✨ Welcome back, dear readers, Another page turns. Another piece of her story unfolds.

Take a deep breath — and step into Aarohi’s world, where silence speaks louder than words, and kindness can still bloom in the dark.

Ready? Let’s begin.

---

Morning arrived like a thief — not wrapped in golden hope, but in guilt, in memory sharp as shattered glass.

Aarohi stirred.

Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light that filtered in through the long drapes. The silk pillow under her cheek was cold and undisturbed, its softness at odds with the bruises hidden beneath her bridal red. She lay curled on one side of the massive bed, arms crossed over her chest as though guarding what little of herself remained. The bangles still clung to her wrists, biting into her skin, little golden reminders of a night she would never be able to forget — and yet, desperately wanted to.

Her body ached.

Not in the romantic, movie-fed way brides were told to expect after the first night — but in a quiet, brutal way. The kind that made her limbs feel like they didn’t belong to her. The kind that made it difficult to tell where she ended and the violence began.

She didn’t cry.

She hadn’t. Not once through the night.

Because tears were a luxury.

And fear had replaced them.

The other side of the bed was empty. Neatly arranged. A flawless sheet, no wrinkles, no trace. As if no one had slept there. As if he hadn’t been there at all.

As if it had all been a nightmare.

Except the dull, constant throb in her body said otherwise.

The silence around her wasn’t peaceful.

It was deafening.

She turned her face slightly, eyes landing on the antique wall clock across the room. 7:43 AM. A new day. A new mask.

She sat up, each movement straining muscles that flinched in protest. A sharp jolt in her lower back made her wince. She pressed her lips together to keep the sound from escaping. Her hand drifted to her arm — instinctively — and brushed against the skin where his grip had left a mark. Purple. Unmistakable.

There was no time to dwell on it.

She had to become someone else again. Not a woman who had barely survived the night.

But a bride.

A daughter-in-law.

The Rathore bahu.

She rose from the bed slowly, carefully, as though her bones might give in if she moved too fast. Her dupatta lay on the nearby chair. She picked it up, draping it over her head with mechanical precision. On the way to the dresser, she paused — the mirror caught her before she could avoid it.

And for a moment, she froze.

The face staring back at her looked… hollow. Pale skin. Cracked lips. Eyes bloodshot, rimmed with sleeplessness and grief. The sindoor in her hairline had smeared during the night, trailing down like dried blood across her forehead. Her cheeks, once flushed with youth, now looked sunken beneath the heavy fabric of tradition.

She looked like a ghost.

A ghost dressed in bridal red.

---

The Dining Hall

The Rathore dining hall was already alive with sound by the time Aarohi walked in — a calculated entry, not too late, not too early. Her steps were deliberate, rehearsed. She had reapplied her sindoor. Dusted powder across the bruises. Painted on a smile she’d practiced minutes ago in front of that damning mirror.

Laughter floated in the air. Cutlery clinked against fine china. The servants moved like clockwork, setting platters, pouring tea.

Dadi noticed her first.

“Aarohi beta,” she said warmly, eyes crinkling as she gestured. “Come, come sit. You must be tired. First night and all.”

Aarohi lowered her eyes, bowed her head lightly. “Namaste, Dadi,” she said, voice soft. Even. Controlled.

Before a servant could react, a chair beside Dadi was pulled out — by someone she didn’t expect.

Veer.

He looked different in the morning. Less arrogant than he had at the engagement, less polished. There was something more... human about him now. He wore a simple white kurta with the sleeves rolled up, and faint stubble shadowed his jaw. A soft bruise marked his knuckle. A thin cut graced his cheekbone.

“Good morning, Aarohi,” he said, voice casual. But not careless.

Aarohi blinked. The warmth in his tone startled her.

He placed a cup of tea near her seat — not with ceremony, but with a quiet kindness.

“Figured you’d need this,” he murmured. “No offense, but our family makes horrible coffee.”

For a moment, she just stared.

And then, lips trembling under the weight of the smallest relief, she gave him a tiny, practiced smile. “Thank you.”

It was the first real word she had spoken all morning.

He nodded, not lingering, and took a seat across the table. But his eyes — they lingered. Not with hunger, not like Prithvi’s cold, possessive gaze.

Veer’s stare didn’t burn.

It noticed.

A few minutes later, Prithvi entered the room.

He was buttoning his shirt cuff, collar slightly askew. His face was calm — unbothered. He looked like a man heading to a business meeting, not someone who had shattered another human being hours ago.

He nodded politely to the elders. Picked up his phone. Sipped his tea.

Not a single glance toward his bride

Not a word.

And just like that, Aarohi learned her first lesson about the Rathore household:

Abuse didn’t always scream.

Sometimes, it dressed in designer clothing, smiled at breakfast, and walked past you like you didn’t exist.

Sometimes, silence wore gold.

Corridor Outside

After breakfast, she slipped away quietly, her steps soft against the marble floor. She hadn’t eaten much. Her body still rejected food. Her stomach twisted even when her mouth smiled.

As she reached the corridor, she felt it — the shift in air. A presence.

“Hey, Aarohi?”

She turned, surprised.

Veer.

He stood there, not in the center of attention, but just at the edge of it. In his hands — a small paper packet and a thermos.

“You didn’t eat much,” he said. “Dadi will throw a proper Rathore-level tantrum if she sees your plate.”

He extended the packet.

“Almonds. And this…” — he held up the thermos — “Ginger tea. Dadi says new brides often feel sick the first few days.”

Aarohi stared. Not just at the items — but at him.

No one had ever noticed what she didn’t eat. Or that she looked like she might fall apart if someone so much as asked Are you okay?

“Anyway,” Veer added, tone light, almost dismissive, “no pressure. Just thought you might appreciate someone being normal in this madhouse.”

He smiled. Not with flirtation. Not with pity. Just… softness.

And then, he turned and walked away.

Aarohi looked down at the almonds in her hand. At the thermos.

Warm. Simple. Undemanding.

It wasn’t special.

But it was the first thing in this house that hadn’t hurt her.

And in that fragile, fleeting moment — something inside her shifted. Not hope. Not yet.

But maybe...

Just maybe…

A crack in the wall.

----

🕊️ Aarohi took her first step through fire. But who’s watching the burn marks?

💬 Let’s talk:

– What did you feel when she looked into the mirror?

–Do you trust Veer yet?

– Do you think Veer can be the light to Aarohi's Life??

Drop your thoughts in the comments ⬇️