Nirvaan Singh Rathod

"Till when will we reach, Akshat?" I asked my secretary, snapping the laptop shut. My fingers massaged my temples, already dreading the upcoming ordeal.

"Five more minutes, sir," Akshat replied, glancing at me from the passenger seat.

I sighed, leaning back against the seat. A meeting in a club—of all places. I hated such venues. The cacophony of loud music, sweaty bodies pressed together, drunk people losing themselves in every corner. It was the kind of chaos I actively avoided.

But the other party had insisted. Their excuse? A "casual environment" to discuss business. I couldn't refuse without risking the deal. Yet, there was nothing casual about the growing discomfort that twisted in my gut.

"Make sure this doesn't take longer than necessary," I muttered, loosening my tie slightly.

"Yes, sir," Akshat said, his tone neutral but understanding.

Moments later, the car rolled to a stop in front of the club. Its neon lights flickered in an erratic rhythm, and the bass of the music inside thudded through the walls. I stepped out, straightening my suit as I surveyed the building with disdain.

"Sir, the client is already here," Akshat informed as we walked toward the entrance.

"Good," I replied, my tone clipped. "The sooner we finish this, the better."

Inside, the noise hit me like a wave. I instinctively tensed, my eyes adjusting to the dim, flashing lights and the chaotic movement of the crowd. Akshat guided me toward the stairs leading to the upper floor—a more secluded area reserved for private meetings.

As we ascended, a movement on the dance floor below caught my eye. My steps faltered slightly. There she was—Nivya.

Dressed in a golden satin dress that shimmered under the lights, she stood out effortlessly. Her eyes were closed, her body swaying to the beat of the music, completely immersed in the moment. 

I watched for a moment longer than I should have before Akshat nudged me gently. "Sir?"

I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts. "Nothing. Let's go."

But my steps faltered as I noticed a man's hand hovering over her back. She stepped away instinctively, her wide eyes fixed on the glass wall. I followed her gaze and felt my stomach clench.

"Give me a few minutes," I said, turning on my heels and walking toward her. My eyes locked onto the glass window, and I recognized the figures outside. Three reporters, cameras poised. One of them, Anish Singh—a known loyalist to the opposition party.

My jaw tightened. This could spiral into a full-blown scandal if those pictures or videos made it out. Nivya, the Sekhawat princess, dancing like this in public? It didn't matter how much progress we pretended society had made. The people of this state would tear her down in an instant. Questions would be raised—about her upbringing, her character, her family's values.

Her grandfather would never have allowed her to step out like this. I could already imagine his reaction if he found out.

"Relax, mini tornado. Dance as much as you desire. I'll handle them," I whispered softly in her ear, wrapping my hand lightly around her waist to pull her away from the crowd. My glare fixed on the man behind her until he backed off.

She froze for a moment, then spun around, her face a mix of confusion and anger.

She looked gorgeous. The golden dress clung to her perfectly, the shimmer accentuating her slightly dusky skin, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hair cascaded carelessly over her back and shoulders, each strand framing her face like an artist's masterpiece. Her long neck—elegant and inviting—seemed like it had enough space for my hands to fit perfectly around it, when I...

I snapped out of my thoughts as her angry voice echoed, pulling me back to reality. Damn.

"What the hell did you just call me?" she snapped, glaring at me, cheeks puffed out in irritation.

"Did your grandfather lie about you? Are you deaf, Nivya?" I said, unable to resist. She looked ridiculously cute when she was mad. 

Before she could respond, someone bumped into her from behind. She stumbled forward, eyes squeezing shut, but I caught her arms and steadied her. My glare shot to the man responsible, who quickly muttered an apology before fleeing.

"Enjoy yourself," I said evenly as I straightened her. "I'm here for a meeting upstairs. Don't worry about the reporters—I'll deal with them."

Without waiting for her reply, I turned away, unbuttoning my coat. As I ascended the stairs, I glanced at Akshat.

"Make sure those reporters don't release a single photo of her," I instructed.

"Yes, sir," he nodded, already dialing on his phone.

The terrace was a stark contrast to the chaos below. Soft lighting, a quieter atmosphere, and just the right hint of sophistication. It was the perfect setting for business.

Advik Mehrotra stood by the table, his mocktail in hand. He was the kind of man people aspired to be—sharp, respectful, and deeply grounded. This deal was significant for both our businesses. His company needed the raw materials for their laptops, and my mining industry could provide just that.

He is the son of Sandhya Mehrotra, the daughter of Rajsekhar Sekhawat—the woman who was once supposed to marry my father. But fate took a sharp turn when she fell in love with Advik's father and defied her family's wishes. She chose love over duty, and because of that one decision, Nivya and I are marrying.

Yet, I can't bring myself to despise her. Sandhya Mehrotra is a good woman. I've met her a handful of times at public gatherings, and she carries herself with a kind of grace that only a true princess can possess. She exudes warmth, sophistication, and poise, commanding respect wherever she goes.

And her family—the Mehrotras—are amazing people. There's something solid, grounded about them, like they're the kind of people who keep their feet planted firmly on the earth, even with their status. It's ironic, really. Her love story paved the way for my marriage, but while hers was built on love, mine feels like it's built on duty. 

As we exchanged pleasantries, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered with a soft "Haa, Yashvi, boliye."{Yes Yashvi, speak.}

His voice dropped, gentle but firm. "Bilkul nahi, it's not good for your health. Main ghar aakar dekhta hoon, okay?"{Not at all, it's not good for your health. I will see after coming home. Okay?}

His tone shifted to playful as he continued, "I'll reach within an hour. Then we'll talk. Take care of yourself."

When he ended the call, his face was lit with an unmistakable glow.

"Apologies, Mr. Rathod. That was my wife," he said, setting his phone aside with an embarrassed smile.

"Congratulations," I said, a smile tugging at my lips. "I heard she's expecting."

A full grin spread across his face. "Thank you. We're expecting a little one in two months. And congratulations to you as well—I heard you're marrying the Sekhawat family's elder daughter, my cousin, Nivya."

The smile fell from my face.

"Y-yeah," I murmured, nodding awkwardly.

Advik studied me for a moment, as though debating whether to say something. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute.

"Marriage is a beautiful bond, Nirvaan. It demands effort, respect, and patience. But if you give it your all, it becomes one of the most cherished relationships you'll ever have. Treat it with the respect it deserves."

His words struck a chord, but I masked my thoughts, nodding silently as I sipped my mocktail.

We moved back to business, discussing terms and conditions.

"Let's finalize this," I said. "I'll send the documents for you to review with your legal and financial teams before signing."

Advik nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "Perfect. I look forward to this collaboration, Nirvaan. It's going to be mutually beneficial."

The meeting ended seamlessly, and as Advik left with his team, I leaned back in my chair, the weight of his words lingering.

"Marriage is a beautiful bond," he'd said, his tone soft yet firm, "but it demands effort and respect. If you nurture it, it becomes the most cherished relationship you'll ever form."

Effort. Respect.

How was I supposed to give those to someone who looked at me with distrust, who saw me as nothing more than a burden of tradition? The irony wasn't lost on me—she didn't want this marriage, and truthfully, neither did I. Yet, here we were, bound by promises made long before we could protest.

I exhaled sharply, forcing the thoughts aside, and glanced at my watch. There were more immediate concerns tonight.

Descending the stairs, I scanned the crowd instinctively. The music pulsed, the air thick with a mix of sweat, alcohol, and chatter. And then I saw her—at the bar, clutching a glass, her brows furrowed as if lost in thought and leaned onto the table.

She looked... different. The usual fiery defiance in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by something quieter. Something that almost resembled vulnerability.

I turned away, heading toward Akshat, who stood near the exit.

"Are the reporters handled?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Yes," Akshat replied immediately. "Their footage has been confiscated, and they've been escorted out of the premises."

A few seconds later, Ivaan returned, his face tense, but his expression shifted to surprise when he saw me.

"Bhai, you here?" he asked, glancing at me in disbelief.

"Meeting," I replied curtly, my hands shoved into my pant pockets. My gaze drifted back to Nivya, who was seated at the bar. She was tapping the rim of her glass against the counter, murmuring something under her breath as she stared forlornly into the amber liquid. The bartender seemed unfazed, accustomed to dealing with such customers, and was already serving another patron.

"Great. You should handle your—" Ivaan started, but stopped mid-sentence. "I have to pick up Yash from somewhere."

Without waiting for my response, he bolted, practically fleeing. I could almost imagine a cartoonish tail wagging behind him.

I sighed. Another disaster waiting to unfold.

I made my way toward Nivya. She noticed me as I approached, sitting up straighter with a wide, goofy grin stretching across her face.

"Isse paise lo," she said loudly, gesturing toward me with a wobbling finger. "Yeh bohot ameer hai." {Take money from him.} {He is extremely rich.}

She turned back to the bartender, then back to me, her flushed cheeks and glassy, drowsy eyes giving away just how far gone she was. Vulnerability lingered beneath her inebriation, and it tugged at something deep inside me.

I pulled out my wallet, sliding my black card across the counter to settle her bill.

"Let's go," I said softly, helping her to her feet with a steady hand on her back.

But as I guided her away, she suddenly froze, swaying slightly before turning to face me.

"Patidev," she slurred, her voice dripping with mock drama.

I stopped in my tracks, startled by the word. Patidev?

"Why are you so set on becoming my patidev?" she demanded, her lips forming a pout, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Before I could respond, she shoved my hands away and plopped down on a nearby sofa, her frustration evident as she buried her face in her palms.

She pulled her hands away from her face, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and eyes glistening with unshed sorrow. The tears kept falling, unchecked, as she looked at me. I glanced around—most people were lost in their own worlds, laughing, drinking, oblivious. Akshat stood a short distance away, his attention glued to his phone.

"Why did you come into my life?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't want this. I was happy. And then, suddenly, I have to marry you."

She sniffled, her gaze wavering but filled with unspoken hurt. "You don't even look at me. Pyaar kya hi karoge tum mujhse." {Why will you love me?"}

Her last words pierced through me like an arrow. Love. She was expecting love.

"I had so many dreams, you know." Her voice grew softer, almost wistful, as she stared at me with faint hope. But it flickered out just as quickly, replaced by a hollowness that settled over her features.

"And now..." Her lips quivered. "My life feels like a graveyard of them. You want to build your castle on the ruins of my dreams."

Her voice broke, her body trembling as she choked out a soft cry. "I won't let it happen. I can't do it. My dreams..." She hiccupped, her sobs turning quieter.

Something inside me stirred—something I hadn't felt before. Without thinking, I closed the distance between us, pulling her against my chest in a protective embrace. Her fragile frame fit against me as though it belonged there, trembling as she clung to my shirt.

"The way you look at me..." she whispered, her voice muffled against my chest. "I hate it. It's like I'm invisible, like you're looking at some random stranger passing by."

Her grip tightened, and I could feel her desperation in the way her fingers clutched my coat.

"How are we supposed to live like this, Nirvaan? I want love. I've always dreamt of it." She sobbed harder, her words raw and cutting. "But you'll never give me that, will you?"

Her lavender scent swirled around me, soft and intoxicating, as my heart pounded in my chest. I tried to speak but no words came. This was new—foreign. I had never been this close to anyone, let alone a woman, and her vulnerability weighed heavy on my chest.

I gulped, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through me. I tried to pull away, unsure of how to respond, but her grip only tightened, as if letting go would break her completely. My palms unknowingly started moving soothingly on her back, trying to calm her down.

"Only if you weren't in my life, and that promise didn't exist, I'd be free." Her voice was soft, tinged with longing. She pulled away from my embrace, her eyes distant. "I'd be traveling the world, trying out my favorite food... maybe even falling in love with a man who actually cares."

She smiled at me—a sad, bittersweet curve of her lips that carried the weight of her dreams.

She believes I'm the reason she's shackled. That if I wasn't in the picture, her life would magically transform into what she desires. She doesn't see the truth. Her family doesn't care about her dreams. Especially not her grandfather. If not me, they'd find another man to tie her down, waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

"Forget it. My feet hurt," she said abruptly, breaking the silence. She bent down, fiddling with the strings tied around her calves, and slipped off her heels with a frustrated sigh.

She straightened, looking around aimlessly. "My clutch..." she murmured, scanning the area before her eyes landed on the sofa. With a triumphant little hum, she reached for a small pillow and pulled out her clutch from underneath it.

"Hold these," she ordered, shoving her clutch and heels toward me without waiting for a response.

I stared at her, dumbfounded. "What?"

She glared, pushing the items closer. "Hold them!"

With a sigh, I took the heels and clutch from her hands. A small chuckle escaped my lips. She was a walking disaster when drunk—bossy and unfiltered. It was oddly amusing. When sober, she avoided me like I was a mosquito buzzing around, threatening to give her malaria.

"Whatever it is, I want my future kids to be cute. Imagine them with your face and my IQ," she said, gripping my biceps as she wobbled, trying to balance herself.

Akshat, who overheard her, let out a chuckle but quickly disguised it with a cough when I shot him a sharp glare. Despite myself, a strange warmth spread through me at the thought of her words.

"Disaster it would be," I murmured, glancing down at the heels in my hands and the way her delicate fingers clung to my arm.

"I'll fulfill all my dreams through our kids," she mumbled, her voice soft but full of conviction.

"You'll fulfill them yourself," I said firmly, sneaking my hand behind her to steady her as she stumbled. "Whatever it takes, Nivya. I promise."

She didn't respond, only leaned closer into my arm.

"Shaadi ke baad, you'll cook," she suddenly declared, resting her head against my biceps as I guided her to sit in my car. {After our marriage, you will cook.}

"We'll hire a cook," I replied dryly, setting her heels on the floor of the car.

"Where are your car keys?" I asked, glancing at her white Mercedes-Benz parked nearby. I knew she loved driving, though it was clear she was in no state to do so.

"Here," she said, shaking her clutch.

I took it from her, opened it, and retrieved the keys. Handing them to Akshat, I instructed, "Drive her car to her house."

"No," she slurred, eyes still closed as she leaned back against the headrest. "Bade Dadaji will see it."

"Then park it near her home," I said with a sigh, closing her clutch and turning toward the driver's seat.

"You will cook after our wedding," she repeated stubbornly as I bent forward to fasten her seatbelt.

As I leaned closer, she opened her eyes, her face only inches from mine. Before I could react, her soft lips brushed against my cheek.

The unexpected touch sent a jolt through me. My heartbeat quickened, and for a brief moment, I froze. Gathering myself quickly, I secured her seatbelt and retreated to my seat, strapping myself in without a word.

"Aap jo bolengi, main karunga," I said, my tone heavy with exhaustion, yet firm. {I will do whatever you will say.}

She glared at me, daring me to contradict her, but how could I? I sighed inwardly, knowing I would do whatever she wished—no matter how unreasonable it seemed.

As she held my gaze, her glare softened into something unreadable, and for a brief moment, she just looked at me—searching, perhaps, or simply lost in her drunken haze.

"You better mean it," she murmured, her voice slurring slightly, but her words carried a surprising weight. She leaned back into the seat, her eyes fluttering closed, though her lips still moved as though she were talking to herself.

"Tum mera mascara kharab mat karna, lipstick toh jab chaho tab kar sakte ho," she murmured loudly enough for me to hear, leaving me momentarily stunned. Her words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, I blinked in disbelief. {Don't ruin my mascara; you can mess with my lipstick whenever you wan}

Seriously? I shook my head, suppressing a chuckle. The audacity of her casual confidence was both amusing and exasperating. One thing I was certain of—she was going to regret saying this tomorrow.

I shifted in my seat, gripping the steering wheel tighter. The warmth of her earlier touch lingered on my arm, a strange reminder of how dangerously close I was teetering to letting her into the fortress I had built around myself.

As I started the car, her voice broke through the silence again.

"Why do you look like that?" she muttered, her eyes half-open, staring at the dashboard now.

"Like what?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral, though my heartbeat betrayed me, thudding harder than it should.

"Like... like you're carrying the weight of the world but don't want anyone to know." Her words were slow, her voice soft but piercing.

I glanced at her, only to see her eyelids drooping again, as if sleep was calling her. She might not even remember this conversation tomorrow, but her words settled heavily in the air between us.

"Get some rest, Nivya," I said finally, my voice quieter than I'd intended.

She mumbled something incoherent before tilting her head to the side, succumbing to the pull of sleep.

As I drove through the quiet streets, her earlier words echoed in my mind. Perhaps she wasn't as oblivious as I'd thought. Or maybe I was the one underestimating her ability to see past my defenses.

Whatever it was, it left me unsettled.

Half an hour later, I parked my car behind Rajmahal, the imposing castle that had stood for centuries, its grandeur still intact despite the passage of time. I glanced over at Nivya, who seemed to be fumbling with her arms, her face turned away in an almost dramatic way.

"Nivya, we're here," I whispered softly, tapping her arm. She blinked, her eyes opening lazily before she nodded, a dazed expression on her face. She fumbled with her seatbelt and then bent down to grab her heels, still sluggish and clearly fighting to stay awake.

"Come with me," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" I asked, my confusion deepening.

"Main giri toh... mera wajan uthane ke liye koi toh chahiye," she said with a sleepy smile, her words slurring, but still teasing in nature. {If I fell, then I need someone to carry my weight.}

Was she really drunk, or was she just putting on an act? Either way, I couldn't help but wonder—she seemed to have an unusually high tolerance for alcohol.

"Kahin Nashedi toh nahi hain na yeh ladki,"I muttered to myself, but she didn't seem to notice.{Is this girl some kind of drug addict.}

I sighed, snapping open my seatbelt and moved over to the passenger side. I helped her out of the car, taking her heels from her as we walked toward the back of the mansion, where the servants' entrance was hidden away.

She led the way as we reached a sealed door. Nivya reached into her dress and pulled out a key that seemed to have been tucked away in an unlikely spot. I blinked at her briefly. Sneaking out this way was clearly nothing new for her.

She handed me the key, her movements still a little uncoordinated, and I slid it into the lock, opening the door. There were no guards around—probably because of the tall, fortified walls that surrounded the estate.

"Be a good husband to your wife," she murmured, her voice almost a slur as she patted my shoulder. She stood on her tiptoes, her face serious despite the drowsiness in her eyes. "Take care of her. Fulfill all her needs. Love her."

I stood there for a moment, unsure how to respond to her words. I'd never heard her speak like this before—so vulnerable, so earnest. But before I could get a word out, she handed me her heels with a little direction.

"Keep them here," she said as she pointed to the ground. Then, to my surprise, she easily scaled the pillar leading to a room. I stared, caught off guard by the effortless way she climbed.

I turned my head quickly, but not fast enough to avoid noticing the way her dress rode up as she reached for the ledge above. Thankfully, she wore something underneath.

Yeh pichle janam mein bandar thi kya? {Was she a monkey in her previous life?}

I set the heels down where she asked, my mind still catching up with the strange, unfiltered nature of the night. She had always kept me at arm's length before, and today felt like some sort of strange shift.

With her perched atop the pillar, she gave me a lazy smile before slipping inside through a railing, leaving me to seal the door behind us. As I turned the key to lock it again, I couldn't help but feel like something had changed, something unspoken hanging in the air.

Today had been... unexpected. We hadn't shared many words in the past, certainly not the way we had today. Maybe that's why I couldn't shake the strange feeling in my chest, the odd warmth that had spread over me when she'd spoken about love and taking care of her.

She is... interesting.

-----

Do follow my instagram account. Link in bio.

Advik is second cousin of Nivya but they are not close. I guess I revealed in Imperfectly yours that Sandhya's parents were not ready for her marriage but with time they accepted it. But her children, that is Adarsh, Advik and Adya are not extremely close to their maternal side as when they were kids, she didn't have that good relation with her family and when things got fine, her children had no time to visit their maternal home.

The major difference between both of them is Nirvaan genuinely understand and knows Nivya while Nivya doesn't.

How was it?

Thankyou<3