I'll break your jaw if you tried to steal my work .

Bachha ~ child

Vidaai ~ a ceremony where bride leaves her maternal home .

Maasi - Aunt

Target votes 50

Target comments 3

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Present Day

8:00am

Kolkata

✨🌿Aastha🌿✨

Two years ago, I buried my heart in the wreckage of a car accident.

I never thought I'd be wearing a red veil, but fate is a cruel playwright.

​A memory of him (my dead boyfriend) flickered in my mind, and before I could catch my breath, my vision blurred.

I didn't even feel the first tear fall, but Shifa Maasi saw.

She wiped the moisture away with the pad of her thumb, her touch gentle.

​"Baccha, don't cry ," she chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair back under my pallu. "Save some tears for the Vidai."

​She stepped back, her eyes softening as she took me in a hug. "You look so beautiful." Reaching up, she swiped a bit of Kajal from her own eyeline and dabbed it behind my ear. "Allah, har boori nazar se bachaye ."

(May God , always protect you )

She saw the conflict in my eyes. I had lost my boyfriend and now I was going to marry my crush.

​"He'd be happy for you, you know," Maasi whispered, leaning in. "And besides... you're finally marrying the man you used to blush about in secret. This is your 'happily ever after,'

​I took a deep breath, the scent of jasmine and rose perfume filling my lungs.

I looked at my reflection

​"I know," I replied, as a genuine smile touched my lips. "It's strange, Maasi. I thought I'll never marry . But now I'm ready to move on "

Shifa Maasi was still fussing with my jewelry when the door pushed open.

My mother hurried in, looking frayed around the edges from managing a house full of guests.

She held a steel plate the aroma of khichdi and yogurt filling the room.

​"Shifa Sheikh!" Maa started, her voice a mix of a warning and a sigh.

​Maasi just rolled her eyes and kept adjusting my bangles, but the threat didn't land.

​"She has abdominal migraine, Shifa," Maa said, her brow furrowed as she looked at me. "My Ashoo is sitting here in pain Or tum baatein kar rahi ho ,use thodi shanti chahiye ."

(And you're talking. She needs some peace .)

​Maa took a deep breath, the plate trembling slightly in her hand.

Her anger softened into that deep, motherly exhaustion. "And the food... tum dono ne subah se kuch nahi khaya hai . How will you stand for the ceremony if you don't eat?"

(You haven't eaten since morning)

Shifa Maasi leaned in, her heavy gold earrings brushing against my shoulder. "Is she just your mother, or did she get hired to be my boss, too?" she whispered trying to lighten up the mood.

​Maa didn't even look up from the plate as she stirred the khichdi. "Shifa, I heard that," she said calmly, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

​Maasi gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Allah! This woman has the ears of a bat."

​Maa ignored the drama and slid closer to me on the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight.

She placed the back of her hand against my cheek, checking my temperature with a practiced, worried frown. "If you don't eat, Ashoo, your migrainenight be triggered. Just a few bites for me?"

And you," Maa said, turning her sharp but loving gaze toward Shifa. "What are you standing there looking at? Come and sit. Eat with her."

​Maasi let out a  chuckle, finally dropping the "stylist" act. "Yeah, yeah... I'm coming! General Avneet."

​She sat on the other side of me.

Maa held out a spoonful of food toward me, her eyes pleading.

The smell of the warm spices hit me a comfort .

For a second, the heavy knot of grief in my chest loosened just enough to let me take a breath.

​"Eat, Ashoo," Maa whispered. "Just a little bit."

​I forced myself to swallow the first bite.

It was warm and bland.

Seeing me eat seemed to relax Maa's shoulders.

​Without missing a beat, she turned the spoon toward Shifa Maasi.

​"You too," Maa commanded, offering a spoonful of khichdi to her. "Eat. Nahi to neeche kaam kaun karega. "

(Eat or else who's going to work )

​Maasi opened her mouth like a child, accepting the food with a grin. "See, Ashoo? Even when she's being sweet, she's giving orders. She doesn't want me fed; she just wants her labor back!"

​Maa huffed, but I saw  a smile on her face as she stirred the bowl again.

For a moment, the room felt safe a small home of family .

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The hall was filled with white roses and marigolds my favorite.

Because of my migraines, the usual chaos of a wedding had been stripped away, leaving only twenty-one guests .

It was exactly what I needed, yet my heart was racing louder than any drum.

​I sat down beside Anurag Banerjee.

My crush since last one year .

I have inagined countless fantasies with him .

And the most wicked one is riding him while he drives car .

Think sane Aastha.

As I tried to adjust my saree, but it slipped on floor near Anurag.

Before I could reach for it, Anurag leaned over.

His hand strong, with prominent veins that I couldn't stop staring at caught the pallu and draped it gently back over my knees.

(Pallu ~ Saree fabric)

​"Thank you," I murmured.

My voice was so thin I wasn't sure it reached him.

​I looked up to check if he'd heard me, and for a second, the rest of the room vanished.

I was lost in him.

I forgot the guests, the flowers, and even the dull throb in my temples.

How lucky I'm.

Marrying him.

​Suddenly, a sharp nudge hit my shoulder. "Save the staring for after the wedding," Shifa Maasi whispered loudly. "For now, pay attention to the Pandit-ji!"

(Pandit-ji ~ priest )

​A wave of giggles erupted in the small hall. My face went hot, but I didn't truly care until I heard a low, deep chuckle right beside me.

Anurag was laughing, too.

"Ye dharti phat jaaye aur me iske andar chali jaau "I thought, staring intensely at the floor.

(​I wish the earth would just open up and swallow me whole)

As two hours passed .

God my whole body was hurting now .

Now, fill the bride's hair partition with vermillion," the Pandit-ji instructed, handing Anurag a small golden box.

(Pandit ji ~ Priest)

​I closed my eyes, waiting to feel the warmth of his touch.

But then, a sharp, deafening crack cut through the air.

My world collided with a nightmare the moment I opened my eyes.

​The man who was supposed to be mine forever was now dead on the ground.

A bullet had pierced his heart.

"Anurag!" I screamed, freezing before dropping to my knees to scoop his head into my lap. "Anurag, please!"

​"Ya Allah!" Shifa Maasi whimpered before fainting.

Blood began to pool on the white marble, soaking into my saree. Everything ended in mere seconds.

​"He's dead," a flat, bored voice barked.

A group of masked men moved , throwing the screaming guests out of the hall.

I stayed anchored to the floor, shielding Anurag's body as a man reached for him. "Leave him! Where are you taking him?" I snapped, but he threw me aside like a doll. "Bitch, move," he gritted.

​"Jesus F**king Christ," a new voice growled. It was dark, heavy, and undeniably Russian.

​The man stepped forward, moving with a terrifying  motion.

He had icy blue eyes and white-blonde hair.



He looked at me with a gaze devoid of mercy.​"Let's get married, Sladkaya," he murmured, his voice filled with  hatred.

(Sladkaya- Honey or sweetheart)

"I'm not Sladkaya.  I'm Aastha " I snapped at him .

I looked down at my hands my mehendi, once a symbol of my marriage, was now filled by the wet stains of Anurag's blood .

​"No," I whispered, the word catching in my throat like shards of glass. "No, this isn't happening."

​That Russian man stepped over Anurag's body as if he were nothing more than a fallen piece of furniture.

He reached for me, and I recoiled, scrambling backward until my spine hit the cold pedestal of the mandap.

​"Don't touch me!" I shrieked. "You killed him! You're a murderer! Someone help! Maa!"

​He didn't flinch.

He didn't even blink. He leaned down, catching my jaw in a grip so tight

​"The help is dead, Sladkaya," he murmured, his eyes devoid of any human warmth. "Or they are running. And if you don't stop screaming, I will give your mother a reason to join your little groom in the fire."

​He gestured to his men.

My heart stopped as they dragged my mother forward, a gun pressed firmly against her temple.

She was weeping, her eyes wide with a terror that broke the last of my resolve.

​"I won't do it," I sobbed, my body shaking so hard. "I refuse. Kill me. Just kill me now."

​"I don't want you dead," he said smirking."I want you bound."

​He hauled me to my feet.

I fought him I kicked, I scratched at his face, leaving red marks on his pale cheek.

"I hate you! I will never be yours!" I screamed, spitting at his feet.

​His response was a backhand that sent me spinning.

I hit the floor, the world tilting.

Before I could breathe, he dragged me up by my hair. The pain was blinding.

​"You will walk," he hissed into my ear, "or I will start removing your mother's fingers one by one until you find your legs."

​

​I broke.

I crumbled.

I couldn't stand, so he practically carried me, his arm wrapped around my waist.

We didn't walk around a holy fire. We walked around the pyre his men had built with petrol burning my Anurag while he was begging to be saved.

He wasn't dead when they had burnt him.

He lifted me in a swift bridal carry.

" Round one,  or the gun fires."

I again fought him, biting his arm and punching his chest, but he didn't flinch.

​With every step, I felt a piece of Aastha die.

​One round. I looked at the fire and saw my dreams turning to ash.

Two rounds. I felt the heat on my face and wished it would consume me.

Three rounds. I looked at my mother, her silent pleas for my life more painful than the Russian's grip.

​By the seventh round, I was dead. My legs gave out, and I sank to my knees in front of him.

I wasn't just crying anymore; I was heaving, my forehead resting against his polished black boots.

​"Please," I moaned, my voice a broken rasp. "Please, don't do this. Take the money, take everything, just let us go."

​He ignored my begging.

He reached down, snatching the small golden box of sindoor from the floor.

He didn't use his fingertip.

He took a handful of the red powder and smeared it violently across my forehead, the dust getting into my eyes, stinging like dye.

​"Mine," he declared.

The word wasn't a romantic vow; it was a brand of ownership. "Let's go back to Moscow. "

You're a sinner!" I raged, slapping his cheek. The sound echoed in the hollow hall. "I despise you!"

​"Even I disgust your existence," he clenched his jaw, snatching my braid so hard I felt hair tear from my scalp.

He pulled a silver handgun from his suit and held it out to me. "You have a choice. Sinner... or the grave. Choose your path.

​I looked at the gun, then at the fire. "The grave," I whispered. "Kill me. I'd rather rot than be yours."

​His eyes didn't flicker. "Noble. But you forget, little bird... you are not the only one who can die today."

​He pivoted and aimed toward the exit. Bang!

​"MAA!" I shrieked. My mother collapsed, a crimson stain blooming on her shoulder.

I scrambled to her, sobbing as I touched her pale face. "You devil! You killed her!"

​He stood over us, his shadow eclipsing the flames. "She won't die," he said, checking his watch. "The bullet missed her major organs. But she will bleed out . Unless you change your mind."

​He reached out a  steady hand.

I looked at my mother's shallow breaths, then at him.

I reached out and placed my trembling hand in his  grip.

​"I'll come with you," I choked out, the words tasting like poison. "Just save her. Please... save her."

​He pulled me up, dragging my body against his cold chest. "Good choice, Sladkaya," he whispered into my ear. "Welcome to the family."

​He didn't offer a word of comfort.

Instead, his grip on my waist tightened, pulling me flush against the cold wool of his suit.

He looked over my head at one of his men a tall in a tactical vest and gave a sharp nod.

​"Secure the wound," the Russian commanded. "I want her to die, but not today. Not until she has watched what becomes of her daughter."

​The cruelty of his words hit me harder than a physical slap. I tried to wrench myself away, my feet slipping on the marble as I lunged toward my mother. "Maa! Let me go to her!"

​I didn't even make it two steps.

His hand caught my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

He jerked me back so hard my head snapped. "Stay," he barked.

He sounded like an owner speaking to a stray dog.

​I looked at him through  tears, my chest heaving. "Why are you doing this?" I screamed, my voice echoing off the high ceilings of the hall, clashing with the crackle of the fire behind us. "We don't even know you! Why would you ruin us like this? What did we ever do to you?"

​He went still.

The air around him seemed to drop several degrees.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine .

His blue eyes  burning with deep-seated hatred.

​"Don't act innocent, Sladkaya," he hissed, the muscle in his jaw ticking furiously. "That wide-eyed look might have fooled the boy burning in that fire, but it doesn't work on me."

​"I don't know what you're talking about!" I sobbed, shaking my head."I'm not your Sladkaya.  My name is Aastha ."

​He let out a short, dry laugh that sent shivers down my spine. He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at the remains of Anurag in fire that he had created. "You know exactly what this is.And I know you are Aastha ,my Sladkaya.  Honey "

The duality of him is insane.

He called me Honey in Russian and was treating me the complete opposite.

​He leaned closer, his breath chilling my ear. "You are His daughter. Arvind Sharma."

I looked up at him  my face a mask of tears and vermillion. "You can take my body," I whispered, my voice trembling with a sudden, cold clarity. "You can take me to Moscow. You can lock me in a cage. But I will never, ever be yours. I will spend every second of my life praying for your slow, agonizing death."

​He didn't look angry.

If anything, he looked satisfied. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my trembling lower lip, smearing the blood and the red powder together.

​"Good," he whispered, leaning down until his cold nose brushed mine. "I don't want your love, Sladkaya. I want your hate. It stays hot much longer."

​He didn't give me a moment to say goodbye.

​He didn't wait for my response.

He turned, dragging me toward the exit of the hall.

I looked back one last time at the smoke rising from Anurag's pyre, and at my mother being hoisted onto a stretcher by men who looked like soldiers.

​I was no longer a bride.

I was a prisoner, bound by tears and fresh blood to a man who looked at me and saw only a sin he needed to punish.

I was married in the ashes of the man I once loved . Anurag Banerjee.

​

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Hours passed in a blur of humming engines and freezing air.

I sat huddled in the corner of the plush leather seat of his private jet, still draped in the heavy silk saree.

It was no longer the vibrant red of a bride; it was stiff and darkened, dripping with the dried blood of my mother and the ashes of Anurag.

Every time I moved, the scent of iron and smoke rose from the fabric, choking me.

​Across the aisle, he sat in silence.

He had traded his woolen jacket for a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms cordoned with muscle.

He was eating a steak, the blade of his knife catching the cabin lights as he sliced through the rare beef.

​"Where are you taking me?" I whispered, my voice raspy from hours of screaming.

He didn't look up. "Where?" I raised my voice, though it cracked.

​He didn't reply.

He simply took another bite, the sight of the bloody meat making my stomach churn.

As a vegetarian, the heavy meat scent was usually enough to make me ill, but now, it felt like another form of violation. He knew. He had to know.

​"Is my Maa okay?" I asked, my body beginning to tremble so violently that my jewelry clinked against itself. "Is she alive? Please... just tell me if she's alive."

​The clatter of his silver fork hitting the porcelain plate was like a gunshot in the quiet cabin. Something in him shifted.

He set the knife down and stood, moving . He didn't stop until he was looming over me, his shadow swallowing me whole.

​He sank onto the edge of my seat, his presence overwhelming.

Those icy blue eyes were as emotionless as a frozen lake, but a slow, cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched a fresh tear track through the dust and blood on my cheek.

​He reached out, his thumb catching the tear and smearing it across my skin.

​"I love when you break," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum of pure malice. "I love the way you tremble under my touch, like a bird with broken wings."

​He leaned in closer, his cold breath fanning over my ear. "And trust me, Sladkaya... you are going to cry every single day until the day you die. I will make sure of it."

​He didn't pull away.

He stayed there, forcing me to breathe in the scent of his expensive cologne and the copper tang of the meat he'd just eaten, making sure I understood that my nightmare was only just beginning.

I reached out, my fingers trembling as I gripped the collar of his white shirt, pulling him closer. I didn't care about the blood on my hands or the danger he represented; I was a drowning woman reaching for a branch.

​"I have no one else," I choked out, my voice cracking. "Only Maa. Only Shifa Maasi. Please... tell me they're okay. Please, just let me go. I'll go anywhere, I'll disappear, just let me go back to them."

​He looked down at me, his eyes dancing with a sick sense of amusement, as if I were a child asking for the moon. "You aren't going anywhere, Sladkaya," he said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "You are married to me now. And you are coming with me to Moscow."

​"No!" I shouted, the word torn from my chest. I pushed against him, trying to create distance in the cramped jet cabin. "I am not married to you! This wasn't a wedding, it was a massacre! Where is the love? Where is the Mangalsutra? You're just a sinner who crawled out of hell and into my life!"

​His expression didn't change, but he reached into his pocket.

Slowly, he pulled out a string of black and gold beads the mangalsutra. The gold pendant caught the light, mocking me with its presence.

​Before I could breathe, he leaned forward. With a swift, rough motion, he reached around my neck and fastened the clasp.

The cold metal felt like a brand against my skin.

​"There," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Now... you are married."

​Hysteria bubbled up in me.

I reached for the beads, my nails digging into my own neck as I tried to rip the cursed thing off. "I won't wear it! I'll break it"

​His hand shot out, catching both of my wrists in a single, crushing grip.

He pinned my hands against the leather seat, his eyes turning into shards of ice.

​"Never... ever... touch it," he gritted out, the amusement gone, replaced by a lethal edge. "The moment those beads hit the floor is the moment your Mother and your Aunt stop breathing. Do you understand?"

​I went still.

The air left my lungs as if he had punched me. I looked at the man who had just turned my life into a hell.

"Why?" I cried out, the sound echoing the hollow ache in my soul. "Why are you doing this to me? Why?"

​He didn't answer. He simply released my wrists and sat back, watching me with the satisfied look.