Aira:

I couldn't stop shaking. The moment I shot him, actually shot him is still playing in my mind like a nightmare that won't end. He was bleeding, my hands stained with his blood, and the sound of the gunshot echoed in my ears, refusing to fade. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn't want it.

And now, I was stuck here, waiting.

Waiting for my parents, waiting for an escape, waiting for anything to save me from him.

But nothing was coming.

He has bound me to this outhouse, refusing to let me step out or even his family see me. He told them I was not feeling well at all so we will be staying at outhouse to give me some space because that's what I wanted.

The thing is I need space from him.

His family is actually very sweet. It was already the third day so he had recovered pretty well but no one came respecting my wishes.

What a god damn lair.

Oh god if they found out I hurt him, they will hate me too.

According to what he told me, my parents will reach India today so we will have tomorrow's breakfast at the mansion with them.

The room felt suffocating, cold. The air itself felt like it was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. I stood by the window, staring out at the darkening sky, praying for tomorrow morning to come sooner. My mind kept wandering back to the gun, the blood... the twisted satisfaction in his eyes even as he bled.

I should have left. I should have run.

But I couldn't.

I don't even know how I was able to pull that trigger. I didn't want to hurt him at all but I should have run when I had the opportunity because now he was adamant on making me see hell.

The strange thing is I regret shooting him more than staying.

"Are you just going to stand there?" His voice cut through the silence, sharp and bitter, pulling me back to the awful reality. "Or are you going to help me?"

I turned slowly, my body stiff with fear. He was lying on the bed, his hand pressed against the bandage I had changed earlier. His face was pale, but his eyes those cold, unforgiving eyes were locked on me, full of that same terrifying control he seem to have over me.

He is wrong though. He has no control over me. I only helped him out of humanity because he refused to let anyone else know and was hell bend on dying if I didn't look after him.

What a psychopath.

"I don't want to help you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "Why don't you call that doctor back?"

His lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he shifted slightly, wincing at the pain. "I already told you, Aira. No one else is coming. If you don't take care of me, I will die."

The threat hung in the air between us, and I could feel it settle into my bones, heavy and unbearable. The weight of what I had done, of what he was forcing me to do, was too much.

Does he have no conscience at all?

"I didn't want this," I whispered, shaking my head, tears welling up in my eyes. "I didn't mean to shoot you."

His laugh was bitter, cold. "But you did."

He knew how much guilty I was of physically harming him even if he has somehow done worse than that and yet he was using it against me.

He is using my fragile heart against his cruel one.

He shifted again, groaning in pain, and I could see his dressing really needed a change. My stomach churned at the sight, a sickening reminder that this was all my fault. But I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to help him.

I couldn't or maybe I was just being stubborn.

"What kind of a man are you?" I whispered, my voice breaking, "Don't you have any conscience?"

His expression hardened, his voice low and dangerous. "It's you or no one. If you don't help me, I die. And that blood will be on your hands forever."

I froze, staring at him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was manipulating me, twisting everything. He knew I was too weak to just let him die, even if he is a monster. Not when I was the one who pulled the trigger. And he was using that against me.

"I don't want to do this," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I was so tired of it. Looking after the one who made me feel so worthless, who made my life hell. That's just pathetic.

"I don't care what you want," he snapped, his eyes blazing with anger. "You don't have a choice. You will otherwise be a murderer Aira. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

I couldn't breathe. Every word he said was like a punch to the gut, and I felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of it all. My legs moved without my permission, taking me closer to him, even though every fiber of my being screamed to run, to get away from him.

But I couldn't.

He was right. If I didn't help him, if I let him die, I would never be able to live with myself.

I knelt by the side of the bed, my hands trembling as I reached for the fresh bandages. My mind was racing, screaming at me to stop, to run. But my body betrayed me, my fingers automatically working to change his dressing. I had no choice.

He is hurt so bad and yet he would stop working on that laptop of his. Not like I care but it's on me.

"You shouldn't be moving," I said quietly, my voice cracking as I tied the bandage tighter around his wound. "You are making it worse."

He hissed in pain, but his eyes never left me. They were filled with something dark, something that made my skin crawl. "I will move as much as I want," he muttered through gritted teeth. "You are here to take care of the mess you made."

My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that I wasn't responsible for this. But deep down, I knew that wasn't entirely true.

I had pulled the trigger.

I had shot him.

And besides I was here, trapped in this awful, twisted situation where he controlled every move I made, even as he lay being injured by me.

He watched me closely, his breath shallow and ragged, "You know, Aira," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "This is so much fun actually."

I froze, my hands stilling on the bandage. His words sent a chill down my spine. "Fun?" I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"Yes," he continued, his eyes glinting with something cruel. "It's pathetically amusing to see you being guilty of hurting the one person who you should hate with everything in you."

I recoiled, my stomach twisting in revulsion. Pathetic? Is he finding pleasure in my pain?

"You are sick," I whispered, my voice trembling. "And I do hate you,"

"With every nerve in my body, I hate you." I gritted my teeth feeling thenanger wash all over me.

His smile twisted, and despite the pain, he managed to lean forward just enough to look me directly in the eyes. "Do you now?"

I nod, stepping back from the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. "And I always will."

He let out a low laugh, his voice dripping with amusement. "Do you think I care?" He leaned back against the pillows, his eyes dark and knowing. "Hate me all you want, at the end of the day you are going to remain by my side."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat.

I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I couldn't bring myself to speak.

"You knew pulling that trigger was your way out, didn't you?" His voice was low, dangerous, wrapping around me like a noose tightening with every word.

A shudder ran through me, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to even look at him, but I didn't have to. His words alone cut through me like a blade. He was the one who gave me that choice. He made that my way out. I had no fucking choice.

Maybe I did the right thing shooting him. Maybe I should have aimed for his heart and maybe I should have pulled the trigger once more.

I heard him shift, the bed creaking under his weight as he stood. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears, but I didn't dare move. I couldn't. My body was frozen in place, and the weight of it all stretched between is like something I couldn't cross.

Then he was in front of me, towering over me, his shadow swallowing the room whole. He was close, too close, and every fiber of my being screamed at me to run. But there was nowhere to go.

The room was locked from inside and only his fingerprint could open it.

Before I could even take a step aside, he moved in, forcing me back until I collided with the cold, unyielding wall. The impact knocked the breath out of me, my pulse racing as his presence overwhelmed me.

"You stayed even after shooting me." he whispered, his voice sending chills down my spine, "And I don't give second chances."

I flinched as his hand brushed against my face, a light touch that felt like fire against my skin. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I instinctively planted myself more to the wall to create any distance I could, but there was nowhere to go.

My skin crawled under his touch, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

I wanted to push him away, to scream, to do something, but fear held me prisoner. Every inch of my body was trembling, not just from fear but from the intensity of his closeness, the way he seemed to hold all the power between us. And the worst part? He knew it.

It disgusts me to the core.

If someone can hurt himself, I can't even think of what he can do to others.

"You should have killed me, Aira," he murmured, his voice dark and dripping with menace. His breath was hot against my ear, sending another wave of dread through me. "You did this to yourself by saving me."

His words echoed in my mind, reverberating like a death sentence. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. My fingers twitched at my sides, desperate to shove him away, but all I could do was shake my head, fear strangling the words I wanted to scream at him.

"Please..." I whispered, my voice barely audible, more a gasp than a word. My hands found his chest, trembling as they pressed against him. I wasn't sure if I was trying to push him away or steady myself, but either way, my touch was weak, pathetic.

"I didn't want to you know," I stammered, my voice trembling. "But you deserved it and I regret sparing a monster like you." I looked up straight in his eyes and gritted every word out in capitals.

"A monster?" His voice was a low growl, dangerous and mocking. "Don't force me to act like one Aira."

He pressed closer, his body pinning mine to the wall. The heat from him was suffocating, and I struggled to breathe as his hands slid down to my wrists, trapping me. His grip was firm, unyielding, and I felt utterly powerless in his hold.

"You are scared now, aren't you?" he muttered, his breath fanning over my neck. I couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through me, my skin crawling at the feel of him so close. "But fear won't save you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block him out, trying to shut down the rising panic in my chest. He leaned in, making me freak out, and I felt sick. The power he held over me was suffocating, and I hated it. Hated him.

"Don't touch me." I screamed, but the words were weak, barely more than a whisper. Even I didn't believe they held any meaning at all.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating against me. "I can do anything to you right now and No one will come to your rescue."

I turned my head, refusing to look at him, bile rising in my throat. Every part of me recoiled from his touch, from his words. He was too close, too dangerous, and the more I fought, the tighter his hold seemed to become.

And then, without warning, he released one of my wrists, reaching towards the drawer to my side taking something out. My heart sank as I saw the gun in his hands.

Was he going to kill me?

He held it out to me, curling my fingers around the cold, heavy metal. "If you still want to leave," he said, his voice sharp and mocking, "Finish what you started."

My hands trembled violently as I held the gun, the weight of it almost too much to bear. The sight of it revolted me, every part of me cowering away from the idea. I couldn't do this. I couldn't.

How could I shoot someone to death?

My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat as he stepped closer again, his breath hot on my skin. "Go on," he taunted. "Shoot me. It's the only way you are getting out of here alive."

My vision blurred with tears, my chest heaving as I struggled to breathe. The gun felt like a heavy weight in my hands, pulling me down, dragging me deeper into this nightmare. I couldn't pull the trigger. I couldn't even steady my hands.

"I won't ever let you go," he whispered, leaning in until his forehead rested against mine. His voice was soft now, almost gentle, but that only made it more terrifying. "You are going to pay for everything your family did. Let the words sink deep in your heart."

I felt sick, my whole body trembling. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto mine, daring me. "I really don't deserve your mercy." he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from mine, "So just shoot me if you ever feel like leaving."

What the hell is this man? A psychopath?

The gun shook in my hands, and I knew he knew that I couldn't do it again.

But what terrifies me is that he wants me to do it.

I took in a deep breath and kept the gun in his hands scratching it in the process and if it did hurt even one bit, he didn't care to show it even though I had drawn out his blood.

"Now be a good girl and have your dinner and go to sleep." he said, his voice low and commanding. "And when your parents get here tomorrow, you are going to tell them exactly what I want you to say. Because if you don't..." His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "You know what I am capable of."

I felt the blood drain from my face. He was threatening me, again. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I pushed him away and fortunately this time he let me. I went towards the balcony and quietly had my dinner knowing he wouldn't leave me alone until I ate.

After I was done I kept the dishes in the tray leaving them on the table and went back to the couch sinking in it, my hands trembling in my lap, tears burning in my eyes as I laid down and forced myself to sleep.

******

Aira:

I woke up to the familiar ache in my chest, a dull reminder of the chaos my life had become. The sun peeked right at me though the balcony as I got up taking a yawn and stretching my hands. The curtains were drawn in the night, who the hell opens them so early in the morning. I blinked, and turned my head slightly. He wasn't there.

I moved my eyes around the room but he wasn't there. I got up and moved towards the washroom but the door was open.

Mujhe kya khi bhi gae ho.

I shook away his thoughts from my mind. Taking my clothes from the closet, I went inside the bathroom to get ready.

Once I was done, I decided to go downstairs to see if Mary came because I was feeling hungry.

Making my way downstairs, I make sure my steps are cautious, my heart pounding in my chest because I didn't want to see his face first thing in the morning now that I can avoid it. As I neared the kitchen, I rushed at the entrance only to stop abruptly once my eyes fell on him.

Standing by the stove, shirtless, his technic so effortless as he moved. His back was to me, and for a moment, I could only stare at him.

He could have atleast wore a shirt but then my eyes fell on his wound which was left open and I realised it was me behind that as well.

I swallowed hard, stepping into the room quietly, as I avoided looking at him not like it's the first time I am seeing someone without a shirt. Not in that way I just, I mean it's nothing to be shy of and I am not it's just I don't want to give him wrong ideas.

"You are awake," he said without turning around, his deep voice breaking the silence. He sounded… calm. Almost like he hadn't spent the past few days tormenting me.

"I am hungry," I muttered, walking further into the kitchen, unsure of what to say or how to act around him. He did caught me off guard by cooking though.

People like him can cook too?

He turned around, holding a spatula, his gaze meeting mine. His eyes trailed over me, lingering for a moment before he turned back to the stove. "Mary won't be here today because they needed help at home."

I gave him a nod unsure of what now. I should probably cook something for myself then. I am sure he won't be making me any food anyways.

He cleared his throat as I looked up at him and he spoke, "Breakfast is almost ready, sit."

I blinked, momentarily frozen, before moving to sit at the chair kept on the other side of the kitchen counter. I couldn't help but steal a glance at his face to see if I could find anything but as always it was blank.

He finished cooking and placed a plate in front of me - eggs, toast, and a side of roasted vegetables. I stared at the food, my stomach growling, but my mind was somewhere else.

How was it possible that he could stand there so casually, like everything was normal, while I felt like I was walking on broken glass?

I picked up my fork, my hand trembling slightly as I took a bite. What if he poisoned the food?

What if it's one of his plans to torment me. Is that really avocado I see between the toast or has he added chillies in it just to torment me?

I could feel him staring at my face but I refused to take any chances. My stomach growled and I huffed shifting the plate towards him as he raised an eyebrow at me and it twitched even more as I took his plate and kept it in front of Mr..

"First you eat," I almost ordered as he opened his mouth to say something, his face contorted in confusion.

"How do I know it's not poisoned?" The words slip out my mouth before I can realise as I stare at him with a pointed look.

He looked at me like I was really stupid, then looked down at my plate then his own. He opened his mouth to say something but decided otherwise and suddenly leaned forward towards me.

My eyes widened as I glued my back to the chair and fisted my hands but he only picked up the spoon from the plate in front of me and took a bite of the omelette surprising me.

He looked at me, our face inches apart as he raised his brows as if asking me if that was enough but before I could even nod he picked up the toast and took a bite from it.

He then backed away and dragged the chair to his side sitting across from me while I tried to bring myself out of that daze.

"Khana khaiye ab, Aira," he spoke, breaking the chain of my thoughts as he casually picked up the avocado toast from his own plate.

I shot him a glare, my eyes narrowing as they followed the piece of toast in his hand. Annoyed, I reached out to grab his plate, but he pulled it back swiftly.

"Ye aapka jhootha hai," I protested.

He smirked, leaning back slightly. "Pehle aapko laga maine usme zeher milaya hai, ab aapko isse problem hai ki wo mera jhootha hai."

"Aapki problem hai kya?" His expression remained calm, but his eyes held a challenge. "Qki har cheez aapke according to nahi ho sakti na Aira."

"Meri problem aap hai." I clenched my fists under the table.

"Fir toh abhi aapko aur sahna padega," He added, his voice low, deliberate.

I scoffed, turning my head away biting back a retort and unwilling to engage anh further.

But he wasn't done yet. "Khair, ab mera jhootha khaiye warna bhookhe rahiye," he said, his tone mocking yet playful, as if daring me.

"Huh, is that even a choice?" I muttered under my breath.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smug smile. "My choices go according to me," he said, pausing for to settle over me before adding, "Besides, jhootha khane se pyar badhta hai."

"Pyar, my foot," I snapped, feeling the frustration bubble up.

I turned my attention back to the plate, wondering if I should actually eat the damn toast or just walk away, but the growls of my stomach made it easy for me to decide.

I looked away from him and took a bite, it was good actually very good. How could someone like him make something so good.

He kept his eyes fixed on me while eating his own food while I focused on the meal, chewing slowly. It was good but I had no intentions of complimenting him.

He wasn't the kind of man you praised. He was the kind of man you feared.

After what felt like an eternity, I finished eating and decided to sit for a minute waiting for him to finish so as to wash the dishes. I looked up, meeting his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but there was a darkness behind his gaze that made my skin crawl.

Without a word, he stood up and walked around the table. My heart raced as he approached, towering over me. His presence was suffocating, but I didn't move. His hand reached out, grabbing my wrist, pulling me to my feet.

"W-What are you doing?" I stammered, my voice shaky as I looked up at him, fear gnawing at my insides.

His eyes had darkened and I didn't want to get in more trouble.

He didn't answer. Instead, he led me upstairs, his grip on my wrist firm but not painful. When we reached the bedroom, he released me, stepping back for a moment. I rubbed my wrist, feeling the heat of his touch still lingering on my skin.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice low, filled with an intensity that made me shiver.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. He walked over to the dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out the thin mangalsutra and a small container of vermillion. My breath caught in my throat.

I shook my head, panic setting in. "No, I..."

"You will wear this," he interrupted, his voice cold, his eyes piercing through me. "You are my wife, whether you accept or not."

He stepped closer, holding the chain in his hands, his fingers brushing against my neck as he clasped it around me. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction I couldn't reconcile. The weight of the chain felt like a shackle, binding me to him in ways I couldn't escape.

As he opened the vermillion container, I instinctively recoiled, but he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His grip was firm but not cruel, though it left no room for argument.

"Don't forget this," he growled, dipping his fingers into the red powder before applying it to the parting of my hair. "No matter how much you fight it, no matter how much you deny it, you belong to me."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I could feel the weight of his words pressing down on me, suffocating me.

"I won't let you forget it," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes bore into mine, his thumb brushing against my jaw. "You will wear this every day. And you will remember, with every breath you take, that you are my wife. Do you understand?"

The intensity of his gaze, the force behind his words - it terrified me. Yet I refused to answer and fortunately he didn't push any harder.

He released me, stepping back, his eyes still locked on mine.

Without a word, I got up and gathered the bandages and antiseptic from the dresser.

"Sit," I muttered, kneeling by the bed. He didn't say anything, just sat down and watched me with that cold, unreadable stare that had become a part of him.

I worked quickly, pressing a bandage over the wound. My fingers brushed against his skin, and I felt his muscles tense under my touch, but he didn't move.

Once I finished, I packed up the first aid box, standing up to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.

"Your parents are coming today," he said, his grip firm but not painful, pulling me back toward him. His eyes gleamed with something darker. "They are coming to take you back, but remember what I told you. You won't leave."

My breath hitched. The thought of seeing my parents after all this time filled me so much hope. I had missed them more than I cared about myself being alive at this point, but his words brought a fresh wave of dread.

"What if I choose to leave?" I whispered, though even as I asked it, the fear of him gnawed at my heart.

"To leave?" he mocked, releasing my wrist and reaching into his bedside drawer. My heart stuttered as he pulled out a phone and held it up, showing me a video. My pulse quickened as I recognized the figures on the screen - my brother, standing next to his car, completely unaware of the camera following him.

"If you try to leave," he continued, his voice cold and steady, "You might save yourself from me. But no one will save them." His eyes were hard, unforgiving. "Your brother. Your parents. The whole world will suffer, and it will be on you."

I stood frozen, my throat tightening. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I fought them back. "Why are you going to this extent?" I breathed, barely able to keep my voice steady.

"Because I can," he answered, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Now, get ready. We are going to the house."

I shook my head, the pressure in my chest overwhelming. "I am not going."

"You are," he countered, standing up. He moved toward me, closing the distance between us in a few steps, his hand gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You don't have a choice, not if you care about them."

I couldn't hold back the tears this time, and they slipped silently down my cheeks. He watched me with a mixture of satisfaction and indifference. He let go of my chin, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the room.

I refused to budge, planting my feets on the stairs as I held the staircase for any kind of support. He looked at me for a minute and when he realised I was challenging him, he took a deep breath and a yelp left my lips as he suddenly picked me up in his arms and moved downstairs as I screamed at him to let me go.

Oh my god, he can't walk to his home like this, his parents will see. What the fudge?

"Let me go." I gritted out punching his chest with my fist.

He didn't even look at me as he mumbled out, "I really will if you don't stop struggling and you will fall down."

I wiped away my tears realising he really had no intention of leaving me, I put on a brace face. After a few good minutes of walking we finally reached in front of the main house.

My parents will come today. They will be here for me. I could already picture my father's warm, protective embrace and my mother's gentle smile and Arman and my usual bickerings - things I had longed for in this mess of a a few days I had become trapped in. And even now, with him by my side, those images felt distant, like a memory I could never fully return to.

"Behave," he said, his voice calm, almost too dark as the doors opened for us. The threat he had issued still echoed in my ears - my brother, my parents… everyone I loved, in danger if I made the wrong move.

The moment the doors opened, I saw them - my parents standing there along with his parents as they talked about something, probably me.

They turned to look at the doors and I could see the question in everyone's eyes as he put me down.

This was so embarrassing. What must they be thinking about me? Him?

I looked at Arsh and I could spot it in his eyes, he did it intentionally. He knew my parents were already here.

However, that was the least of my parents worries unlike whatever his plan was because my parent's face lit up the moment they saw me, and for a brief second, I felt hope - hope that maybe I could escape all of this, that maybe I could choose to go and he will do nothing.

But then, I felt his hand brush against mine. A reminder. And just like that, the hope vanished.

I took a step forward, intentionally limping on my leg foot and everyone took a protective step forward, concern visible in their eyes as they noticed it.

"Aira? Beta are you fine?" His mother Geet aunty asked me as I gave her a soft nod, "Yeah just twisted my ankle. That's why he helped me." I passed a victorious smirk at Arsh who was staring at me like I had surprised him but the look was gone in a second as he masked it up.

Arman was right beside me in a moment as he helped me move towards my parents.

"As we said, Aira is safe and doing well," his father began, his voice smooth but firm. "We owe you an apology for what our son has done. It was extremely wrong so to make it right we gave Aira her right to make the choice."

My father stiffened slightly, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Choice?" my father asked, his tone sharp. "After everything? After what your son did to my daughter? What kind of choice are you talking about?"

I swallowed hard, knowing that the next few minutes would be crucial. I wanted to leave, there was no room for any choice, but I couldn't tell them. Not all of it. I couldn't put them in harm's way.

"Papa, please," I interjected softly, stepping closer to him. "I… I need to talk to you."

My father's eyes softened when they met mine. He always had a way of calming me, of making me feel safe, and it took everything in me not to throw myself into his arms and beg him to take me away.

But I couldn't.

"Talk to me," he urged, his hand resting on my shoulder. "Tell me you don't want to stay. I know you don't Aira."

"Papa I..."

"Haan beta? Mai sun raha hoon." My father was confident of my answer.

(Yes child? I am listening.)

I glanced over at my husband, his gaze icy, reminding me of the the choice I was supposed to make. I took a breath, trying to steady myself. "I want to give this a chance," I said, my voice trembling. "I… I believe I can make this work. I can make him work."

There was silence all around me, I looked around and I could see the shock on everyone's faces. No one expected me to make that choice but his family looked a little... relieved?

"Why, Aira?" My mother's voice broke through, her eyes filled with tears. She had always been the softer one, the one who took me in her arms whenever I felt down and made everything better with just a hug. Now, her sadness pierced through me, making my chest tighten.

"I need you to trust me, Mama," I whispered, fighting back the tears. "I need you to understand."

"Understand what?" My brother stepped forward now, his voice rough with anger. "You can make this work? You can make him work? What a joke! We both know that's not the person you are."

I gulped knowing very well what my brother meant. I am not the kind of person who wastes my time on something that screams it needs work on it.

And this relationship didn't need any of my chance or efforts. It was worthless to begin with.

He closed his eyes and then opened again meeting mine as he softly asked, "Why are you lying to yourself, to us?"

"I am not lying," I said, though it sounded hollow even to my own ears. "I just need time. I need..."

"You are hiding something," my father interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. I felt my heart sink. He could always read me, always knew when something was wrong. And now, he was seeing right through my feeble attempts to mask the truth.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low but firm. "Tell me what's really going on. I know my Aira, she will never want to stay with him and if you don't, I am taking you home with us, all you need to do is say it Aira and you will never be seeing his face again."

I froze. My throat tightened. I couldn't speak. I couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear. What I wanted to say out loud.

"Aira, look at me," my father said, his hand cupping my face. "If you stay with him, you will lose me. If you choose him, you will have to forget about your father. You won't have a father anymore. You won't have me anymore."

My eyes shot up towards him, I could feel everyone's eyes fixed on us, no one dared intervening. Even Mom and Arman froze as they stared at Dad.

"No, Papa, please," I begged, my voice breaking. "Don't make me choose like this. I am doing this for all of us. Please, understand. I need you to understand."

But my father shook his head. "You are protecting him, You want to ruin your life by staying with him? You want to give this forced relationship a chance?" he said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "I can't understand that."

My mother let out a quiet sob, her hands trembling as she reached for me. "Please, Aira, let's go. You don't have to stay in this nightmare."

I shook my head, unable to say anything. My throat felt tight, my chest constricted with fear. I couldn't say it. I couldn't tell them the truth, because if I did, it would destroy everything. It would destroy them.

"Papa, please... meri baat to suno," I pleaded, my voice trembling, desperate for him to understand.

My mom took a step towards him but he gave her a vulnerable look gesturing her to stay out of this.

Arsh's mother too took a step towards me, "Mr. Agnihotri, your daughter..."

"I am sorry but I am only talking to my daughter." My father politely cut her off, as I saw a tear slipping out of his eyes.

And it broke my heart because I have never seen him crying except for when my adoption was finalised.

"Aira?" I heard her ask to me and I blinked my eyes at her telling her I was more than fine.

"I only need to hear your decision, Aira," my father said, his tone cold, distant. His eyes were unreadable, but the weight of his disappointment was suffocating.

I swallowed, my voice breaking. "Papa, mai aapke bina nahi reh sakti. Mai mar jaungi."

His face softened for a brief moment, but then he hardened himself again, shaking his head. "Mai bhi mar jaunga, bachha, agar tum apni life aise barbaad karne ka faisla logi to."

The ache in my chest grew unbearable. "Papa, please," I whispered, my hands trembling as I reached out for him. But he took a step back, his eyes sharp with frustration and pain.

"Aira," he continued, his voice laced with sorrow, "I left everything behind. Even my own family... just to shield you and Armaan from those things. And somehow all of that went to ruin when he entered your life. He is dragging you back into a life I never wanted for you."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision as my heart shattered into pieces. I wanted to tell him the truth, but the words didn't dare come out.

"And I can't have you ruin your life more by giving this - " he spat the word like venom, "this shit a chance."

My papa has never been this way to me. I could feel how justified his resistance to my decision was. This was a total bullshit.

"Papa, ai-aisa nahi hai," I stammered. "He is..."

"If you want to be an advocate for him, go ahead." His voice was calm, but the storm in his eyes was unmistakable. "Ruin your life. But do it at the expense of losing me."

"Mr. Agnihotri, you can't just..." I heard his father speak up, his presence looming with cold authority. But I quickly intervened, raising my hand in the air as I stopped anyone from intervening.

"Please, don't," I whispered to him, my voice fragile. "I need to talk to my papa."

I turned back to my father, the weight of the ultimatum sinking in. His eyes, once filled with warmth and love, now burned with disappointment, with anger. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at the man who had always been my protector, my guide, my everything.

"Your final decision," my father said, his voice harder now. "What will it be, Aira?"

I stood there, frozen, the weight of his words crushing me. My eyes flicked over to my husband, his cold expression unchanged. He knew. He knew I couldn't leave. He had already won.

I will die without my father. He gave me this life and if I won't have him in it, how would I even survive?

"I choose him," I whispered, barely audible.

The air seemed to leave the room. My father's face hardened, and my mother let out a strangled sob. My brother clenched his fists, glaring at me in disbelief. "Aira, what are you doing?" he shouted, stepping forward. "You don't have to do this!"

But it was too late. My father turned away, his shoulders heavy with disappointment and betrayal. "Then you are no longer my daughter," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And with that, he walked away.

I reached out to my brother, but he held his hand back, his jaw clenched tightly. More tears spilled down my cheeks as I rushed to him, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug, refusing to let go. I could feel the tension in his body, the coldness in his stance.

"I am sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at me, his eyes hard and filled with hurt. "No, you are not."

"Maan..." I tried, my heart aching at the distance between us.

"I had to do this," I continued, my voice trembling, trying to make him understand.

"For what, Aira?" His voice cracked, but the anger still simmered beneath. "You chose him over our father?"

I flinched at the accusation, at the raw pain in his voice. "I am sorry."

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Mujhe jana hai, Aira. Unhone hamare liye apna sab chor diya, aur mai tumhari tarah unhe nahi chor sakta, bhale mai mar hi jau."

His words cut deep. I knew my intention were good but he was right at his own place.

I need you to be safe for me Maan isilie to mai jee rhi hoon qki mere saath tum Mumma aur Papa ho. Tumhe kuch na ho isilie to ye choose kr rhi mai.

I wish I could say that to him.

"Maan, please..." I whispered, my tears falling faster.

He shook his head, stepping away from my embrace. "I hope tu khush rahe apne pati ke saath." His voice was quiet now, but the pain in it was unmistakable.

With that he went walked out following my father.

I turned to my mother, tears blurring my vision. "I am sorry, Mumma."

She smiled softly, walking over to me. "It's okay, beta. I understand."

"You do?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, surprised by her calmness.

She nodded, stroking my hair gently. "Hm, and your father will come around pretty soon too. You know he loves you a lot, right?"

I bit my lip, trying to hold back more tears. "Yeah."

She sighed softly, her expression softening as she looked into my eyes. "Aira," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

"Hm?" I blinked up at her.

"You told the truth when you said you want to give this a chance, right? There is nothing else, hai na bachha?"

There is alot mumma. I don't want to be here.

But I knew better than saying that out loud.

I nodded, my voice trembling. "Hm, Mumma. Mai ek mauka dena chahti hoon kyunki inhone khud ye mauka manga hai."

She smiled, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Then I really wish it works out. And I am sure my baby will make it work."

"I love you, Mumma," I whispered, my voice filled with emotion.

She pulled me into a warm embrace, dropping a kiss on my forehead. "Mumma loves you too, beta. And so does your dad and Maan."

"I know," I whispered, the warmth of her hug making me feel safe, even in the midst of the storm.

"If you ever feel like you made the wrong choice, or even if you are just missing me, I am only a call away, Aira." She kissed my forehead again, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

She joined Maan and Dad as they got in the car while I stood there, watching them go, my heart heavy with the weight of the decisions I had made.

The moment their car went out of my sight, a suffocating weight filled the room. I could feel him watching me, his presence like a storm gathering at my back. I didn't need to look to know he was moving toward me.

I could feel everyone else's eyes on me, my tears falling freely as they looked at me concerned. His mom took a step towards me - maybe to give me some kind of support but before she could reach me, he was already there.

"I told you, Aira." His voice, low and cold, sent a shiver down my spine. It was the tone that always unsettled me - that stupid authority he thinks he holds over me is annoying.

He stepped close, too close. I could feel his breath on my skin, his words almost brushing my ear. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

I turned to face him and before I knew what I was doing, my hand flew up, the force of the slap shocking even me as much as it did him. The sound cracked through the room like thunder, freezing everyone in their place.

He didn't flinch, didn't even raise his eyes. His cheek reddened where my palm had landed, but he stood there, staring down at the floor, still and silent. For a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears, the pounding of my own heartbeat.

"I hate you." The words slipped from my lips, venomous and trembling, my voice barely above a whisper, but full of every bit of anger I had kept bottled up. "And I wish you die the worst death."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I couldn't. I turned on my heel and left, my legs carrying me out of the room faster than I thought possible.

I could feel their eyes on me - the weight of their judgment, their pity, the concern - but none of that mattered anymore. I just needed to get out, away from him and his family too.

I knew they were aware that it wasn't my decision to stay and yet they didn't say a word against it to their son.

Or maybe they really didn't know?

As I stepped out of the door on the porch, I could hear the faint murmur of his parents behind me, low and unsure. I knew they were really concerned for me, that they felt bad for me. But none of that helped me.

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