25 x 34

VxR

The door clicked behind her.

She went still, breath pausing mid-air.

She didn’t turn.

She didn’t need to.

The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped inside

that unmistakable pull, that storm-like gravity that made even silence feel obedient around him.

He entered slowly.

Deliberately.

Without a single wasted sound.

“Stop.”

Her voice cut through the quiet—sharper, steadier than she felt.

“I don’t want to hear anything. Not after today.”

He paused.

Something in his eyes softened for a heartbeat… and vanished just as fast.

Then he started toward her.

One step.

She retreated.

Another.

She moved back again, pulse tightening.

Until her shoulders met the cold glass behind her, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden chill.

He stopped in front of her.

Too close.

Too warm.

Too certain.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak.

He just watched her—like he was memorizing the rhythm of her breath, the tremble she tried to hide.

Then his hand slipped into his pocket.

Her brows drew together, confusion flickering across her face…

Until silver glinted in the faint light.

A delicate kamarband lay in his palm—tiny bells, soft shimmer, a piece of intimacy that didn’t belong in the space between strangers or enemies or whatever they were.

Her breath caught.

“Pasand aaya?”

( “Did you like it?”)

The question was quiet, too quiet—dangerously intimate.

“I—I don’t want—” she began, trying to slip sideways.

His fingers closed around her wrist.

Not harsh.

Just… inevitable.

Before she could react, he guided her gently, turning her so her back met his chest.

Warmth swallowed her.

Her palms lifted instinctively, meeting the cold glass in front of her.

His breath touched her hair.

“Jhuth mat bolo… tumhe pasand aaya.”

“Don’t lie…you liked it.”

Her reflection stared back at her

flushed, breath uneven, eyes wide

and behind her, his shadow towered like it was carved from darkness.

She hated that she didn’t push him away.

“Pasand aana zaroori nahi,” he murmured, voice brushing her spine.

“Tumhara Pehnana zaroori hai.”

(“You don’t need to like it. What matters is that you wear it.”)

Her heartbeat was frantic, disobedient.

He lifted the chain and let it fall around her waist. Cold metal kissed warm skin.

Her breath stuttered.

When she tried to step forward, away

His hand rested gently on her hip.

“Don’t.”

Not a command.

Not a warning.

Just enough to hold her in place.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered.

“You do,” he said softly, fastening the clasp.

“And even if you don’t…I want to see you in it.”

The quiet softness disarmed her more than force ever could.

He waited. She didn’t move.

The clasp clicked.

Tiny bells trembled against her skin.

“Now you look right.”

His words brushed the back of her neck, warm enough to steal the air from her lungs.

Something inside her snapped back the last thread of control she still held.

She turned, chin lifting.

“I’m not wearing it.”

Her fingers reached for the chain

but his hand caught her wrist again, steady and absolute.

Her back met the glass once more as he lifted her wrists gently above her head.

His body hovered only a breath space between them that the heat from him blurred her thoughts.

His gaze dropped briefly to the chain around her waist

then rose, unwavering.

She twisted her wrists. Try to free from his grip.

Pointless.

“I said I’m not wearing it,” she breathed—too soft, too shaky.

A humourless breath escaped him.

“Na hansi aati hai tumhari baat pe,” he whispered,

“na yakeen.”

( “Your words don’t make me laugh , nor do they convince me.”)

He released one of her wrists, his fingers drifting downward slow, deliberate until they reached the chain again.

His knuckles brushed her waist, barely touching and her breath faltered.

“It looks better than I imagined.”

Simple.

Unexpectedly honest. Devastating.

For a dangerous second,

she almost believed him.

...

“What do you think will break first  his arrogance or her patience?”

“Will their marriage turn into a battlefield… or something darker?”

“Who will fall first  the man who never bends, or the woman who never bows?”