Samaira clutched the hem of her dupatta, her delicate fingers trembling as she waited outside the grand hall. The murmur of distant conversations mixed with the soft rhythm of dholki beats and qawwali. It was a beautiful night for a wedding, but for Samaira, it felt like a noose tightening around her heart.
The heavy red and gold bridal lehenga clung to her slight frame like a burden she wasn't meant to bear. This was supposed to be Mahjabeen's night, not hers. Her elder sister, always bold and free-spirited, had refused to marry Aayansh Malik, the infamous heir of the Malik crime family. Instead, Mahjabeen had run away-bhaag gayi apne pyar ke saath.
And now, Mr. Khan, their ruthless father, had forced Samaira to take her sister's place. "Izzat ka sawal hai, Samaira," he'd said, voice sharp as a whip. "Aayansh ko humare saath rishta chahiye. Agar Mahjabeen nahi, toh tum shaadi karogi."
Samaira knew better than to argue. She had spent her life in the shadows, obedient and unseen. While Mahjabeen was their father's prized daughter, Samaira had been a mere afterthought, ignored until she could be of use. Now, she was nothing more than a replacement bride-sacrificed for the family's reputation and alliances.
Her heart raced as she adjusted her maang tikka that rested heavily on her forehead. Every step she took toward the hall felt like a step deeper into a world she didn't belong to, into a life she hadn't chosen.
The celebrations resumed with renewed vigor, but Samaira and Aayansh were mere spectators in their own wedding. As the guests danced and laughed, she sat beside her new husband in silence, her heart pounding.
"Tumne bhi socha nahi hoga ke yeh din aise hoga," she ventured softly, daring to break the ice between them.
Aayansh's dark eyes flicked toward her for the first time, sharp and unreadable. "Haan, nahi socha tha." His tone was flat, devoid of warmth.
Samaira twisted the folds of her lehenga nervously. "Main... main jaanti hoon ke tum bhi yeh shaadi nahi chahte."
Aayansh gave a humorless chuckle. "Accha hai, tumhe yeh baat samajh mein aayi."
His words stung, but she didn't let them show. She had grown accustomed to hurt, to being the second choice, the afterthought.
"Bas... main sirf yeh kehna chahti thi ke main tumhare raste mein nahi aaoongi," she whispered, lowering her gaze.
There was a flicker of something in Aayansh's expression-surprise, perhaps-but it vanished as quickly as it came. He nodded curtly. "Achha. Wohi better hoga."
When the festivities finally ended, they were escorted to the suite prepared for them. Aayansh opened the door, stepping in without a glance at her.
Samaira hesitated for a moment before following him, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. The room was dimly lit, and the air between them felt heavy with unspoken resentment.
Aayansh stood by the window, his back to her, the tension in his body palpable. He exhaled slowly, as if struggling to contain the emotions simmering beneath his composed exterior.
"Ek baat yaad rakhna," Aayansh said, his voice cold and deliberate. "Yeh shaadi sirf naam ki hai. Tumse kuch nahi chahiye mujhe-na dosti, na pyar."
Samaira's heart ached at the harshness of his words, but she kept her voice steady. "Mujhe bhi tumse kuch nahi chahiye, Aayansh."
For a brief moment, silence hung between them, thick with unsaid truths and buried pain. Then Aayansh spoke again, softer this time but no less firm. "Hum dono bas ek dusre se door rehna seekh lein, wahi behtar hoga."
Samaira nodded, though her heart felt heavier than ever. Ek doosre se door rehna... jaise main kabhi hoon bhi nahi thi.
As Samaira sat beside Aayansh, she felt his cold indifference radiating from him. He hadn't even glanced at her since she entered. It was as if she were invisible, nothing more than a pawn in his chessboard of alliances.
The Maulvi Sahab began the nikah proceedings, his voice calm and steady. "Aayansh Malik, aapko Samaira Fatima se nikah qabool hai?"
Aayansh's jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Qabool hai," he muttered through gritted teeth.
The words felt like a blade to Samaira's heart, a reminder that this marriage was a prison neither of them wanted.
The Maulvi turned to her next. "Samaira Fatima, aapko Aayansh Malik se nikah qabool hai?"
Samaira's throat felt dry. She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump lodged there, and whispered, "Qabool hai."
The final declaration of the nikah echoed through the hall, and with it, a heavy silence fell over the guests. It was done. She was now Samaira Malik.
Aayansh tied the simple black and gold nikah ki ring around her finger with mechanical precision, as if binding her to a fate neither of them wanted. When their hands brushed briefly, she felt the coldness in his touch-a chilling reminder of the walls he had built around himself. They signed the Nikah papers and done...they were married now.
The wedding hall was grand beyond imagination. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and floral decorations perfumed the air with the scent of motia and gulaab. Guests in glamorous attire filled the seats, their whispers swirling like a storm as they speculated about Mahjabeen's sudden disappearance and the hasty change of bride.
Samaira's gaze fell on Aayansh Malik, the groom waiting under the elaborate Stage. Even from a distance, his presence was intimidating. He wore a black sherwani embroidered with gold, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders, making him appear every bit the cold and dangerous man he was reputed to be.
Yeh shaadi... bas ek deal hai, she reminded herself, her stomach knotting. Aayansh didn't want her. He had agreed to marry Mahjabeen for the sake of the alliance. Now, he was trapped just as much as she was.
Mr. Khan gripped Samaira's arm a little too tightly as he led her to the stage. "Smile. Tumhari wajah se humari izzat bacha rahi hai," he muttered under his breath, his grip like iron.
She lowered her gaze, hiding the sting of tears. For as long as she could remember, her father's love had always been reserved for Mahjabeen. For Samaira, there had only been expectations, disappointment, and silence.
The night passed in uneasy silence. Aayansh slept on the couch, keeping as much distance as possible between them, while Samaira curled up on the edge of the large bed, feeling more alone than she ever had.
She stared at the ceiling, her mind swimming with memories of her childhood-the nights she had spent crying silently in her room while Mahjabeen laughed with their father downstairs. She had always been the forgotten one, the one left behind.
And now, she was married to a man who didn't want her, trapped in a life she didn't choose.
But Samaira wasn't a stranger to loneliness. She knew how to survive in the shadows, how to build walls around her heart. If this marriage was going to be a prison, then she would learn to endure it.
In the darkness, she whispered a quiet prayer, asking for strength-not to change Aayansh, not to win his love, but to protect her heart from breaking further.
The early hours of the morning, as the first light of dawn crept into the room, Aayansh stirred. He glanced briefly at Samaira, still wrapped in her bridal attire, her face peaceful despite the storm she carried within her.
For the first time, a flicker of guilt passed through him-an unfamiliar emotion he quickly brushed aside. Yeh zaroorat ki shaadi hai, kuch aur nahi, he reminded himself.
But somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of cold indifference, a part of him wondered if things could ever be different.
Samaira stirred slightly in her sleep, the soft curve of her lips almost touching a smile. And in that quiet moment, Aayansh found himself watching her-just for a second longer than he intended.
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