Siddhima-AR FF: Fate, O.S.C.Fate [Completed]

This starts a couple years after the current DMG track, so just cut off from the March 5^th 2010 episode. The one where Rhidz decides to do that climbing thing.

And then forward it five years, now don't kill me! Ok just don't hurt me. PLEASE. I know some of you won't like this, in fact a lot of you probably won't like this, but I had this idea and I had to write it.

SORRY!please like this and if u dnt, please dont hate me!

also this will be reallyyyyy short and unlike that other ff which i started n then stopped well the 2 actually I WILL FINISH THIS ONE!

atleast once a week i will add! and finish! in maybe two months!

I WILL!

*dramtically*: yeh mera vaada hai......

INDEX:

Part: Page:

1 1

2 1

3 2

4 3

5 3

6 4

7 5

8 7

9 9

10 11

11 13

12 13

13 14

14 16

15 19

16 21

17 24

Epilogue Part 1 26

Part 2 30

Entire Story complied on Page 38

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Five years later'..

He stood in the bangle stall at the bazaar staring at the bangles, not really seeing, lost in his thoughts. 'Armaan, what are you doing here?' he asked himself. It had been six years since he'd set foot in Mumbai. What was he doing back here? There was nothing left for him, nothing but his slowly fading memories of his life here. Of his friends, coworkers, and' her. He could never forget Rhiddima, his love, his jaan. He knew that even if he lost all physical memory of her, his love would somehow still be retained. Maybe that's why he was here, to see her. To make sure she's ok. Five years ago she'd come looking for him, despite his best efforts she'd found him. He'd hid just in time, and he'd watched from afar where later a young man carried her away in his arms. He'd felt a pang in his heart then, wishing that could be him again. Wishing it could be him holding her his arms, but he'd known it wasn't possible. So he'd left, he'd run away again. In the present Armaan laughed sardonically, how many times had he run away? One, two, three? He'd lost count; it seemed his circumstances had turned him into a coward. Now here he stood, in the middle of a bazaar in Mumbai, too much of a coward to go and meet one of his old friends, too much of a coward to go see her.

He came out of his thoughts when in his head a faint song started playing:

asmani rang hooo.........pyaaar ki boond hoo......roshni hoo dhup hooo chahaton ki gunj ho aanchal mein hain phanak chandni haathon mein woh chand hain gairon se bhi hain waastan apno mein pehchaan hain

He whipped his head around, why was this happening? Was she here? No, 'no you idiot, she's not here, it's just you, thinking about her and going crazy again. She's not here''

He looked at the bangles wistfully again; they would look so lovely on her wrists. Through the rows of bangles he could see a woman, her hair whipping around as she shook her head, throwing it back to laugh. The laugh sounded so familiar'. "Rhiddima?" he whispered, 'no- no you idiot! It's not her!' he turned away, ready to head off.

"Madam, do you want this inscribed with your name?"

Rhiddima looked at the man quizzically, why would she want to label a pot with her name?

"why?" she asked, confused. "well madam, it's not uncommon for things like this to be stolen." Rhiddima laughed at the thought of a thief coming to their house to steal her steel utensils, "ok then!" she said, "let's do that!" she wondered what Sid would have to say about her name on their utensils, Mr. Houston had probably never heard of anything like that before, heck she hadn't, how would he?

"what's your name madam?" the store clerk asked.

"Rhiddima." She said, "Mrs. Rhiddima Modi! And please write that whole name!"

heyy dear

ok so now it's confirmed confirmed that Armaan is back. i will try and not let that affect my ff, cuz i want this to be kinda original. so again,
PLEASE DO NOT PELT ME WITH ROCKS!
and enjoy

Part 2:

Armaan's heart stopped beating when he heard that name. Rhiddima. What were the chances that of all the girls in Mumbai the one in the next stall was named Rhiddima? 'O fate,' he mused, 'oh so cruel.' He'd thought for a minute that she had been his Rhiddima, but then the light voice with which she'd said Mrs. Rhiddima Modi had convinced him he was wrong.

Something a protective, possessive instinct in him refused to admit that yes- she could have moved on. She could be married, she could be a mother, she could be happy- without him. He refused to admit that Rhiddima, his Rhiddima would ever enjoy calling herself someone else's wife. 'It's not her Armaan,' he told himself, ready to leave again, but something kept him rooted in his spot. He had to see, he had to make sure; he had to see the woman behind the veil of bangles. He had just stepped out of the stall when he saw the excited face of a young man running towards him. It was the same man from five years ago, the same guy that had carried away Armaan's Rhiddima in his arms. And here he was again, yelling, "Rhidi!"

"Rhidi!"

Rhiddima turned in the direction the voice was coming from, she saw Siddhant racing towards her with a thrilled expression, holding something in his hand. He slid to a stop next to her, and held it up. "Look what I found! Man I love these bazaars!"

Rhiddima looked at the small child's dress he held,

"Siddhant, I hate to break it to you, but we have a girl," she said grinning at the small boy's outfit he held.

"Rhiddi, I know that. This is for Yuvi and Naina's baby,"

"But we don't even know if it is a boy! It's not even born yet!" Rhiddima replied.

"It'll be a boy; trust me. You and Naina can turn Ashita into a girly girl, but my nephew's going to be a rock star!" he said determinedly.

"Siddhant, you-" Rhiddima was interrupted by the arrival of her newly engraved pressure cooker, she held in her hands grinning as Sid paid.

As they left the stall, Rhiddima paused and said pointing to her name on the cooker, "Sid, look."

Siddhant glanced at it, and then leaned in for a closer look, "Rhiddi…why is your name engraved on our pressure cooker?"

Rhiddima smiled knowingly, "well, Mr. Houston, it is not uncommon for utensils to be stolen from houses here in India. In fact-"

"Nooo, please not another one of those India lectures! Chalo, we have to get home, it's already 6!" Siddhant interrupted. Taking the bags from her he grabbed her hand with his free one and headed towards where he had parked the car.

Neither of them noticed that when they passed a bangle store, there had been a broken man standing there. Tears threatening to spill from his eyes, Armaan headed to the taxi stand nearby. His heart unwilling to accept what he had just witnessed. It was her, SHE was Mrs. Rhiddima Modi, she was Rhiddi, she… she wasn't Basket anymore. Armaan didn't know what to do, so he headed to the one place that had always sheltered him. Getting in a taxi he directed the driver to the basketball court.


hope u guys enjoyed... keep rocking.

not again armaan heart broken... but its was a nice part n i love mr Houston mocking

love ur ff
its great
pls continue soon

thax babessssss gr8 work my hug 4 u 🤗

Thank you guys sooooooooo much for appriciating my work!

ill try to keep this up k?

so heres the next part, i feel like its progressing slower than i want so dont be surprised if the next parts a little quick

PART 3:

Getting out of the taxi Armaan pulled out one of his most prized possessions. His basketball, the same basketball that had earned Rhiddima Gupta the name Basket, the same one she had used when she first beat him at his own game. Yes, he remembered it all, every single bit of it. Her bright yellow and orange outfit the first time they'd met, the ketchup trick he'd pulled on her, their fights, when she'd first said I love you. When everyone had found out, and he'd gone on a hunger strike, when they had their roka, and then the fights after. He remembered the secret meetings, sweet kisses, passionate hugs, their unforgettable moments. He'd lost his memory then, sure, but he had it back now. He remembered their last moment together, when he'd slid the ring onto her finger, they had been so happy….

And now it's all changed. Now she was someone else's. Someone else had the right to touch her, feel her. Someone else held her in his arms and kissed away her tears. She belonged to someone else now. She was… she was Mrs. Siddhant Modi. It was all over for Armaan now… there was no real reason to stay. Nothing but his conflicted feelings, his boiling blood at the thought of someone else having the right to her over him. It was unjustified, he had left her, she deserved a better life, but all that didn't matter. At this moment Armaan Malik was a hurt man. He knew he was wrong to think like this, he couldn't expect her to wait for him forever; in fact this is what he had wanted. He had wanted her to be happy, and if that was with someone else, then so be it. But he wasn't feeling very rational, or very gracious.

'She had seemed happy,' he thought bitterly, laughing, teasing, and holding hands together. All those things that they used to do. And she… she had a daughter, named Ashita. They, Siddhant and Rhiddima, had a life together. A life that was supposed to have been his. 'Armaan what are thinking man?!?' he asked himself. 'This is what you wanted, now leave and leave them be!' he willed himself to get up and leave. But he didn't get far.