
When death finally came, it was
gentle.
Her last
thought was simple.
If I am reborn, I will live differently.
Darkness closed
in.
Then—
Air tore into
her lungs.
Aarya opened
her eyes to white light and a familiar voice.
"Aarya."
Her father
stood beside her hospital bed, fear written across his face.
"You
collapsed," Vikram Malhotra said. "The doctor says exhaustion."
She looked at
her hands.
Young.
Unbroken.
"Papa," she
whispered.
Tomorrow was
the engagement.
She turned to
him calmly.
"I'm not
marrying Rudra Singhania."
Silence filled
the room.
And for the
first time in two lifetimes, Aarya chose herself.