~ARYA

Oh my God!
I look at myself properly in the mirror, and I can’t figure it out; either this T-shirt is way too big, or I’ve suddenly become extremely slim. I didn’t even look this good last night in that slit dress, the way I look right now in this T-shirt.
I think I feel this way because I usually wear body-hugging clothes.
It’s not like I’ve never tried baggy or oversized clothes before; it’s just that I don’t really like them because I end up looking like a sack of potatoes.
But this feels different.
Plus, these Pokémon characters printed on this T-shirt make it even funnier. What’s its name? ah! I guess I don’t remember…
Agni used to love Pokémon.
The thought made a small smile appear on my face.
These trousers also feature Pokémon prints. I actually remember the names of these—this red one is Charmander, then Bulbasaur, Pikachu, and that one is Squirtle.
Wow… I actually remember them quite well.
I don’t even know how many strange Pokémon-related games he always made me play with him.
And collecting Pokémon cards was his biggest obsession. If he ever spotted a card in any store, he would immediately spend my money to buy it.

That boy was such a little troublemaker.

I finish putting on the rest of the clothes and step out of the bathroom.
Naturally, my luck doesn’t even give me five seconds. In the blink of an eye, I’m down—flat, kissing the floor.
Pain shoots straight through me, and my hand instinctively flies to my butt. I sit there for a second, blinking, as if holding it might magically undo what just happened. It doesn’t. Shock and soreness team up against me.
I lift my head, ready to identify the criminal responsible for this humiliation.
And there he is.
The man.
Standing perfectly upright. Calm. Composed. Adjusting his T-shirt like he’s about to ramp walk.

I stare at him, still on the floor, my dignity scattered somewhere near the bathroom door.
So let me get this straight—
I’m on the ground because of this idiot, and he’s busy fixing his T-shirt like I’m a minor inconvenience in his morning routine.

Unbelievable.

I grab the bathroom door and pull myself up, using it as emotional and physical support. If I’m going to confront this idiot, I’m doing it properly—standing and looking him straight in the eye.

“Do you mind?” he says evenly. “Or is standing exactly in people’s way your full-time job?”
He looks at me, calm, unreadable, irritatingly composed.
like I’m the one who just interrupted him.
“Is this how you say sorry?” I snap.
“Because if it is, it’s a pretty lousy way of doing it. You should change it.”
His brows raise towards his hairline. “You want me to say sorry?”
I scrowl. “Why not? Tumhari hi galti ki vajah se abhi mai dharti chhat rahi thi!”
“Meri galti ki vajah se!” His bright grin widens.
“ Jii haa! ”I point a finger at him.
“Your first mistake is walking into this room despite knowing perfectly well that a guest is staying here. Your second mistake… these big black eyes of yours are clearly useless because you couldn’t see the person standing right in front of you, And because of that, you deliberately slammed into me.”
It feels like the more I keep talking, the closer he seems to get to me. But if he wants to drag this matter out like this, then fine, so be it.
“And your third mistake is that instead of helping me or apologising, you’re standing there lecturing me, as if I came and crashed into you.”
I’ve never spoken this sharply before, the way I do today while listing this idiot’s mistakes. And yet, judging by that bastard’s expressions, it doesn’t look like it affects him even the slightest bit.
“I walk into my own room.” He lingered on that word.
“And if a guest is staying here, we’ve built a Goddam guest room for that very reason.”
“ And as for eyes, where were yours? It’s not like you managed to see the person standing in front of you either.”
“waah!! ulta chor kotwal ko daante.” Sarcasm seeps into my voice.
“Listen, if you are done for now, then would you mind getting out of my room?” He points at the door.
How dare he!
The moment he points toward the door, my anger shoots to an entirely different level. I feel like slapping him hard.
“Ma’am gave me this room to freshen up, so you have no right to throw me out of here—” I snap, hoping that my words turn him off. But this jerk chuckles in response.

“Do you see your ma’am standing here?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the room in an exaggerated arc before returning to me. A slow, taunting smile curved his lips. “No, right?”
“And if you ask me,” he went on calmly, “do you know what I see?”
He began to move toward me slowly, deliberately. Seeing him come closer, my feet retreated on their own, step by step, until there was nowhere left to go.
“I see a lady in my room,” he said, voice laced with mockery, “wearing my clothes and lecturing me.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes dark with amusement. “Why? Because the sight of a well-built man standing in front of her apparently offended her delicate senses, and she tripped.”
He leaned in closer. So close that I could feel his breath brush my face, steady and warm.
“And instead of apologising for her own clumsiness”, He murmured, almost cruelly, “she decided I should be the one begging for forgiveness.”
A Faint rush of air brushed against my face as I realised he stepped back to his place.
My clumsiness!
And I beg him to forgive me !!
And on top of that
HIS FUCKING CLOTHES!!
I was painfully aware of how hard I was trying to hold myself back, how much effort it was taking not to punch this bastard right in the face. And I swear, if this man said one more word, made one more movement, or even let one more expression cross his face, I honestly didn’t know what I would end up doing.
“What happened?” he asked lightly. “Nothing left to say?”
There is a smile on his face, small, knowing, and painfully sharp. It pricked at my nerves, made my skin crawl. And the moment the reality of the clothes I was wearing hit me,
his clothes
a strange, suffocating tightness settled in my chest.
He could see it. Worse, he understood it.
And yet, look at the audacity of this man, standing right there in front of me, arms relaxed, watching me like I am some spectacle meant only for his amusement.
But the mistake that has been made needs to be corrected.
“Are these yours?” I asked, holding up the T-shirt between two fingers.
“Yeah. Mine,” he said with a laugh, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
A smile touched my lips—slow, unreadable.
“What?” he asked. “Is there a problem? Take it off, then.”
God, what an idiot. A well-built fool with no sense whatsoever. Either no woman had ever bothered to stay long enough to teach him, or he simply didn’t know how to read women at all.
Dick.
It didn’t even take me a second.
I slipped the T-shirt off and threw it aside, the fabric landing somewhere behind me with a dull finality.
I didn’t care that my chest was now covered by nothing more than a bra. Right now, teaching this idiot a lesson is very important to me. That jerk picked a fight with me. I don’t like it when people think they can just say anything to me and then walk away.
“Now,” I said quietly, “I have nothing left to say.”
A slow smirk curved across my face, not born of recklessness, but of certainty. Because in that moment, I knew I had won. And he knew it too.
And to my surprise, his gaze never dropped.
Well, bad for you bitch. I have a pretty good figure.
His eyes stayed fixed on my face, steady, unblinking, locking into mine with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. There was anger in them. Raw. Undeniable. The kind he was no longer bothering to hide.
And the moment I saw it, something inside me twisted not with fear, but with a quiet, dangerous satisfaction.
His anger meant I had struck exactly where it hurt.
He could stand there and pretend calm, pretend control—but his eyes betrayed him. And watching that fury simmer beneath his composure made my inner triumph burn brighter, sharper, almost intoxicating.

I turned away as if he no longer existed, my indifference deliberate, sharp enough to wound. I walked past him without a word, my steps measured, my spine straight, refusing to give him even a fragment of satisfaction.
Inside the bathroom, I shut the door and locked it. The click rang through the air, final, decisive. Only then did I allow myself a slow breath.
From the other side of the door, his voice cut through hard, rough, stripped of all pretence. The mockery was gone. What remained was anger, sharp-edged and rude.
“The trousers are mine too,” he snapped. “Aren’t you going to strip those off as well?”
What an idiot. If he loves his clothes so much, why doesn’t he lock them away in a safe?
I reached for the bathrobe hanging in front of me and slipped it on. Then I removed his trousers.
I open the door and walk toward him. He is still standing there, in the exact same spot, not moving an inch.
I stop right in front of him. I hold up his trousers for him to see, and in the very next second, right there in front of him, I tear them straight down the middle. They split into two pieces.

“Oops,” I say lightly. “Is this the trousers you were talking about? But look—it’s already torn.”
Tch, tch, tch.
“You should buy better clothes. These low-brand things are cheap trash. No matter how carefully you take care of them, after one or two uses, they tear on their own.”
He didn’t react at first.
His eyes dropped to the ruined trousers in my hands, then slowly lifted back to my face. The air between us tightened.
“You think this makes you brave?” he asked quietly. Too quietly.
I tilted my head, letting the torn fabric slip from my fingers. “No. I think it makes me honest. You wanted your clothes back, and I returned them.”
“But you never told me,” I added calmly, “in what condition you wanted them returned.”
The more his anger grew, the wider the smile glued itself to my face—purely to provoke him. But my little victory was more than he could tolerate for long. Soon enough, he turned and walked away.
What can I do? I really am that good.
But now the real problem remained—what was I supposed to wear?

Thankfully, Ishani came back to check on me. She asked why I hadn’t changed into the clothes she’d given me yet. I simply told her that I had accidentally gotten them wet. There was no way I could tell her the truth that the man whose clothes she’d handed me was so possessive about them that he demanded them back, and in return, I had torn them to pieces.

Still, the clothes she brought this time weren’t bad at all. A yellow kurta paired with jeans.

Yellow. My lucky colour.

And honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse that.
And now that I was ready, I was being led downstairs—almost the way a newly married bride is escorted to her in-laws’ home.
Either Stairs had no intention of slowing down, or I was walking far too slowly. But why was I walking so slowly? Because I felt nervous.
And why should I feel nervous?
The thought of everyone sitting there, waiting, made fear coil tight in my chest.

The moment I stepped downstairs, I saw them all, Radha ma’am, the lady seated beside her, Dhruv, Aryan… and the very man whose clothes I had ripped only a few moments earlier.

What is he doing among all of them?

My eyes kept drifting toward him, but that jerk was completely absorbed in his phone.

Hmph. As if I care anyway.

“Arya! You’re here—please, come and sit here,” ma’am said, gesturing toward the sofa.
I went over and sat down quietly. And of course, that suar was seated right in front of me.

Aww… was he still angry?

He looked surprisingly good like that—angry, brooding. I couldn’t help watching.
He was staring straight at me, fury blazing in his eyes, as if the only reason he hadn’t pounced on me already was that other people were present.
And honestly, he seemed to believe I’d just sit there and let him eat me alive. As if.

Should I annoy this jerk a little more?

I subtly moved my left hand forward, curled it into a fist, then rotated my right fist like a wheel, and slowly raised my middle finger.

He saw it.

And I’m pretty sure I poured oil straight onto his already raging fire.
I struggled to keep a straight face, but apparently not everyone was as successful. When I glanced up, I saw Aryan and Dhruv laughing while looking at him.

Don’t tell me!

They saw me flipping him off, didn’t they?!
I coughed, trying to maintain a semblance of composure in front of the two of them.
If this man is here, it means he’s a member of this house. And judging by the way he behaved earlier, it almost feels like his father rules this place.
Which meant—if I was thinking straight—this suar was the very person who had brought me here.
Which meant he is the arrogant son of Radha ma’am.
Oh.
Great.
Fuck you arya.
But it wasn’t my fault. In that argument, every bit of blame belonged to this insufferable jer—
“Arya!”
Ma’am’s voice suddenly rang in my ears.
“Where have you been all this time? I’ve been calling you for ages!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said quickly. “I must have been lost in my thoughts—I didn’t hear you calling.”
“I want all of you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say,” she continued.
Wait—was she saying this only to her family?
Then why had she called me here?
“Siddharth,” she said, turning to look at him.
“And Arya,” she added, her gaze shifting to me, her expression the same.

“I’ve decided to hold your reception on the 25th of this month.”
What—?!
Reception?!
“Excuse me, ma’am, I—”
“Maa—what do you mean by reception?” he demanded. “What kind of reception?”
I agree with what he said.
What kind of reception are we talking about?
There are actually two types of receptions. One is the kind held in hotels, where guests are formally welcomed and accommodated. The other is the kind that takes place after a major event — you know what I mean.
“I’m doing all of this for you and Arya. If we have to tell the whole world anyway, why not announce it properly with a celebration? Not secretly… like you did last night.”
“What are you trying to say?” I asked her, but she completely ignored me.
Rude.
“Mom, I don’t even know this girl. You’re misunderstanding something,” he said.
He’s right, I guess. Maybe his mom really misunderstood something.
But how could there be such a misunderstanding? I don’t even know this man. I had never met him before… the first time I saw him was this morning.
And look at his mom, she blew the whole thing out of proportion and took it all the way to marriage.
Seriously!!
She didn’t say a word. Instead, she started laughing, then laughing even harder.
Is she okay!
She pulled out her phone, tapped on it for a moment, and turned the screen toward us.
“Do you recognise this?”
Oh.
My.
God.
The photo is showing isn’t anything inappropriate,
It’s an Instagram post… and not just any post. It’s from the university’s official page.”
On the screen, a man stood behind the women, his arm wrapped around her waist as if it belonged there. His chin rested comfortably on her shoulder, his lips curved in an easy smile.
The women stood quietly in front of him. Her neck was slightly tilted to other side… almost as if she had made space for him.
How cute, right?
Wait.
Something felt… strange.
A strange uneasiness crawled up my spine,
I took the phone from Ma’am’s hand.
I needed to see the picture properly.
Because for some reason—one I couldn’t explain—the women in that photo looked painfully familiar.
My fingers tightened around the phone as I zoomed in. My breath slowed. My heart… didn’t.
The women standing in that photo…
is me.

My mind refused to process it. How’s that even possible?
What was I doing with this idiot?
And why was he holding me like that?
My eyes moved upward, scanning the image again—slowly, carefully.
And then I saw it.
A thin streak of red in the parting of my hair.
Sindoor.
My chest tightened. No… no, that couldn’t be—
Suddenly the phone was snatched out of my hands.
But I didn’t even look up to see who had taken it.
Because in that last second,
just before the screen disappeared, I had read the caption under the photo.
Caption: Just married.
What… what is this?!
“Let me delete this ,” he said sharply. “It makes no sense. It’s nonsense—” “Oh?” she snapped and snatch the phone fromhis hands. “So now all of this feels like nonsense to you?”

She shouted—so loudly that it made me flinch. Yet her eyes were shining with tears, as though they might spill at any moment.
Radha ma’am stepped forward towards him. I seated, frozen, unable to react—because I couldn’t remember a single thing about what had happened to me yesterday. I didn’t remember yesterday at all. In fact, I was only realising now that I had supposedly met her elder son yesterday. And on top of that, this post.

“Maa, it’s just a post,” he said, standing in front of her. “Delete it. What difference does it make? We didn’t actually get married.”
He tried to take the phone from her, but she pulled it away and shot him a sharp glare.
“Didn’t get married?” she said coldly. “And what if I tell you that the two of you actually did?”
Wait.
I wasn’t sure I was understanding this correctly… but I had heard that right, hadn’t I?
“You mean to say… we actually got married yesterday?” I asked.
I hoped—desperately—that ma’am would say no. Because just this morning, I noticed the red colour in the parting of my hair. I hadn’t thought much of it then. I never imagined it was sindoor.
I should have understood right then.
Ma’am’s expression didn’t change at all. She just looked at me.
And then she simply nodded her head, as if she had no other choice left.
A surge of anger burned inside me, directed mostly at myself. How could I be so irresponsible? I had drunk so much last night that I remembered nothing. Not a single thing. And my friends— And where were my friends while all of this was happening to me?, As far as I could remember, we were all together at the party last night. how could they be so careless, so unconcerned about me even now?

“How can you be so sure? This could easily be AI.
The words slipped out of my mouth faster than I could think, almost like a reflex. My mind desperately searched for something—anything—that could make sense of the situation..
“It’s the modern age. Anything is possible now. Someone might just be playing a prank.”
Yes. That had to be it.
People did things like that all the time these days. With AI, anyone could create fake photos, fake videos—fake anything. Faces, voices, entire moments that had never even happened.
The more I thought about it, the more convincing the idea became.
AI could easily put someone’s face on another person’s body. It could generate pictures so realistic that even experts struggled to tell the difference. If it could fool professionals, then obviously it could fool us too.
Exactly. That had to be the explanation.
There was no way I had married that man. No way I had stood beside him with sindoor in my hair while he held me like that.
Someone had made this. Someone had edited it.
AI was already famous for things like this creating chaos, destroying reputations, turning someone’s life upside down with a single fake image.
A strange sense of relief slowly crept into my chest.
Of course.
I had been panicking for nothing.
This had to be AI.
It had to be.
Ma’am scoffed, the sound sharp enough to slice through my fragile explanation. For a moment, she simply looked at me, as if my words had amused her more than convinced her.
Then she spoke.
“Last night, at precisely one o’clock, Siddharth called me.
‘Mom, please come quickly,’ he said. ‘I want to get married. How can I do it without you?’ I assumed he and his friend Shikhar were drunk again, putting on another one of their dramas. So I replied casually, ‘Fine, then video-call me and show me the wedding.’”

A bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “I didn’t even have two seconds to process it, and the very next moment, I was attending my own son’s wedding, on a Goddam video call.”
My knees nearly gave way beneath me. I couldn’t understand what kind of cruel joke this was. Truly—had I really gotten married? The thought refused to settle in my mind. I wanted to cry desperately, but I couldn't.
“So, Arya beta… main, Pratigya, Ishani, Dhruv aur Aryan,” she pointed them all.
“Hum sab tum dono ki shaadi ka jeeta-jaagta proof hain.
Humne poore raaste car mein tumhari shaadi dekhte hue bitayi hai. Humne tum dono ko bahut awaaz di, samjhane ki koshish ki, lekin tum logon ne kuch suna hi kahan. Tum dono toh phere lene mein hi busy the.”
What was left for me to say now? There was nothing left to be said, and more importantly, I didn’t even have the face to say anything.
Siddharth's wide eyes shift from his mom to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t know why.
He trips over his feet in an attempt to get away. Although he is quick to regain his balance.
All the colour drains from his face as he reaches for the couch.
looks like ise bhi kaal raat ka kuch yaad nhi hai
“ I gues—” My response is cut off as his eyes roll to the back of his head.
His legs give out from underneath him, and his body falls forward.

Mr Rabbit has fainted!

It didn’t take long. Soon, his brothers surrounded him and began trying to lift him. Dhruv picked him up and seated him on the couch. After that, his entire family gathered around, busy trying to revive him.

Should I stand there with them, too? But then again, what difference did it make? That scoundrel already occupied the place where I should have been standing. I mean, after hearing all this, I should have been the one to faint, not him.

Now come on, Arya, at least have a little modesty. Your husband has fainted.