Chapter 10 : The Threshold of Destiny

The Threshold of Destiny

The atmosphere in the Raizada mansion was thick with thescent of marigolds and incense. Despite the turmoil behind closed doors, Anjaliwas determined to make the GrihaPravesh—the formal bridal entry—look perfect. She had arranged for thetraditional brass pot filled with rice to be placed at the threshold. Khushistood at the entrance, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was nowdressed in a vibrant red silk saree, the color Arnav had silently craved to seeon her. The diamond studs glinted in her ears, and the sindoor Arnav had applied earlier was a bold,crimson line in her hair.

Arnav stood beside her, his expression unreadable. Helooked every bit the powerful scion in his dark sherwani, though his jawremained tight. Anjali performed the aarti, the flickering flames of the lamp reflectingin Khushi’s tear-filled eyes.

"Push the pot with your right foot, Khushi,"Anjali whispered with a supportive smile.

Khushi took a trembling breath and tilted the pot, thewhite grains of rice spilling onto the floor—a symbol of prosperity enteringthe home. She then stepped into a tray of vermilion water, leaving bright redfootprints on the white marble as she walked toward the temple.

"Wait," Anjali said, her voice cutting through the silence."There is one final tradition. The bride’s feet must not touch the groundas she crosses into her new life. Arnav, pick her up and carry her into thehouse."

Arnav stiffened. "Bhabhi, this is unnecessary. Shealready lives here."

"Not as a wife, Arnav," Anjali countered, hertone firm. "Do it. For the sake of the ritual."

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Arnav stepped towardKhushi. He saw her flinch, her fingers tightening around the fabric of hersaree. Without a word, he bent down and swept her into his arms.

The world seemed to decelerate. As Arnav straightened, Khushi instinctivelywrapped an arm around his neck for balance. Her light weight was a shock to hissystem, a painful reminder of the "Chutki" he used to carry overpuddles when they were children.

Khushi looked up, her breath hitching. At this distance,she could see the flecks of gold in his dark, stormy eyes. For a heartbeat, theanger vanished. She didn't see the vengeful Arnav Singh Raizada; she saw theboy who had once promised to protect her from the world.

Arnav’s gaze locked onto hers, trapped by the sheervulnerability in her honey-brown orbs. The scent of her—sandalwood androses—invaded his senses, clouding his judgment. His heart thundered againsthis ribs, not with rage, but with a primal, terrifying recognition. He wantedto hold her tighter; he wanted to never let her go.

After the rituals were completed and the guests had dispersed, Anjaligathered them in the living room. Shyam sat beside her, looking relaxed, whileArnav leaned against the sofa, checking his watch as if he couldn't wait toescape.

"Now that the ceremonies are over, I havesomething special for the newlyweds," Anjali announced, pulling a sleekenvelope from her pocket.

Arnav looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Bhabhi, ifthis is another ritual—"

"It’s better than a ritual," Anjaliinterrupted, handing the envelope to him. "Open it."

Arnav tore the seal and pulled out two gold-embossedtickets. His face went pale. "London? You booked us a trip toLondon?"

Khushi’s breath hitched. London—the place where theirmodern-day rivalry had begun. The place where he had insulted her and where shehad broken his heart.

"It’s a honeymoon gift," Anjali said, hervoice filled with a mixture of love and a hidden agenda. "You both havebeen through so much. You need to get away from this house, away from Dadi’scomments, and away from the ghosts of the past. You need to talk to each other,Arnav. Really talk."

"I have work, Bhabhi," Arnav grunted, thoughhis grip on the tickets tightened. "The business—"

"The business survived three years without you; itcan survive another week," Shyam chimed in, leaning forward. "Takethe gift, Arnav. It’s time to face the city where everything went wrong so youcan finally make it right."

Arnav looked at Khushi. She was staring at the floor,her fingers twisting the pallu of her red saree. The thought of being trappedin a hotel suite in London with her—the woman he loved and hated in equalmeasure—was terrifying.

"We leave in two days," Arnav said, his voicedropping into that dangerously low tone. He didn't look at Anjali; he kept hisgaze fixed on the red mark in Khushi's hair. “It is going to be strictly business.

Later that evening, the jeweler arrived as promised. Arnav sat in the study, a tray of shimmering gold and diamond mangalsutras laid out before him. Khushi stood by the window, feeling like a doll being dressed for a play.

"Choose one," Arnav commanded, not looking up from the tray.

"Jiji said you should choose it," Khushi replied softly.

Arnav let out a frustrated sigh and reached for a delicate chain with two black beaded strands and a solitary, brilliant diamond pendant. It was elegant, modern, and sharp—much like him. He stood up and walked toward her.

"Turn around," he muttered.

Khushi obeyed, her heart racing as she felt his cold fingers lift the hair from the nape of her neck. He unhooked the moli thread he had tied earlier and replaced it with the heavy gold chain. The weight of the mangalsutra felt permanent. As he leaned in to fasten the clasp, his breath brushed against her ear, sending a shiver through her entire body.

"Don't think this changes anything, Khushi," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin. "In London, there will be no Anjali to protect you. We will be alone. And you will tell me everything."

He released her and walked out of the room, leaving Khushi clutching the diamond pendant, her heart caught between the fear of his wrath and the desperate hope of his love.