The house had been in chaos, her mother ordering the servants around, making sure everything looked perfect. Plates of sweets and snacks were prepared, new cushion covers were set, and even the finest china—reserved for only the most important guests—was taken out.

“Aradhya! Come out and greet the guests,” her mother had called sharply.

Obediently, she had stepped into the living room, her eyes landing on the unfamiliar faces.

Aradhya had felt their eyes scan her, judging her, measuring her worth not by who she was but by how she looked, how she carried herself.

“She’s a quiet girl, very well-behaved,” her mother had said, forcing a smile.

Abhimaan’s mother hummed in approval. “That’s good. A girl should know how to respect her elders.”

Aradhya had remained silent, feeling like a showpiece on display. She hadn’t been invited to speak, only to be seen.

After a few more minutes, her father had dismissed her.

“Go back to your room,” he had said, waving his hand as if she were a child getting in the way of the real conversation.

The house was filled with murmurs, the soft clinking of teacups, and the forced laughter of a conversation carefully curated to conceal true intentions. Aradhya’s father, Dharmender Singh, sat with his hands folded, his expression serious yet hesitant.Across from him, Abhimaan’s parents sat, their presence exuding wealth and power.

The air was thick with tension.

“We appreciate your offer,” Dharmendr began, clearing his throat. “But we had not planned for Aradhya’s marriage so soon. She is still young "

His wife, Poonam, nodded in agreement, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

Abhimaan’s mother, Ritu, exchanged a knowing glance with her husband before speaking, her voice smooth and persuasive. “We understand, Dharmender ji, but marriage is about securing the future. And as you know, our families have a long history together. What better way to strengthen our bond?”

Dharminder hesitated. It was true—once upon a time, their families had been equals in wealth and status. But fate had been cruel. The moment Aradhya was born, his business empire had crumbled, and he had been reduced to working as a mere manager in someone else’s company.

He didn’t want to admit it, but his daughter’s birth had marked the beginning of his downfall.

Seeing his reluctance, Abhimaan’s father, Vikram, leaned forward with a small smile. “Dharmender ji, I understand your concerns. Let me make this easier for you.”

He pulled out an envelope and placed it on the table. The thick stack of cash inside made Poonam’s eyes widen slightly.

“We are not just offering a marriage,” Vikram continued. “We want to support you. We know times have been hard, and we would love to help our future family.”

Then came the final blow.

“We will also arrange for you to be appointed as a senior director in one of our companies. A respectable, high-paying job. You deserve it.”

Dharmender inhaled sharply, the weight of the offer settling in his mind.

A part of him felt uneasy, but then again—wasn’t this what he had always wanted? To reclaim his lost status? To be respected again?

He glanced at his wife. Poonam understood without words.

“Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “We accept.”

Dharmender turned back to the guests and forced a smile. “It would be an honor.”

_____________

Aradhya was in her room when the knock came. She had been staring at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts, when her father’s voice snapped her out of her daze.

“Come to the living room,” he ordered.

She obeyed, her heart pounding with unease.

Her parents sat stiffly, their expressions unreadable. Her mother’s hands were folded neatly in her lap, and her father’s eyes held something unfamiliar—something calculating.

“Sit down,” he said.

She did.

Then came the words that shattered her world.

“You’re getting married next week,” Dharmender announced without hesitation. “The priest will come tomorrow to fix the final date.”

Aradhya’s body froze. For a moment, she thought she had misheard.

“…What?” she whispered.

Her father sighed, clearly annoyed. “Abhimaan’s family has proposed marriage. We’ve accepted.”

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, colliding and tumbling over one another.

“But… why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t need to question our decisions,” Poonam cut in sharply. “Your marriage is final. It’s a good match.”

“But I don’t even know him!” Aradhya protested, panic rising in her chest. “What about my studies? My work? My dreams?”

“Dreams?” Dharmender let out a bitter laugh. “Enough with your nonsense, Aradhya. You think your studies will change anything? You think you’ll ever be more than a wife? Stop living in illusions.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, at least let me—”

“We’ve made our decision,” he snapped. “You are getting married. That’s final.”

Her mother’s gaze was cold. “Start learning household chores. You need to serve your in-laws well. A wife’s duty is to take care of her family, not waste time on foolish ambitions.”

Aradhya’s breath came in short, uneven gasps.

Her world was collapsing around her, and no one cared.

They had sold her. Not to a man, but to power, to greed, to status.

She felt the walls closing in, suffocating her. Her hands trembled, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She needed air.

Without another word, she turned and rushed to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

______________

Her chest tightened. The walls felt like they were closing in. Her hands shook violently.

She needed to breathe. She needed to escape.

Panic clawed at her throat, and she stumbled toward the bathroom, her vision blurred.

She shut the door and leaned against the sink, gripping its edge as she tried to steady herself.

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—eyes wild, face pale.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t live this life, trapped in a marriage she never wanted.

Her breathing was shallow, uneven. She felt like she was drowning.

Her fingers trembled as she reached behind the mirror. She knew exactly where it was—hidden from everyone, kept for moments like this.

The cold metal of the blade pressed against her fingertips as she pulled it out.

She stared at it, her vision swimming with unshed tears.

The pain inside her was unbearable. But physical pain? That, she could control.

With a deep breath, she pressed the blade to her left wrist and dragged it across her skin.

A sharp sting.

A thin line of red blossomed, then another.

The pain was grounding, pulling her away from the chaos in her mind.

For a moment, the world was silent.

She exhaled, her shoulders shaking.

Slowly, the panic subsided. The weight on her chest loosened.

She stared at the red streaks on her wrist, the pain dulling the storm inside her.

After a few moments, she grabbed a towel and pressed it against the cuts, watching as the blood soaked into the fabric.

She moved mechanically—washing her hands, cleaning the sink, erasing all traces of weakness.

No one could know.

She couldn’t afford to let them see her like this.

Not when they had already decided her fate.

Her hands still trembling, she walked back to her room and opened the drawer by her bedside. The small bottle of sleeping pills sat there, untouched for weeks.

She popped two into her mouth and swallowed them dry.

Then she curled up in bed, pulling the blanket over herself.

Sleep came quickly, dragging her into a heavy, dreamless abyss.

A place where, for a little while, nothing could hurt her.