The room felt heavier than usual — not because of the walls or the air, but because of the silence inside her. Sanvi sat on the edge of her bed, fingers trembling slightly, the dupatta of her red Anarkali trailing onto the floor like the pieces of her day — once bright, now scattered.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and bitter. She had tried to hold them in front of everyone. She smiled, nodded, agreed… and now here she was, all alone, unraveling.

Her fingers gripped the phone tightly. She hadn’t dared to speak up back there, not in front of her parents, not when her Bhai was already fighting so fiercely. She had never seen Arin like that — so angry, so helpless. But somewhere deep down, she knew, if she had said “no,” her brother would have stood like a wall for her.

And yet… she didn’t say no.

She didn’t even know why.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe fear. Maybe it was the quiet, aching pressure in her father's voice that made her heart twist.

With a shaky breath, she unlocked her phone and opened the browser. Her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating — and then she typed the name for the first time:

Yansh Raichand.

The search loaded quickly, and among the top results was a verified profile — his.

She opened it.

Only three posts. That was it.

Her thumb scrolled down slowly. The first picture showed only his hand, adjusting his black tie. A crisp black suit, expensive watch, strong veins running across a sculpted wrist — it screamed control, perfection, danger. The kind of danger that didn’t shout but whispered.

The second photo was even darker — he was walking down a corridor, head slightly bowed, wearing a long black coat and tinted glasses. She couldn't see his face properly, but something about him radiated… cold authority. He looked like a man who carried storms behind his silence.

And the third—

Her breath caught slightly.

A picture by the pool — dimly lit, with water gleaming under warm lights. His back was toward the camera, strong and muscled, droplets cascading over the cuts of his shoulder. He was alone, his face hidden again. Just that solid back, powerful yet distant, like a man who had long learned to live with walls higher than the world.

Sanvi blinked hard.

There was no caption. No emojis. No location. No comments allowed.

“Who are you…?” she whispered to the screen.

Her thumb paused above the follow button. She didn’t press it.

Instead, she stared at the username again. @yansh.raichand

Even his name felt unfamiliar. Cold. Sharp.

“Yansh…” she murmured to herself.

Not Abhishek. Not the name she had grown up hearing from her father’s lips in hushed tones of fear and respect. This was him. The man she had just been promised to.

The man she was going to marry.

Her chest felt tight again, and her throat burned. Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. She lowered the phone to her lap and buried her face in her hands.

“What is happening to my life, Shiv ji…?” she sobbed.

A soft gust of wind slipped through the balcony doors, rustling the curtains. It reminded her of the old stories her dadi used to tell — of fate, of storms, of how Lord Shiva always tested the gentle hearts the most.

But was this a test… or a punishment?

Sanvi clutched her dupatta tightly, as if seeking comfort in its red folds. Her mind ran in circles. She didn’t even know what this man looked like properly. And yet, in a few days, he would become her husband.

She would have to leave her house, her Bhai, her Bhabhi, her mother who still called her baccha, and walk into a mansion ruled by silence and power. A house with a man whose face she couldn’t even recognize.

A stranger.

And she? She wasn’t strong like Suhana bhabhi. She wasn’t bold or sharp. She loved kids, books, old songs, and making rangoli with her mother. She cried during emotional ads. She decorated the house for Diwali two weeks in advance. And now… she had to stand beside someone like Yansh Raichand?

A man who didn’t smile in pictures.

A man who didn’t even show his eyes.

She looked at the phone again. Her reflection stared back faintly in the black screen — eyes puffy, cheeks pink, lips trembling.

“Why me…?” she whispered, voice breaking.

The silence didn’t answer.

She wanted to scream. To run downstairs and tell her father she couldn’t do it. But she had seen his eyes — the fear that he didn’t say aloud. And she had seen her Bhai, trying to carry her pain as if it were his own.

No matter how much she tried, she was still stuck between their love and the reality they couldn’t protect her from.

Maybe this was what being a daughter meant in their world.

Marrying for safety.

Not for love.

She held the phone again. Opened the profile. Studied each photo once more, her eyes scanning for something human — a crack, a softness, anything.

Nothing.

But strangely, she didn’t feel hatred. Just… confusion. Curiosity. And fear.

Mostly fear.

Would he be cruel?

Would he be silent?

Would he even care?

The unknown was worse than a storm. At least with storms, you could hear the thunder before it hit. But with this man… there was only silence.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and lay down on the bed, turning her face away.

Tomorrow, everything would begin to change.

And she didn’t know if she was ready.

But the world wasn’t asking.

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