Nivya Sekhawat

My fate is sealed.

I will never fall in love.

I will never know the beauty of that fleeting phase—the thrill of falling, the warmth of being held in someone's heart.

I will live, but I won't truly live.

Why is it that the things we yearn for with every fiber of our being are the very things that keep slipping further away?

My dreams—a small, cozy house built with love, a life filled with shared laughter, trips to unknown places, and children born out of love—seem like distant, unreachable stars.

I never asked for more than a simple, normal life. Yet, that seems to be the hardest thing to achieve.

Nirvaan didn't even glance at me once during the entire Roka ceremony.

How am I supposed to live with someone who doesn't even acknowledge my existence, let alone see me for who I am?

Nirvaan is a man carved out of ice—cold, stoic, and terrifyingly enigmatic. There's a mythical air about him, as though he exists in a realm untouched by the ordinary rules of humanity.

Cruelty lingers in the subtle sharpness of his words, though his voice never rises a pitch. It doesn't need to. His eyes burn with a quiet fury that demands obedience without question.

Love is a foreign concept to him, something he neither seeks nor believes in. He was not made for it, and he never will be. His heart belongs elsewhere—to power, wealth, and status. These are the pillars of his existence, the things he craves with unwavering resolve. 

To him, this alliance isn't about companionship or emotion. It's a calculated move, a means to fortify his position in society and tighten his grip on the world he seeks to command.

I don't want to live the life my Maa and Chachi have endured—a life defined by submission, where love is overshadowed by power and control.

They expect me to succumb, to bow under the weight of influence and expectations. But the mere thought of it terrifies me. Spending a lifetime with him, being reduced to a responsibility he bears out of duty, not affection.

The idea of having children with a man I don't even love, of building a life devoid of warmth and connection, sends chills through me. How do I accept this fate when it feels like I'm surrendering every dream I've ever cherished?

It has been a day since our Roka. The man didn't even ask for my number, let alone call me. Yet here I am, informed that I will be married to him by the middle of next month.

My life feels like a sinking ship, drowning in the vast ocean of power plays and expectations.

I want to run away, to escape this suffocating web. But it's futile. My grandfather and the man I am supposed to marry are both too influential. No matter where I hide, they will find me, pull me back, and force me into this marriage.

Why can't Papa see that he is not the right choice for me? Why can't he stand up to his family, just this once? Why does his silence feel like a betrayal?

Lost in these thoughts, I didn't even realize when sleep finally claimed me.

The next time I opened my eyes, my brother was sitting by my side, gently caressing my hair. His own eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Did he think I blamed him for what was happening to me? No, I didn't. I couldn't.

He was the one constant in my life, the warmth that this cold, unfeeling palace had failed to provide. He had always been there for me, standing tall against the family that tried to crush me, even though he was younger than me.

He switched on the light, and I instinctively turned away. "I'm not hungry," I muttered. And I wasn't. My appetite vanishes when I'm upset or anxious.

He urged me to eat, his tone soft yet persistent. But I only turned further away, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears.

"You haven't eaten in two days," he reminded me, his voice heavy with concern. But his words only deepened my frustration. Did anyone really care? My mother did, I suppose, but even she bowed to the family's orders to withhold food until I gave in.

"I don't care," I mumbled into my pillow, burying my face deeper into its softness. The pillow, at least, had the decency to soak up my tears without judgment.

But what he said next shattered my defenses.

"I care, Dii. More than anyone. If there's one person I'd do anything for, it's you."

The raw sincerity in his voice broke me. I turned to him, tears flowing freely now as I flung myself into his arms. I held him tightly, soaking his shirt with my grief, and he held me just as tightly, his hand running soothingly over my back. I could feel his own tears falling, silent and steady, mingling with my pain.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours—me sobbing, him offering quiet comfort. For once, it felt like I wasn't entirely alone in this storm.

Eventually, I pulled myself together and headed to the washroom. The mirror reflected the wreckage of my emotions—red, swollen eyes, dark circles, a pale, tear-streaked face, and hair that looked as chaotic as I felt.

I splashed cool water on my face, the sting grounding me momentarily. Then, grabbing the bottle of rosewater, I spritzed it on my skin, letting its coolness soothe me.

When I returned to my room, I sat silently on the edge of the bed. A question escaped my lips, one I had asked countless times before. He usually brushed it aside, but today, he answered.

"Why was I born a girl in this house?"

He looked at me, his gaze unwavering, his voice steady.

"Because this world needed you, Dii. You're the light in all this darkness. You're the one who can change things, even if it's hard. Especially because it's hard."

His words lit a small, fragile flame of hope within me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I could fight. Maybe I could endure this.

And maybe, just maybe, I would make life a living hell for everyone who thought they could break me.

Let them marry me off. They had no idea what they were unleashing.

After that, he insisted on feeding me himself, refusing to take no for an answer. I didn't have the energy to argue. Bite by bite, he coaxed me into eating, his quiet patience somehow more comforting than words could ever be.

Once I was done, he leaned back with a small, satisfied smile and, began to hum softly. The melody was familiar, one of my favorites that he used to sing to cheer me up.

His voice, though not perfect, carried a warmth that wrapped around me like a blanket. I closed my eyes, letting the tune carry away my worries, even if just for a while.

I didn't even realize when sleep claimed me. The last thing I remember was the soft cadence of his voice and the gentle rustle of his movements as he tucked the blanket around me.

By the time I woke up, he was gone, leaving behind only the faint memory of his song and the lingering sense of being cared for.

I took a deep breath. I wasn't going to sit in a corner and cry. Today was Monday, my first day on the job, and I wasn't going to let this marriage chain me down.

The clock read five in the morning as I headed to the washroom. After my morning routine, I spent half an hour doing yoga to center myself before hopping into a quick shower.

I changed into beige pants, a white top, and a plain, short-sleeve linen crop blazer. Sitting in front of my dressing table, I faced the reflection I didn't want to see. My skin was dry, my eyes were swollen and red, and my lips cracked. I looked like a princess trapped in the body of a beggar.

Jeena na haraam kardiya toh mera naam bhi Nivya Sekhawat nahi.

The alarm buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. I removed the mask and went through my skincare routine, concealing the dark circles under my eyes. A touch of kohl along my waterline and a swipe of nude lipstick, and I finally looked like myself again — pretty, radiant. My eyes, a perfect mix of blue and green, were my best feature. The only good thing I inherited from this family. Dadi always told me my great-grandmother had the same eyes.

Tying my hair into a sleek ponytail with a middle part, I slipped on golden studs, then reached for a tiny diamond pair and gently placed them into my other piercings.

I grabbed a golden wristwatch and slipped it onto my wrist, then pulled on black formal pumps. After grabbing my handbag, I left the house, careful to sneak out unnoticed. I didn't want my first day to be ruined, especially considering my history with this family.

Just as I reached the door, my cousin called out to me, stopping me in my tracks.

I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. It was Monday, and she hadn't even gone to school yet.

"Dii, you're going to work?" Nitya asked softly, hiding something behind her.

I nodded, and her face broke into a smile. She came towards me, pulling out a chocolate and offering it to me.

"All the best. I love you," she said with such vulnerability that it made my eyes water. I smiled, hugged her close, and kissed the crown of her head.

"Thank you. Bye," I whispered, pulling away as the valet brought my car. I slid into the driver's seat and headed to my favorite restaurant. I needed to fill up before the day really began.

As I honked, I realized where I was headed. The place I was about to work at... belonged to him. The very man I was about to marry, the one I didn't want anything to do with.

I sighed, hoping to avoid him on my first day. A run-in would only make things worse.

I parked my car in front of the same restaurant I visited two days ago, ordered pancakes and coffee, and hurried through my meal. Time was slipping away, so I quickly paid the bill and drove off to the head office where I was supposed to report.

I parked the car and grabbed my handbag as I stepped out.

No doubt, this was one of the most successful companies worldwide. Nirvaan had grown the business tenfold in just seven years. The man was a prodigy; everything he touched turned to gold.

The company spanned across four buildings, with the central one being the tallest in the entire city. I sighed softly as I pulled my ID card from my bag and clipped it on, walking toward the entrance. I had worked tirelessly to land this job, determined to carve my own path as a successful architect. Nothing was going to stop me from achieving my dream.

I stepped out of my car and walked into the building, my heart pounding as I approached the receptionist. She told me the orientation for new hires would be on the eighth floor.

I nodded, passing through the access control system with my ID card and heading toward the elevator. The familiar woody scent hit me before I could stop myself. Him. I had only smelled that fragrance two days ago, yet it already felt like it belonged to him. The scent was warm and soft, completely at odds with his cold and ruthless personality. Why the hell do I even think of him like this? I mentally shook myself.

But just as I was about to enter the elevator, I saw him — Nirvaan — standing beside his secretary. My heart lurched, and for a moment, I felt trapped in my own thoughts. Should I step out of the lift? Should I leave?

But then his secretary asked, "Which floor?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and muttered, "Eighth." My finger pressed the button with a little too much force, but I didn't care.

The elevator hummed quietly, and I could feel Nirvaan's presence behind me. His silence was like an oppressive weight pressing against my chest. I wasn't afraid of him, but something about being near him made me feel like I couldn't breathe.

We reached the eighth floor. As I stepped out, my heel caught in the gap between the elevator and the floor. My heart stopped.

But before I could fall, a hand gripped my waist, steadying me. Nirvaan's touch was firm and unyielding. I quickly pulled myself away, stepping out of his grasp before he could even pull his hand back.

His eyes lingered on me, his gaze calculating, as if making sure I was okay. Then, just as quickly as the moment had happened, he looked away.

I tried to calm my racing heart, but my thoughts were a tangled mess. 

His secretary looked at me, still shocked by the interaction, but I ignored him and walked out of the elevator. My first day at work — and Nirvaan had already managed to mess with my mind. I couldn't afford this. I had to focus.

The day went by surprisingly well, considering the circus my life had become. I was surrounded by three people from the same college I graduated from, one of them being my close friend, Laksh. But he was acting off today—distant, distracted, and like something was bothering him.

Everyone by now had heard the news about my upcoming marriage to Nirvaan. The announcement two days ago had caused a huge stir in the business world and flooded the media. It felt like the entire world was now watching, dissecting every little detail of my life.

I couldn't escape it.

All I wanted was a simple, hassle-free life, but all I was getting was a life full of drama, filled with power plays, media scrutiny, and a marriage that was never of my choosing. 

As I walked back home, I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge anyone. I headed straight to my room, determined to block out everything and everyone.

But I could still hear my grandmother's murmurs drifting through the hallway. "Ladki haath se nikalti jaa rahi hai." {The girl is slipping away.}

Frankly, I didn't care. They had done everything in their power to ruin my life, yet they still expected me to respect them. It made my blood boil. If only three murders could be forgiven, I'd make sure to rid the world of their presence. At least then, I'd gain some sort of virtuous blessing, because these people—they deserve nothing but hell.

I slammed the door shut behind me, needing to be alone, needing the silence to drown out their voices. My mind was a whirlwind of frustration, anger, and despair.

I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow. I wanted to scream, to shout, to break everything around me. But what was the point? No one would listen, no one would care. I felt invisible, suffocated in this suffocating world of power and control.

This wasn't the life I had dreamed of. This wasn't what I wanted. And yet, here I was—trapped.

-----

Nivya is strong but still, trapped. 

Next POV is Nirvaan's.

Thankyou<3