The world was silent, yet her laughter echoed in his ears.
Aarush lay on the cold marble floor of their empty bedroom, his body motionless, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling, but the tears slipping down his temples told a different story.
Her laughter—soft, full of warmth—played on repeat from the recorder clutched in his trembling hand. The laughter he once hated. The laughter that now haunted him.
"You once hated my laughter, Aarush. Now, it belongs to you forever."
---
The Beginning – Their Wedding Day
Sanya's fingers trembled as she adjusted the heavy dupatta over her head, staring at herself in the mirror. A bride. His bride. Aarush Rathore a man with no heart. If Revenge and hatred had a face It was him.
But there was no joy in her eyes. Only fear.
A sharp knock at the door made her flinch. Her father stepped inside, his face pale, his shoulders heavy with the weight of helplessness.
"It's time," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
She swallowed hard, pushing back the sting of tears. There was no escape. No way out. She had to walk into a fire that would burn her alive.
---
The Wedding – A Marriage of Vengeance
The sacred fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows around them. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, but for Sanya, it might as well have been the scent of her own funeral.
She stood beside Aarush, her soon-to-be husband. The man who despised her.
He hadn't looked at her once. Not when she walked in. Not when she sat beside him. Not even when their hands briefly touched.
As the priest chanted the vows, Aarush exhaled sharply, as if the very idea of marrying her disgusted him.
Then came the pheras.
With each step around the fire, he made sure she felt his hatred.
The first phera.
As Sanya stepped forward, he deliberately slowed down, making her hesitate, making her fumble to match his pace. The guests whispered, wondering if the groom was hesitant. But only she knew the truth—he was humiliating her.
The second phera.
Aarush's grip on her wrist tightened, his nails digging into her soft skin. She let out a small gasp, but he didn't loosen his hold. If anything, he squeezed harder. A silent warning. A silent punishment.
The third phera.
Sanya stumbled slightly as the fabric of her lehenga caught under her foot. Before she could steady herself, Aarush's lips curled in disdain. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.
Her throat tightened.
The fourth phera.
The fire burned bright, but his eyes burned brighter with contempt. "You don't deserve this," he whispered, venom lacing his voice. "You don't deserve me."
She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to keep moving.
The fifth phera.
Aarush let go of her hand abruptly, making her take a step alone, isolated in front of everyone. He followed after a pause, showing the world that this marriage was on his terms, at his pace.
The sixth phera.
As she tried to match his stride, he suddenly stopped, making her jerk back. Her heart pounded as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear. "You will regret this marriage every single day, Sanya."
A chill ran down her spine.
The seventh phera.
The final step. The completion of their bond.
As they finished the last circle around the fire, Aarush turned toward her, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. He leaned in, close enough that only she could hear his words.
"You think this sindoor and mangalsutra make you my wife? No, Sanya. They make you my prisoner."
Her fingers trembled as he grabbed the sindoor and dragged it across her parting with unforgiving force.
The mangalsutra followed. Not tied with love, but shackled with vengeance.
The priest declared them husband and wife.
The guests clapped. The world moved on.
But for Sanya—this was the beginning of the end.