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Ivaan sat in his room, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. He stared blankly at the papers strewn across his desk, the once-urgent purpose now meaningless. His mind was a storm, torn between loyalty and desire, between what was right and what felt inevitable.

One sentence. That's all it had taken for his brother to shift Ivaan's entire perspective on the alliance.

His best friend—would never forgive him if he supported this. 

His brother.

The one constant in his life, the man who had quietly carried the weight of their family's legacy since their mother's untimely death.

Nirvaan had never wanted to stay in this house. The memories were too vivid, too suffocating. Every creak of the floorboards, every scent in the air, was a haunting reminder of their mother. Yet, he could never leave it. To leave was to abandon the last tangible threads of her presence.

But for Nivya, Nirvaan was willing to uproot himself. For her comfort, so she wouldn't feel stifled in a house filled with men and he had decided to find a new place. A fresh start.

The thought both warmed and tormented Ivaan.

How could he betray his best friend like this? Yet, how could he deny his brother the chance at happiness?

He rubbed his face, sighing deeply as the weight of his internal battle pressed down on him.

Nivya would hate him. She wouldn't understand.

But deep down, Ivaan knew—knew that if Nivya ever gave Nirvaan a chance, everything could change.

Nirvaan was patient, steady, a man of quiet strength. And Nivya... Nivya loved love. She worshipped it. It wasn't just an emotion for her; it was her way of life. Even after everything, she always had this strong faith over love.

If she ever let herself fall for Nirvaan, truly fall, Ivaan was certain she would pour her soul into making their relationship a success.

She was stubborn, unpredictable, and fiery—qualities that would make her a challenge. But she was also loyal, loving, and full of life. Once she committed to something, she gave it everything she had.

Ivaan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a betrayal. Maybe it was fate.

Maybe Nirvaan deserved someone like Nivya to challenge him, to breathe life back into the parts of him that had been dead for so long.

And maybe... just maybe... his brother would finally prioritize love over duty.

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Nivya sat in the corner of her room, her back straight against the cold wall. The persistent knock on the door echoed in the silence, but she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the bright sun blazing outside, its light a cruel contrast to the darkness swirling within her.

She felt trapped, like a bird whose wings had been bound with a stone, struggling to lift itself off the ground. Freedom was so close, yet so unattainable.

If she told her mother the truth—that this family had manipulated her, using love as a weapon to blackmail her into compliance—it would shatter her mother's heart. But what about her? What about the fractures growing inside her own soul?

It was her life. And yet, she had no say in it. She wasn't even allowed to decide whether she was ready for a commitment as monumental as marriage, let alone choose her life partner.

Once she was married, there would be no turning back. Nirvaan wasn't the kind of man to abandon his responsibilities, no matter how suffocating they became.

That thought made her chest tighten.

She didn't want to be someone's responsibility. She didn't want to be a burden, a duty that Nirvaan carried out with quiet stoicism. She could already imagine how it would be—living in his shadow, treated with respect but never love.

She didn't want respect born out of obligation. She didn't want to be someone's liability.

A tear escaped her eye, sliding down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away, as if erasing the evidence of her vulnerability. She heard the door creak open and saw her mother step in, carrying a plate of food.

Her mother's presence only added to her turmoil.

She resented her—resented the weakness that had brought them to this point. Her mother, so sacrificial, so eager to please on the altar of love. A little affection was all it took for her mother to bend, to lose herself entirely in the pursuit of her husband's approval.

Why couldn't she be stronger?

If her mother had stood up for herself, even once, maybe Nivya wouldn't be trapped in this suffocating cycle. Maybe she wouldn't have to endure the same fate.

The result? A legacy of sacrifices and compromises that now fell squarely on Nivya's shoulders.

As her mother set the plate down on the table beside her, Nivya looked away. Her throat tightened with unsaid words, unspoken accusations, and a desperate longing to break free. But for now, she swallowed it all, her silence heavier than any words could ever be.

"Are you happy?" Nivya's voice trembled as she looked at her mother, her question heavy with unspoken emotions.

Shalini blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard by her daughter's sudden inquiry.

"Matlab?" she asked softly, cupping Nivya's cheeks in her hands. But Nivya, unable to bear the weight of her emotions, pulled away.

"Why are you so weak, Maa?" Nivya's voice broke as she spoke, the vulnerability evident in every word. "Why can't you stand up for us the way Chachi does? They always take advantage of the weak, and you... you always give them that chance."

Shalini's expression faltered, her gaze softening as she looked at her daughter, but Nivya could see the guilt creeping into her eyes.

"Your Nana never loved my mother, but look at me. Your father loves me," Shalini said, her voice soft, as if trying to offer reassurance, though it only caused Nivya's heart to ache.

"Maa, love isn't everything," Nivya whispered, the words heavy with sadness. "He doesn't respect you. He gives you a sliver of his attention, and that's enough for you." Her eyes welled with tears, knowing this conversation would likely never change anything.

She understood, perhaps more than anyone, that her father loved her mother, but not in the way she deserved. He loved her not because of her beauty or strength, but simply because he did. Behind closed doors, in the quiet spaces where only they existed, Shalini shone, like a blooming flower. But in front of his family, her father couldn't find the courage to stand by her. He had tried once, but it had ended in failure.

Shalini's eyes clouded with frustration, as if the weight of Nivya's words had become too much.

"What do you want?" she said, her voice hardening. "At least he doesn't treat me the way your Chacha treats your Chachi."

Nivya could hear the raw pain in her mother's voice, the years of compromise and quiet suffering. Shalini wiped the tears from her face, and though she tried to act strong, Nivya saw the cracks beneath.

Shalini placed the plate of food in front of Nivya, the aroma familiar and comforting. It was the food she grew up with—her favorite dishes, prepared with love. Kadai paneer, dal tadka, butter-filled chapatis, gajar halwa, karela, and a glass of chilled buttermilk.

But Nivya couldn't bring herself to feel comforted by it.

"I'm not hungry," she said quietly, pushing the plate aside as she stood up and walked toward the bed.

"Beta, please," Shalini pleaded, her voice soft with concern. "You didn't eat anything this morning either."

Nivya felt the weight of her mother's care, but it only pushed her further away. She wanted to scream, to make her mother understand that love wasn't enough, that sometimes, it was not just the food that mattered. It was the silence, the resignation, the compromises that left their family broken in so many ways.

"I'll have something if I want to," Nivya said, her voice steady but distant. She turned and walked toward the washroom, not looking back as the sound of her mother's sighs lingered in the air.

Shalini stood frozen, the plate of food untouched, as if the love she poured into it couldn't fix the distance growing between her and her daughter.

Nivya stood in front of the mirror in the washroom, her face reflecting the turmoil she felt inside. She touched her face, feeling the tear stains she hadn't even realized were there. She didn't want to be angry, but everything seemed so unfair.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather herself, to breathe deeply and regain control. But it was hard. Too hard.

She had been raised to think that love would conquer everything. That if two people loved each other enough, nothing else would matter. But she had learned, the hard way, that love alone wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to heal wounds, to erase years of silence, of compromises made in the name of duty and family.

Her mother loved her father. That much was clear. But her mother also worshipped him in a way that made her weak. She gave up parts of herself—her independence, her voice, even her happiness—just to keep the illusion of peace. And Nivya could see that now, more than ever.

She wanted to scream at her mother for not fighting for herself. She wanted her to stand up, to demand respect, to walk away from the silent cages they had built around themselves. But instead, she stayed silent, played the role of the dutiful wife, the loving mother.

Nivya's breath hitched. Was that what she was supposed to become? Was she supposed to marry Nirvaan and accept a life of responsibility, of duty, without ever questioning it? Was she meant to surrender her desires, her hopes, her freedom, just to fit into the mold of what was expected of her?

She turned away from the mirror, staring at the closed door of the washroom, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.

What did she want? What did she deserve?

Nivya clenched her fists.

"I deserve more than this," she whispered to herself, her voice raw. She couldn't keep living like this. She couldn't keep pretending everything was okay when it wasn't.

She had to find a way out.

At the back of her mind, she knew there was no escape.

Nivya's heart sank as that thought crept into her mind. It lingered like a shadow, growing darker with each passing second. There was no way out. No easy escape from the life that had been laid out for her, no simple solution to the tangled web of family expectations, duty, and tradition.

She could feel the walls closing in around her again, suffocating her with their weight. She had always thought there might be a way—an escape, a chance for freedom. But now, in this quiet moment of truth, she knew it was a lie she had told herself.

Marriage to Nirvaan, her fate, had already been sealed long before she even had the chance to question it. He would never leave her. Not because he loved her, but because he had been raised to carry his responsibilities without fail. He would protect her, sure, but only because she was now part of his burden. She would never be his equal, never his partner in love. She would always be his responsibility. And no matter how much she wished things were different, she knew that once she married him, there was no turning back.

She was tired—tired of pretending, tired of fighting an impossible battle. But most of all, she was tired of the feeling that no matter what decision she made, she would always lose.

She leaned her forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, feeling the silent tears well up again. How had everything become so complicated? She had once dreamt of a life full of freedom, of love, of being able to make her own choices. But now? Now, she was nothing but a pawn in a game of family politics.

Her mother's soft voice echoed in her mind, and she could feel the weight of her own helplessness pressing down on her. What would Maa do? How could she live a life where love didn't mean the freedom to choose, but simply an obligation to serve, to endure?

There was no way out, no escape from the life she was being forced into. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But the bitter truth was that the hardest part wasn't knowing there was no way out—it was realizing that she had never had a choice in the first place.

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Nirvaan pressed his hand to his forehead, his sleek fingers applying just enough pressure to soothe the ache. He hadn't slept a wink all night, his mind racing with thoughts that wouldn't settle. He didn't want more responsibility in his life — he already had enough to carry.

Women expect things, he thought. They nurture, they care, but he wasn't the one who could provide those things.

Once married, Nivya would expect his attention, his love, his care. But a man as cold, as heartless, and as monstrous as him could never give her any of that.

He was undeniably attracted to her, and he knew it. The day before, when he saw her at the restaurant, he had been captivated. She looked effortlessly stunning in a simple off-shoulder top and jeans. But what truly mesmerized him were her eyes — a captivating blend of green and blue, like nature meeting the ocean. They were so striking that he couldn't help but find his gaze drawn to her, even without realizing it. The way she carried herself so carefree made it clear that she had no idea about their impending alliance.

But despite the physical attraction, he didn't feel anything deeper, nor was he willing to. Feelings would only complicate things, and he wasn't ready for that.

He didn't need love. He needed someone by his side who came from a powerful background, someone who could elevate his status in society. People already feared him, and this alliance would only solidify that.

Nivya was exactly what he needed — beautiful, graceful, elegant, powerful, strong, and undeniably attractive. She was the kind of woman he'd want in his life. He despised weakness and docility. Such people would be nothing but a burden. But Nivya... she was different. She seemed like the type who would rather jump off a building than let him be the one to save  her.

And above all, it was the perfection she embodied. He could easily imagine what it would be like, to worship a woman of her caliber, someone so captivating in every way. 

She would look perfect by his side—everything aligned: her beauty, her status, and even in bed.

He shook his head firmly. No woman, no matter how beautiful or alluring, had ever been able to seduce him, and he intended to keep it that way. The little hurricane, no matter how captivating, would be no exception.

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In the evening, the Rathods and Sekhawats gathered under one roof, the room humming with the steady cadence of business conversations. Nirvaan sat in a corner, nursing a cup of masala chai, his sharp gaze drifting across the assembly of familiar faces. He had encountered people like this countless times—different names, different masks, but the same suffocating fakeness.

A while later, a teenage boy sauntered in, dressed casually in basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Nirvaan's eyes flickered to him briefly, assessing the new presence.

The boy, catching Nirvaan's glance, rolled his eyes and made his way toward the stairs. His casual indifference was abruptly interrupted by a commanding voice.

"Revaan, meet your jija sa, Nirvaan Singh Rathod," Rajsekhar Sekhawat, Nivya's grandfather, announced, his tone firm. The words made both Nirvaan and Revaan cringe internally at the overly familiar term.

Revaan barely paused, his steps unfaltering as he continued toward the stairs, the dismissal blatant in his stride. His defiance drew a sharp glare from Rajsekhar, who masked his irritation with a strained smile directed at the gathering.

Rajsekhar's anger flared, and his piercing gaze fell on his younger brother. The man stiffened under the silent command and signaled his son with a subtle nod. Reluctantly, the young man stood and followed Revaan up the stairs, disappearing into the upper floor.

 A while later, Vivek returned, his expression composed yet unreadable. Shortly after, Revaan followed, now dressed in a plain T-shirt and joggers, his casual attire an unspoken rebellion against the formality of the occasion.

"Radhe Krishna," Revaan mumbled in a hoarse voice, barely glancing at anyone as he sat down beside his father. His demeanor was indifferent, his presence almost begrudging.

Gautam Rathod, Nirvaan's grandfather, cast a disapproving look at Revaan, his disappointment evident. However, he merely nodded curtly, choosing silence over confrontation.

Moments later, the soft rustle of fabric turned heads as Nivya descended the stairs. She was draped in a striking red anarkali that clung to her form with graceful elegance, accentuating her delicate curves. The vibrant ensemble contrasted sharply with the exhaustion hidden beneath her makeup— the dark circles under her eyes masked expertly.

Her face was a blank canvas, stoic and impassive, yet her eyes betrayed the storm within—a silent cry for control in a life spiraling beyond her grasp. Her mother, chachi, and Nitya flanked her, offering support that seemed more ceremonial than heartfelt. They guided her to sit beside Nirvaan, a carefully choreographed moment drenched in silent tension.

Nirvaan remained rigid, his gaze fixed ahead, betraying no emotion. His face was unreadable, like that of a man negotiating a business deal—only this time, the contract wasn't for profits or partnerships. It was a commitment for a lifetime.

Nivya turned her gaze towards Nirvaan, her heart sinking with a painful weight. This was the man she was tying her life to—a man who hadn't spared her so much as a single glance. How was she supposed to endure a lifetime of such cold indifference, of existing in the shadow of his unyielding hostility?

A while later, the Roka ceremony concluded, sealing their fates. Whether by choice or compulsion, their paths were now irrevocably intertwined, bound together in a journey neither had fully embraced yet could no longer escape.

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The journey to miles begins with Roka<3

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