Chapter-9

Chapter 9

That evening, Krishna went straight to the school and paid Mohan’s fees. Then, with the remaining money, she went to the police station.

Standing outside the cell, she met her father’s gaze.

Banshi’s sharp eyes scanned her. His face darkened.

“You sold them, didn’t you?” he rasped, his grip tightening on the bars.

Krishna didn’t answer.

“My Deepa’s earrings…” His voice shook. His eyes burned with raw emotion. “You sold the last thing I had of her.”

Krishna’s fingers curled into the folds of her dupatta.

Banshi banged his fists against the bars. “They were your mother’s!” he roared. “Not yours to sell!”

Krishna held her ground. “I had no choice.” She whispered... her voice laced with both guilt and determination.

A furious curse left his lips, but then, as if drained of all strength, he slumped.

His shoulders trembled. His breath came in uneven gasps.

And then, in a broken whisper, “I lost her again… I lost my Deepa again…”

His sobs filled the air. He started howling in grief.

After completing the formalities, Krishna rushed out of the station. Her father’s cries still echoed in her mind—she remembered the last time he cried like that was when Maa died.

Turning away, Krishna felt a tightness in her throat and heaviness in her steps. She walked out into the cool evening and sat beneath the banyan tree, sobbing into her dupatta, not feeling the roughness of the fabric against her cheek but her father's rough misery.

She lost track of time until it became dark. Slowly, she wiped her tears and splashed some water from a nearby tap on her face. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she needed to be strong. She couldn't break down—Mohan depended on her. With an unnatural force, she attempted to force a smile onto her face and walked toward home. Tomorrow would be a new day, perhaps even a better one. She hoped sincerely.

*****

The next morning, the garden of the mansion had been transformed into a breathtaking setting. Fairy lights twinkled from the trees, casting a soft golden glow over the floral arches and silk drapes. A grand ivory backdrop with intricate golden embroidery stood behind an elegant swing, decorated with white and red roses, waiting for the couple. Lanterns lined the stone pathways, flickering gently in the evening breeze. The scene was traditional yet timeless—just as a grand wedding should be.

Ananya, dressed in a rich pink and gold lehenga, stood beside Aryaman, who wore a classic ivory sherwani embroidered with gold. They looked like the perfect couple—beautiful, poised, elegant.

From a distance, Krishna watched, her gaze lingering on how effortlessly they fit together.

"They complement each other so well," she thought, her lips curving into a small smile. "Like royalty."

She clasped her hands together, sending up a silent prayer for their happiness.

The photographer adjusted his camera. “Sir, ma’am, can you look at each other and smile naturally?”

Ananya turned toward Aryaman, flashing a picture-perfect smile.

Aryaman, however, was distracted.

His gaze kept wandering—away from Ananya, away from the camera…

Krishna, lost in work, adjusted the floral garlands by the entrance. She didn’t notice the sunlight dancing across her face—or the man watching her like she was weaving magic with her hands.

Ananya noticed.

Her fingers tightened around Aryaman’s arm.

“Aryaman,” she said sweetly, trying to reclaim his attention.

Aryaman blinked, his gaze snapping back to her.

The photographer grinned. “Perfect! Hold that gaze, sir! It looks like you’re in love!”

Aryaman forced a smile.

The camera clicked.

But his mind… it was still elsewhere.

And Ananya knew exactly where.

Then, the midday shoot was scheduled near the lake, featuring pastel-colored, flowing outfits that gave the setting a dreamlike quality. Everything was perfect—except for one thing.

Ananya had noticed it again.

Aryaman had a habit. A small, infuriating habit.

Of looking at Krishna.

Not in a deliberate, longing sort of way. No, that would have been easier to confront.

Instead, he did it absentmindedly, the way one might twirl a pen or fidget with a button as if she were a default direction for his gaze to land when he wasn’t thinking.

And it irritated her nonetheless.

The car ride back to the mansion was quiet—too quiet.

Ananya sat stiffly beside Aryaman, arms crossed, lips pursed in a silent pout. The golden embroidery of her gown shimmered under the afternoon sun, but her expression was anything but radiant.

Aryaman, on the other hand, was completely at ease, scrolling through his phone as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

The silence stretched.

Ananya finally huffed and turned to him. “So… do you always stare at your wedding planners like that?”

Aryaman barely looked up. “What?”

She scoffed. “Don’t act clueless, Aryaman. You know what I’m talking about.”

He sighed, locking his phone and leaning back against the seat. “I really don’t.”

Ananya rolled her eyes. “You were staring at her the whole time! Even during the shoot! If the photographer hadn’t told you to look at me, you would have probably kept staring at her the entire session.”

Aryaman smirked. “Oh? And who exactly am I supposed to have been staring at?”

Ananya gave him a sharp look. “Krishna.”

His smirk deepened. “Ok... that was unexpected.”

Ananya’s irritation doubled. “Aryaman, be serious! The wedding is in a few days, and here you are, looking at some village girl like she’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen! You weren’t even being subtle about it! Every time I turned, your eyes wandered to her.”

Aryaman let out an amused breath, resting his elbow on the window. “You sound jealous.”

Ananya scoffed. “Of her? Please.” She flipped her hair with exaggerated flair. “Why would I be jealous of a mere helper?”

His smirk didn’t fade. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Her nails dug into her palm. “Arya!!.”

He sighed, finally dropping the teasing. “Ananya, you’re overthinking.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Why would I suddenly fall for a girl I’ve barely interacted with?”

Ananya opened her mouth, then closed it. He did have a point.

Aryaman leaned back. “Think logically, Ananya. I’m not some impulsive fool who’d break off an engagement just days before the wedding because of some random crush.”

Ananya frowned. “So you admit it’s a crush?”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you said ‘random crush,’ which means—”

“I was making a point,” he interrupted, exasperated.

Ananya narrowed her eyes. “You’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be.”

He exhaled sharply. “Look, it’s just wedding tension. You’re a bride—brides get anxious, overthink things, get jealous over nothing.” His smirk returned. “I bet by tomorrow, you’ll realize you were being silly.”

Ananya hesitated.

She was stressed. And Aryaman wasn’t the type to suddenly fall for someone out of nowhere.

Maybe she really was overthinking.

She sighed. “Fine. Maybe I am just tense.”

Aryaman grinned, satisfied. “See? Problem solved.”

She gave him a look. “It’s still annoying.”

He chuckled. “You being jealous? Yeah, I can tell.”

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“Sure, sure.”

Ananya huffed, looking away.

As soon as the car pulled into the mansion, Aryaman’s phone rang.

Work.

His playful smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp, businesslike focus.

“Yeah?” he answered, stepping out of the car. His tone was clipped and professional. “What’s the status update?”

Ananya watched as he walked off, already absorbed in the call, their conversation forgotten.

She crossed her arms.

Maybe she had been overthinking.

But that didn’t mean she’d stop keeping an eye on him.