The backyard was bathed in a serene, mystical glow, as the crescent moon cast its silver reflection across the surface of the fountain, shimmering in the gentle ripples. There she lay, stretched along the steps, her fingertips grazing the cool water, sending delicate ripples that caught the moonlight. Her chin rested on the edge of the stair, eyes lost in distant thoughts, as though she were adrift in her own world. Her long, flowing hair spilled over the steps, a cascade of silken strands mingling with her delicate dupatta that draped from her shoulder down to the stairs. Her anklets, glinting in the moonlight, added a soft sparkle, like tiny stars against the stone, as if even they were enchanted by her quiet beauty in the night's embrace. The storm of doubts brewing in her mind felt overwhelming. As she stood in the midst of her chaotic thoughts, her heart wavered, questioning everything she thought she knew. Was the man she was about to trust truly as kind and noble as he seemed, or was this charm merely a mask he wore for the world? Could someone so perfect truly exist, or was she merely a pawn in a game she didn't yet understand?
Her mother's memory surfaced like a soothing balm, though bittersweet. If her mother were alive, would she approve of this man? Would she, with her infinite wisdom and unconditional love, see through the layers of pretense, if there were any? Would she shield her daughter from another trap, another betrayal? Or would she smile and bless the union, confident that he could deliver her from this unending misery?
Her chest tightened as darker thoughts clawed their way in. Could marriage to him be her escape, or a descent into a new abyss? Would her stepmother, vindictive and relentless, relinquish her hold if she married into power? Or worse, would they conspire together, combining his charm and her cruelty to strip her of every shred of dignity she had left?
The weight of her solitude bore down on her. All her life, she had been alone, her cries swallowed by silence and her hopes extinguished by the cruelty of those meant to protect her. How could she now discern who was on her side? Who, if anyone, could she trust when trust itself had been a luxury she could never afford?
Lost in her thoughts, her eyes misted over, her breath shaky. The world around her blurred, and for a moment.
She froze mid-step, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her mother's portrait hung on the wall beside her, its serene gaze almost urging her to stay strong. The faint voice of her stepmother drifted from the slightly ajar door of the study, laced with a mix of disdain and amusement.
She took a cautious step closer, careful not to make a sound, straining to catch the conversation.
"…the girl doesn't suspect a thing," her stepmother said with a bitter chuckle. "She's too naïve, always lost in her own world. Perfect bait."
"Are you sure this will work?" a male voice replied, one she couldn't recognize. It was deep, steady, but carried a hint of doubt. "She's fragile, but I've seen a fire in her. If she catches on…"
"She won't," her stepmother interrupted sharply. "She's too desperate for an escape. She'll believe whatever fairy tale we spin. Besides, even if she does figure it out, what can she do? She has no one, no power, and no place to go."
Her fingers clenched into fists as a cold dread seeped into her veins. Were they talking about…him? Was this all a ploy, some grand scheme to use her yet again? Her stepmother's words stung like a whip, every sentence a brutal reminder of her perceived helplessness.
She leaned in closer, her breaths shallow.
"This marriage will seal everything," her stepmother continued. "And once she's out of the way, nothing will stand between us and what's rightfully ours."
The words sent a chill down her spine. Out of the way? What did that mean? Panic bubbled within her chest, threatening to consume her. Was this all about the family wealth, her mother's inheritance? Or was it something even darker?
She wanted to storm into the room, demand answers, and confront them. But fear rooted her to the spot, her mind racing. What if they know I'm here? What if this makes things worse?
Her grip tightened on the edge of the wall as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She needed to think, to plan. For the first time in a long while, she realized she couldn't afford to trust anyone—not even the man she thought could be her savior.
She turned and walked away, her step unsteady but determined. One thing was clear: if she wanted to survive, she had to rely on herself.
She closed the door to her room, leaning against it as her legs gave way, and she slid to the floor. Her heart raced, her mind a chaotic swirl of fear and desperation. The faint voices of her stepmother and the stranger still echoed in her ears, their sinister intent gnawing at her already fragile spirit.
Her gaze fell on her mother's picture hanging above her desk, the gentle, loving face offering a comfort that only deepened her sorrow. Tears spilled freely as she clutched her knees to her chest. "Why did you leave me, Ma?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why did you leave me alone in this cruel world?"
Her chest heaved as sobs wracked her body, the weight of her loneliness suffocating her. But in the depths of her anguish, a spark of resolve ignited. Her stepmother's words had been clear—this wasn't just about control; it was about erasing her completely. If she stayed, she would be walking willingly into their trap. She had to escape.
Her mind clung to the one thing that could offer her a semblance of power: the property documents her mother had left for her. She had stumbled upon them by chance a few days ago while cleaning out an old chest. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it, but now, they were her lifeline.
She wiped her tears, standing up with shaky resolve. She moved to her closet and began pulling out essentials, her hands trembling but steady. A few clothes, a small stash of money she had secretly saved, and the documents—these would be her armor.
Her eyes flicked back to her mother's picture, as if drawing strength from the silent encouragement in those kind eyes. "I'll run away, Ma," she murmured. "I'll take what you left me, and I'll make a life for myself far away from this place. They won't trap me. They won't win."
The thought of running away just before the wedding sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her. It would be risky, dangerous even, but it was her only option. She couldn't let them strip her of everything she had left—not her freedom, not her dignity, and certainly not her mother's legacy.
Clutching the frame of her mother's picture to her chest, she allowed herself a final moment of vulnerability. "I'll be strong, Ma. I promise," she whispered before placing the picture gently on her desk.
As the night deepened, so did her determination. By the time the first rays of dawn broke through her window, her plan was clear. She would run—not away from her fears, but toward a future where she could finally live on her own terms.