🌹 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊🌹

The monsoon roared with a fury that seemed to shake the very earth beneath her feet.

Yakshita ran.

Her bridal lehenga, once pristine and elegant, was now a heavy, sodden weight clinging to her legs. Every step dragged through the muddy ground, sharp stones biting into her bare feet, the fabric tearing with every desperate movement. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one a battle, but she couldn't stop. Not now. Not ever.

The rain was relentless-soaking her hair, plastering strands to her pale, flushed face. Thunder cracked overhead, a wild symphony echoing the storm raging inside her.

Anywhere but there.

She pushed herself harder. Her lungs burned; every muscle screamed. Yet the fear, the sheer will to escape, fueled her. She stumbled over a root, nearly falling, but caught herself just in time. Behind her, shadows flickered-voices murmured, footsteps pursued.

She forced herself forward, slipping through the undergrowth, limbs slick with mud and rain.

A sharp pain blossomed in her throat-her mouth tasted bitter and strange. The drug was working its slow poison, dulling her edges, blurring the line between fear and exhaustion.

But she refused to give in.

---

Hriday Khurana's POV

Hriday stood under the brittle canopy of trees, phone pressed tightly to his ear as rain hammered down, drenching his black coat. His voice was low, sharp with frustration.

"I told you, I'm not coming to this farce of a wedding, Dad. You call me back to India for urgent business, and this is what you expect? That I'll just obey?"

He took a deep breath, the storm matching the tension coiling inside him.

"No. I'm not some pawn in your corporate chess game. I don't care about alliances, mergers, or whatever scheme you've cooked up. Especially not a forced marriage."

A pause.

"No, I don't care if she's from the richest family in Mumbai. I don't marry strangers. And I'm not about to start."

Another sharp retort crackled through the line.

"I'm done, Dad. Don't call again."

He ended the call, slipping the phone into his pocket, eyes scanning the dark woods.

Then-a frantic, desperate cry shattered the night.

"Please! Help me!"

He turned sharply.

Out of the rain and shadows stumbled a figure-a woman, soaked to the bone, her lehenga torn and muddy, her eyes wild with terror.

His gaze dropped to the necklace around her neck-the sapphire-studded lotus.

His grandmother's heirloom.

The bride.

His bride.

Three guards emerged behind her, weapons drawn.

"There she is!"

Hriday raised a hand calmly. "Stand down."

They lowered their weapons instantly.

She whirled on him, voice trembling but fierce.

"Why do they listen to you?"

He met her glare evenly. "Because I told them to."

She blinked, suspicion mixing with relief.

"Who are you?"

"A stranger," he answered, voice flat, "but not one who drags terrified girls through storms."

She snorted. "That already makes you better than the broken blender I was supposed to marry."

Hriday raised an eyebrow. "Broken blender?"

She took a step closer, rain dripping from her hair, eyes blazing.

"Hriday Khurana," she spat his name like venom. "Arrogant. Prickly. A cactus of a man with a temper that's legendary among journalists. The kind of guy who'd glare a man into quitting his job."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Hriday arched an eyebrow, arms folded.

"He probably thinks women should be seen, not heard. What a man," she spat sarcastically. "A coward who can't even show his face in public. What's he hiding, huh? A bald head? A paunch bigger than a truck tire? Crooked teeth? Why else wouldn't he be on media? Shame, probably."

Hriday blinked. "Quite the imagination."

"I do my research," she snapped. "Sources."

"And if he were handsome?" he asked, almost curious.

"Doesn't matter. Looks can't hide a rotten heart."

His lips twitched. Amused. Most people wouldn't have dared look him in the eye, let alone insult him to his face.

"What else do you know about this 'monster'?"

She ticked off on her fingers. "Manipulative. Cruel. Zero empathy. Probably breaks hearts for sport. Might even push people off cliffs for fun. A cold-blooded, uptight, testosterone-filled fossil in a tuxedo."

Hriday raised both brows. "A fossil?"

"If the shoe fits."

Hriday's lips twitched in amusement. "Do you always talk this much?"

Her glare could've melted steel.

Yakshita's defiance faltered for a moment. She took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing just a little.

"Only when I'm upset. Angry. Frustrated." Her voice softened, genuine. "Sorry for the rant. And... thank you for not turning me in."

She looked away, embarrassed.

If anyone else had been in her place, the quiet thought drifted through Hriday's mind, they'd probably be broken by now-too scared, too defeated to speak a single word.

But not Yakshita.

She was the first to dare speak to him like this.

She crossed her arms. "I should go before someone finds me."

But her voice wobbled. Her limbs did too.

The drug. It was catching up.

Hriday stepped forward instinctively.

She staggered.

Hriday caught her before she hit the ground.

"Whoa. Tired of insulting already?"

Her smile was weak, voice cracking. "Just... the drug. Taking its toll."

His expression darkened. "Drugged? Why?"

A cold rage settled in his chest.

He looked down at her-small, fierce even in weakness.

The storm battered the world around them.

He whispered, voice low: "Who did this to you?"

She didn't answer.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen. Brother.

He answered with a terse, "What now?"

The voice on the other end was hurried, half amused.

"Bhai, the venue's chaos. The bride... well, she's missing. Looks like she ran away. Lucky for you, you weren't even planning to attend the wedding."

Hriday's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he glanced down at the girl in his arms.

"Good. I wasn't going anyway."

He ended the call.

The guards stepped closer, cautious.

"Sir," one said quietly. "Should we inform her family? They'll send someone-"

"No."

Hriday didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

The air shifted.

The guards exchanged glances.

"Not a word," Hriday said. "To anyone. No calls. No reports. Nothing leaves this road."

"But, sir, the guests-her father-"

"They'll assume she ran." His gaze darkened. "Let them."

"But sir..." one said slowly, "what about your father? He's expecting you both-"

Hriday turned then, cold and absolute.

"I'll handle my father."

His voice brooked no argument.

Turning back to the girl, he whispered, "Cancel it. Cancel everything."

The men fell silent.

He turned, carrying her toward the SUV, every step deliberate. She was light in his arms, but she'd fought gravity harder than most men he knew. Even drugged, she resisted. She didn't surrender-she escaped.

He opened the door gently, placed her inside, then pulled out his phone.

A dial tone.

Then: " Prepare the villa outside Udaipur. Full Staff. Clean sheets, heat, stocked kitchen."

A pause.

"And call Dr. Deshmukh. I want her at the villa before I arrive."

A muffled response

He hung up.

Back inside the car, the girl stirred slightly in her sleep. Rain clung to her lashes. Her lips moved.

Just a whisper.

"Papa..."

Hriday's fingers tightened on the wheel.

She hadn't run from marriage. She'd run from betrayal.

He started the engine. Headlights split the darkness.

And somewhere deep inside, a quiet, dangerous question began to grow:

What happens when the one place she's running to... turns out to be the very trap she's desperate to escape?

Hriday's POV

The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled like wet earth and something raw-unsettled.

She hadn't stirred for hours after the doctor left.

Dr. Deshmukh's diagnosis had been calm but pointed: "A mild sedative was slipped into her drink. Judging by her vitals, not the first time. She fought it longer than most would."

"She fights everything," I murmured.

The doctor raised a brow. "That's not always a bad thing."

Now, I sat across from her, one leg crossed over the other, a book open in my lap I hadn't read a single word of.

I watched her instead.

A woman who should've been walking down an aisle under crystal chandeliers was instead curled in my guest room, wrapped in a cashmere throw, unconscious, mud streaked, exhausted.

Not broken.

Even in sleep, her brows drew together like she was bracing for another war.

Her lehenga was still soaked, streaked with mud, delicate embroidery dulled by filth and rain. Her skin had gone cold. The staff wanted to change her clothes, but the moment one of them touched her, even unconscious, she flinched.

So I told them to stop.

Let her wake in her own time.

Let her fight when she was ready.

She'd earned that much.

Now the pale light of early morning spilled through sheer curtains, brushing her cheeks. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open-uncertain, glassy, but alive.

Confusion set in first. Then wariness.

She sat up sharply, the lehenga heavy around her legs. Her fingers fisted in the fabric like it was armor.

She looked like she was surfacing from the bottom of a lake. Dazed. Breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a memory.

"Where-?" she rasped. "Where am I?"

"Safe," I said simply, not moving from the chair.

Her head snapped toward my voice. She squinted, like my face was part of the blur.

"You-stranger-in-the-storm," she whispered.

"You're in Udaipur. My villa. Doctor's seen you. You're okay."

She didn't relax. Her fingers curled tighter into the fabric. She was still on edge-still fighting the invisible threat.

The sight of her, wrapped in that ruined bridal attire, drenched in defiance even half-drugged, made something twist low in my chest.

I cleared my throat. "There are clothes in the adjoining room. Blue salwar kameez. The staff thought you'd want something comfortable. There's food too. Take your time. Then we'll talk."

Her brows furrowed. Suspicion flickered. She looked down at the mess she wore-mud-caked silk and embroidery shredded like war-torn flags.

"...Thank you," she said finally. Quiet. Heavy. "For... not turning me in. And also giving me shelter"

"You were never mine to return."

She blinked at that. Her eyes lingered on mine for a second longer than necessary, then dropped.

Without another word, she stood-stumbling once-and made her way into the dressing room. I heard the soft click of the door shutting, then silence.

I too moved out of the room to give her some privacy.

When I returned;

Twenty minutes had passed. Maybe thirty.

When the door opened again, I didn't expect it to affect me.

But it did.

She stepped out barefoot, hair damp but brushed back, the soft cotton blue salwar kameez loose and modest, the dupatta slipping slightly off one shoulder.

Something about it made me pause.

No embroidery. No jewels. No artifice.

Just her.

For a brief, fleeting moment-I could almost understand what my parents had been thinking.

Almost.

She looked... real. Like someone who belonged to monsoons and moonlight, not chandeliers and gold-plated cages.

She cleared her throat. "So. I guess I owe you more than one thank you."

I shrugged. "You don't owe me anything."

She studied me now with clearer eyes. "Still didn't ask your name," she said. "That's rude, isn't it?"

"It was a long night."

"What if I had kidnapped you?"

"Ohh pls, if you had I would probably be in some cage, still in the effects of drugs, not feeling this better. So ya I am sure you haven't kidnapped me..." She said and then paused.

"Well So?"

"Well what?"

"My name is Yakshita and Yours?"

"Are you going to tell me or keep up the mysterious-stranger routine?"

I took a slow breath.

There were a thousand reasons not to say it.

But I looked her in the eye when I answered.

"Hriday."

She froze.

I saw the name hit her like a stone to the chest.

A flicker of something behind her eyes-recognition, dread, disbelief.

Then her lips parted in a silent breath.

"You..."

I didn't respond. Just held her gaze.

The silence stretched between us like a wire drawn too tight.