The grand corridors of the haveli buzzed with activity as preparations for the wedding were in full swing. Relatives, workers, and decorators moved briskly, their chatter and laughter echoing against the marble walls. The scent of fresh marigold garlands mingled with the spicy aroma of traditional Rajasthani dishes being prepared in the kitchen.
In the midst of this vibrant chaos, Dadi Sa, the matriarch of the family, seated in her wheelchair in her regal poise, her sharp eyes scanning every detail. She had just finished a stern conversation with Ranvijay in the study.
"Remember, Ranvijay," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument, "you will not come in front of Myra until the marriage rituals begin. It is inauspicious."
Ranvijay, however, had his own plans. He leaned casually against the ornate bookshelf, his jaw set in determination. His eyes glinted with a mischievous resolve. Myra was his bride, and he had promised himself that he would be the first to apply haldi to her glowing cheeks. Not only that, he wanted his haldi smeared on his face by her delicate hands—a personal tradition of his own.
But he knew Dadi Sa all too well. She was a force to be reckoned with, and her vigilance meant sneaking around would not be easy. As she left the room, Ranvijay smirked to himself. "Let her try to stop me," he murmured under his breath, adjusting the cuffs of his kurta. He was not one to back down from a challenge, especially one involving Myra.
Outside, the haldi ceremony was being set up in the sprawling courtyard. Myra sat shyly amidst her womens who were invited and cousins whom she barely ever talked to, her face glowing brighter than the turmeric paste being prepared. She laughed softly for formality as womens teased her, unaware of Ranvijay's watchful eyes from the balcony above.
Ranvijay's gaze softened as he looked at her. "Soon," he thought, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "you'll have no choice but to touch me."
Little did Dadi Sa know, Ranvijay was already crafting a clever plan to defy her orders while ensuring Myra's participation in his mischievous scheme.
The haveli's corridors were alive with activity, but Myra's mind was far from the celebrations. Her heart carried a storm, one she had buried beneath layers of silence. She hated Ranvijay. Not for his charm, not for his cocky smirk, but for the arrogance he carried—the assumption that everything he wanted would come to him, including her.
And yet, here she was, trapped in a marriage she never wanted, her dreams crushed under the weight of family traditions, expectations and Lies.
Ranvijay, on the other hand, was oblivious to her feelings. He had always seen Myra as his soon-to-be wife, the woman who was meant for him. He mistook her quiet demeanor for shyness and her sharp responses as playful banter. He couldn't fathom that behind those beautiful, fiery eyes lay resentment.
As the haldi ceremony commenced in the courtyard, Ranvijay made his move. Dadi Sa's orders to stay away didn't matter to him. All he cared about was being the first to apply haldi to Myra—and more importantly, having her touch his face in return.
Disguised as one of the workers, he slipped through the bustling corridors. But fate, as always, had its own plans.
Myra, seeking a moment of solitude, had wandered into a dimly lit storeroom to escape the prying eyes and relentless teasing. She leaned against an old wooden cabinet, her hands clenched into fists, trying to steady her breathing.
The door creaked open, and she stiffened. Turning sharply, she saw him—Ranvijay—standing there, his smirk firmly in place.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice low but filled with venom.
"I could ask you the same," he replied smoothly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "Avoiding the ceremony, are we?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Leave."
"Not before I do what I came here for."
He stepped closer, holding a small bowl of haldi he had swiped from the ceremony. Myra's glare could have set the room on fire, but he seemed immune to it.
"I don't need your permission, Myra," he said, his voice dropping to a soft, teasing tone. "You're mine now. It's only fair I claim my rights, starting with this."
Before she could react, he dipped his fingers into the haldi and, with a deliberate slowness, smeared it on her cheek. Her breath caught, but not out of nervousness—out of anger.His fingers trailed the curve of her waist, applying the haldi with a slow, almost sensual touch. Myra's skin tingled where he touched, a heat spreading through her that had nothing to do with the paste. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe-his hand was too close, too possessive, and the intensity in his gaze made her stomach tighten.
"Relax," he murmured softly, his fingers (ingering a little longer than necessary.
Myra clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to step away. But Ranvijay's touch was unyielding, his eyes locked onto hers as if daring her to react.
"You're mine, Myra," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, before finally pulling his hand breathless and leaving her unsettled.
"You arrogant" she began, but he stepped back, holding out the bowl with a challenging smile.
"Your turn," he said.
She stared at him, her chest heaving with frustration. The audacity! Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, but as she met his eyes, a different plan formed in her mind. If he wanted haldi, she would give it to him—but not the way he expected.
With a sudden, swift motion, she grabbed a handful of haldi and smeared it across his face with a force that left him blinking in surprise.
"There," she said coldly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Happy now?"
Ranvijay stared at her, stunned for a moment, before a low chuckle escaped his lips. "Feisty," he said, wiping some of the haldi off his cheek. "I like that."
Before he could say more, the sound of footsteps echoed outside the door. Myra tensed, her eyes widening.
"Leave," she hissed, pushing him toward the door.
"Not until you admit you enjoyed that," he whispered, his voice laced with amusement.
She shoved him harder, her anger flaring. "I hate you!"
He paused for a moment, his smirk faltering slightly, but the sound of voices approaching left him no time to process her words. With one last look at her fiery expression, he slipped out of the room, leaving Myra alone, her heart racing and her hands trembling with frustration—and something else she refused to name.