Nivya's phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with an incoming call. Her lips tightened, eyes narrowing as she saw the name flash across the display. With a sharp intake of breath, she rejected it, her thumb lingering over the screen.
"Another one," she muttered under her breath. This would be his fourth number she'd block.
But before she could hit the block button, her phone buzzed again. The familiar ringtone echoed, breaking her resolve. This time, the caller ID read:
Dhokebaaz Chamcha 🥄
Her jaw clenched. Ivaan.
Anger bubbled up within her—a fury that had been simmering for over a month. She hadn't spoken to him, hadn't seen him, despite his countless attempts to reach her. And yet, here he was, trying again.
"What the hell do you want, devar ji?" Nivya snapped, her voice sharp as she finally answered the call. The sound of a deep inhale came from the other end, followed by silence.
"Nivya, just... hear me out. Please," Ivaan's voice broke slightly, laced with exhaustion and desperation. A month without his best friend had been unbearable, the silence eating away at him.
"Speak," she muttered, sinking onto her bed. Leaning back against the headrest, she pressed her free hand to her temple, already worn out from the day.
"I swear, I talked to Bhai," Ivaan began, his words tumbling out with a soft sigh. "But he's set on this, Nivya. He's determined to marry you. I... I can't change his mind."
Her grip on the phone tightened, her breath hitching. She could hear the guilt in Ivaan's tone—guilt for not standing up to his brother and, perhaps, guilt for wanting her to be a part of his family.
"My brother is not bad, neither a tyrant. He would love you," Ivaan said, his voice steady, but all he got in return was a bitter laugh from the other end.
"Ivaan, do you think I'm stupid? 'He would love me'? Mera pagal mat banao. Your brother only knows how to fulfill his responsibilities. He's marrying me because of that promise, passed onto us like some legacy," Nivya snapped, her tone sharp, her fingers tightening around the phone. She bit the inside of her cheek, desperately holding back the tears threatening to spill.{Don't make a fool out of me.}
"He's really good," Ivaan murmured, his loyalty toward his brother evident in every word.
Her anger flared. "I never said he's bad! He's just not the kind of life partner I ever imagined for myself. And above all, I'm just twenty-two, Ivaan. Marriage is nowhere on my bucket list—especially not with him," she lashed out, her voice rising before deflating into exhaustion. The weight of her reality pressed down on her. Twenty days. That's all she had before the wedding. She'd resigned herself to it, ready or not.
"You know how your family is, Nivya," Ivaan said softly, trying to reason with her. "If not my brother, there would be someone else. My brother isn't bad. He might seem cold on the surface, but trust me, he has the purest heart, and he would really take care of you. Woh sirf pyaar ke liye bane hain, Nivya, aur dekhna, ek din tum bhi meri baat maano gi."{He is made for love, Nivya, and one day, you'll see that I'm right.}
His words hung in the air as she sat in silence, listening, her heart heavy. She shook her head, straightening her back, and opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.
"And above all, didn't you always say that he's carved by God in His leisure time? How handsome he is? Just think—you'll get to enjoy all those toned muscles, that body, and that face all to yourself," Ivaan teased, a mischievous lilt in his voice as he tried to lighten the mood.
Nivya's cheeks flushed a deep pink at the reminder. She hated how easily Ivaan could get under her skin. Back in their school days, she had been completely besotted with Nirvaan—just like most of the girls. He was the unreachable star, the kind of guy every girl wanted to be noticed by.
She had been no different, a small part of the crowd vying for his attention. Except, she'd gotten lucky. His gaze had landed on her a few times, but only because she was always hanging out with his younger brother.
"The only two good things your brother has—beauty and brains. No heart," Nivya quipped with an exaggerated eye roll, her toes tapping impatiently against the floor. Yet, despite her snark, her mind betrayed her, already mapping out Nirvaan's perfectly chiseled features.
"Leave all this. Are you free?" she asked suddenly, her tone softening as she set her phone to speaker mode and poured herself a glass of water.
"Hmm... why?" Ivaan's voice was laced with confusion.
"Let's go clubbing. My treat," she said, gulping down the cool water. "I got my first salary today."
"I thought you'd use it to buy gifts for your family," Ivaan blurted out, then instantly regretted his words.
Nivya's smile vanished. Her tone turned bitter. "Which family are you talking about? I already bought gifts—for myself, Nitya, and Revaan. No one else in this family cares about my professional achievements." She stared at the glass in her hand, her gaze distant, as if searching for something she'd long since lost.
Ivaan hesitated before responding. "Okay then. Let's meet at our regular club. Do you want to call Mahi, Rohan, and Laksh?"
"No. Just the two of us," she said curtly before hanging up. Tossing her phone onto the bed, she made her way to her closet, ready to lose herself in the fleeting escape of the night.
After a refreshing shower, Nivya slipped into a golden satin off-shoulder dress that hugged her figure perfectly and stopped mid-thigh. The dress was both sultry and elegant, striking a balance that made her feel confident yet comfortable.
At her vanity, she applied a flawless layer of makeup, opting for a soft, neutral palette that enhanced her natural beauty. A swipe of nude lipstick completed the look, and she paired it with delicate stud earrings that shimmered subtly under the light.
Leaving her hair loose, its soft waves cascading over her shoulders, she reached for her footwear—a pair of sparkling silver heels with delicate straps that wound gracefully up to the middle of her calves. With one last glance in the mirror, she grabbed her clutch and headed out, ready to take on the night.
Clubbing wasn't her thing. Not really. But with her wedding looming just days away, Nivya felt an overwhelming need to escape, to feel free—if only for a night.
"Damn," she muttered under her breath, immediately crouching down as she spotted her father and grandfather deep in discussion across the hall.
Biting her lip, she stood for a moment, glancing at her heels. Deciding they'd only slow her down, she quickly slipped them off, holding them in one hand while scanning her surroundings. Her gaze shifted between the grand staircase and her family members
Taking a deep breath, she bent down again, moving stealthily toward the exit, her knees brushing the cold floor. One eye stayed fixed on her grandfather, the other on the staircase.
"I should have sneaked out through the balcony," she grumbled softly, gritting her teeth. But instead of heading for the stairs, she turned to the towering window that loomed near the hallway.
Tossing her heels out onto the grass below, she glanced back once more. Thankfully, her father and grandfather were still too engrossed in their conversation to notice her.
From behind the curtains, she pulled out a long rope—her trusty escape tool—tying it securely to the window latch. With practiced ease, she tucked her clutch into the neckline of her dress and grabbed hold of the rope. Sliding down swiftly, she landed on the soft grass, heart pounding.
This was how she and her brother always snuck out—especially her. The main exit was out of the question, guarded round-the-clock by her grandfather's loyal porters. The back door was no better, often locked by her overzealous grandmother. Their sprawling mansion might as well have been a gilded cage, one that looked lavish from the outside but felt suffocating within.
Once her feet hit the ground, she pulled out her phone, quickly texting her brother.
"Revaan, hide the rope. Now."
Without waiting for a response, she hopped onto a self-balancing scooter and quietly headed toward the exit.
Grabbing her heels, she tiptoed toward the massive wrought-iron gate. The guard stood firmly at his post, but years of sneaking out had taught her how to handle such obstacles. She picked up a small stone and tossed it toward the far end of the yard. As the guard turned to investigate the noise, she seized the moment, slipping out unnoticed with the stealth of someone well-practiced in rebellion.
Reaching her car, parked discreetly around the side of the house, she let out a relieved sigh. She pulled her clutch from its hiding spot, fished out her keys, and slid into the driver's seat.
Once inside, she slipped her heels back on, revved the engine, and finally sped off toward the club.
-----
Arriving at the club, Nivya parked her car, grabbed her clutch, and stepped out, scanning the area for Ivaan. Not spotting him, she sighed and pulled out her phone, dialing his number.
"Where are you?" she demanded the moment he answered.
"Reaching in two minutes," he replied hastily before hanging up.
True to his word, a sleek Land Rover pulled up beside her car less than a minute later.
Damn. This beauty, she thought, momentarily distracted by the luxurious vehicle.
The door swung open, and Ivaan hopped out with an apologetic grin plastered across his face. "Sorry, sorry!" he said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Nivya shot him a glare. "Devar ji, can we go inside now, or are you planning to waste more of my time?" she taunted, her sarcasm sharp.
Ivaan frowned at the jab. "Yaar, I'm your best friend, not just your devar!" he protested, looping an arm around her neck and pulling her into a playful headlock.
Laughing despite herself, Nivya pushed him off, and the two made their way inside. The club was buzzing with energy—a perfect mix of pulsating music, dancing crowds, and delicious aromas wafting from the food counters. The top floor, bathed in a softer glow, housed an upscale restaurant overlooking the dance floor below.
"You want me to click your photos?" Ivaan asked, glancing at his friend, who was swaying energetically to the rhythm of the music.
"Yes! I look so good tonight. I need a few good clicks," Nivya declared, flashing her brightest smile as she grabbed his arm and dragged him toward a quieter corner.
Rolling his eyes with a grin, Ivaan obliged, snapping a few pictures while she struck playful poses. Between laughs, they even took a handful of selfies, her happiness momentarily contagious.
"Let's sit," he suggested, leading her toward a cushioned sofa. Once seated opposite her, he flagged down a waiter for the menu.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked, handing her the menu.
Nivya skimmed through it quickly. "Let's get Caprese skewers, paneer tikka bites, and mini veggie sliders," she said, passing the menu back.
Ivaan nodded and relayed the order to the waiter, who jotted it down before saying, "The order will arrive in the next thirty minutes. Until then, please enjoy." With a polite bow, the waiter disappeared.
Leaning back on the sofa, Ivaan crossed his legs and folded his arms over his chest, fixing her with a curious gaze. "Now, tell me—what's been happening this past month? What are your thoughts?"
Nivya's mood dimmed slightly at his question. "Ivaan, I'm in a good mood. Let's not talk about it."
"Okay, leave that. What about your master's plan?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Still the same. I'll start next year," she shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the glass in front of her before meeting his gaze.
"You'll always find me there beside you, as your best friend," he said softly, giving her a small smile. She returned it, her eyes glistening faintly.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I tried, I really did, but Bhai seems set on marrying you," Ivaan admitted with a sad smile, reaching out to hold her hand.
"I have accepted my fate. Your brother is the destined one. Doesn't matter what I do, I'll be stuck with him. So, let's not talk about him. Please," she pleaded softly, her eyes shifting toward the crowd of young people dancing nearby.
Her eyes lingered on a man by the bar, drowning glass after glass of alcohol. A fleeting, empty smile played on her lips before fading into silence.
"Nivya, if you ever happen to fall in love, let it be with my brother," Ivaan said softly, his voice laced with sincerity. "Trust me, a person like him would give everything—even himself—for the one he loves. Just give him a chance at love. He won't disappoint you."
His words carried a quiet plea, not just for his brother but for her as well. He knew what Nirvaan deserved—a chance to experience the kind of love that could heal and fulfill him after all he had endured. And Nivya, despite her resistance, was the kind of person who, if she ever loved, would do so with her whole being. She just didn't see it yet.
Nivya looked away, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she tried to suppress the storm brewing inside her. "Ivaan, you see your brother through rose-tinted glasses. You don't understand what it feels like to be thrown into a situation where you don't have a choice," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ivaan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes earnest. "I'm not saying it's easy, Nivya. But Bhai isn't like the rest of them. He won't just see you as a duty. You might not believe me now, but one day, you'll see it for yourself."
She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Duty is exactly what defines him, Ivaan. I'm not even sure he knows how to love someone. He's too... calculated, too controlled. How can someone like that give themselves to love?"
"Because that's what makes him different," Ivaan said, his tone firm but gentle. "When he does love, it'll be all-consuming. Bhai isn't the type to do things halfway, Nivya. He's just waiting for the right person to break through those walls. And maybe... maybe that person is you."
Her heart clenched at his words, but she masked it with a scoff, tilting her head. "You really should think about writing romance novels, Ivaan. You've got the flair for it," she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm serious. You two could surprise each other."
Before Nivya could respond, their appetizers arrived. The waiter placed the Caprese skewers, paneer tikka bites, and mini veggie sliders on the table, interrupting the heavy conversation.
"Let's eat," she said quickly, grabbing a skewer and avoiding Ivaan's gaze.
He let it go for now, taking a slider and biting into it. But as he watched her, he couldn't help but hope that, somehow, his brother and his best friend could find a way to heal each other.
-----
"Nivya, this call is important. I'll be back in a bit," Ivaan said, leaning close to her ear over the thumping music. She nodded, her eyes closed as she swayed to the rhythm, completely immersed in the moment.
As he disappeared toward a quieter corner, her eyes lazily drifted to the large glass wall on the far side of the club. Her body froze when she spotted three men outside, holding phones and cameras, their lenses pointed inside.
Her heart dropped as recognition hit her like a tidal wave. One of them was a well-known journalist—a staunch supporter of the opposition party. Panic surged through her veins. If those pictures or videos made it to the public, it would spell disaster for her family. Her grandfather and father had built their reputation preaching about tradition and propriety. A scandal involving her dancing in a club would be nothing short of catastrophic, especially in the eyes of the older generation and their political circle.
She immediately stepped back, looking around. It was weekend, and hence the club was full. She tried pulling away from the crowd, scared to her wits but felt a hand sneaking around her waist.
But before she could escape, a hand slid around her waist, firm and steady, pulling her back slightly.
"Relax, mini tornado. Dance as much as you desire. I'll handle those people," came a deep, gravelly voice, his breath warm against her ear, his lips brushing the curve of her earlobe.
Her body tensed as recognition struck again. That voice—it was Nirvaan.
"Ni... Nir... Nirvaan," she stuttered, barely managing to get the words out. Her back collided against his solid frame as he pulled her just out of the crowd's reach.
The warmth of his hand vanished as he stepped back, putting space between them. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing with anger and embarrassment.
"What the hell did you just call me?" she snapped, glaring daggers at him.
He smirked, unbothered by her fury. "Did your grandfather lie about you? Are you deaf, Nivya?" His brow arched in mock seriousness.
Before she could retort, someone behind her stumbled, shoving her forward. She lost her balance, but before she could hit the floor, Nirvaan's hand shot out, steadying her by the shoulders. His glare darted to the man responsible, who stammered an apology before fleeing.
"Enjoy yourself," Nirvaan said, his tone neutral yet commanding as he straightened her up. "I'm here for a meeting upstairs. Don't worry about those media people. I'll deal with them."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, his posture confident and unfazed. His secretary trailed behind, sparing Nivya a brief glance before disappearing after him.
She stood rooted to the spot, anger bubbling in her chest. "Mini tornado? Seriously?" she muttered under her breath, clenching her fists as she tried to calm herself.
Yet, as her eyes followed him retreating up the stairs, her jaw clenched in frustration. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Unbelievable."
Deciding she needed something to calm her nerves, she made her way toward the bar. The neon lights above illuminated the counter, reflecting off the rows of liquor bottles. Sliding onto one of the high stools, she caught the bartender's attention.
"Whiskey sour," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.
The bartender nodded, quickly mixing her drink. She tapped her fingers impatiently against the counter, glancing briefly toward the staircase Nirvaan had ascended. Her thoughts swirled—why was he here? Why did he step in like that? And most of all, why did he think he could boss her around?
The drink arrived, and she grabbed it without hesitation, taking a long sip. The warmth of the alcohol burned its way down her throat, dulling the edge of her anger.
"Mini tornado," she muttered again, rolling her eyes. "What is he, a poet now?"
But despite her irritation, her mind drifted back to the moment his hand steadied her, the heat of his palm lingering on her skin. She shook her head, trying to brush the thought away.
"Another one," she signaled to the bartender as she finished her drink.
She knew she needed to get her head straight, but for now, the alcohol was a welcome distraction from the looming chaos her life had become.
-----
Ivaan, the shipper^.^
follow my instagram account
Thankyou<3
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top