An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

The man sat in his chair, his gaze piercing through the girl sitting across the table as though he could see straight into her soul.

She looked pale and hollow, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Main zubaan de chuka hoon unhe. Ab peeche nahi hat sakta."

(I have given them my word. There is no turning back now.)

His cold, sharp voice sliced through the silence.

His eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.

"Aa... aapko bahut acche se pata hai ki main-"

(Y-You know very well that I and-)

"Bas. Bahut sun liya tumhara bakwaas, Omisha."

(Enough. I've heard enough of your nonsense, Omisha.)

Before she could finish her sentence in a trembling, pleading voice, he cut her off.

The tears that had merely threatened to fall finally spilled. They fell with hurt, betrayal, and hatred.

The man who had once been the centre of her world had become a stranger wearing a familiar face.

Why?

Because he had taken away the most precious person from her life.

She had stayed away. She had tried.

But fate had played its cruel game once again and brought them face to face.

Just like the last time...

Omisha was crying, breaking, falling apart.

And he stood there, his expression unreadable, as if her tears meant nothing at all.

"Ab tum chun lo. Ya toh yeh shaadi... ya phir apna woh pyaara bhai."

(Now you decide. Either this marriage... or your dear brother.)

Her breath hitched.

The tears suddenly stopped.

Those weren't choices.

They were two lives placed on a scale and treated like a business deal.

How could she choose?

On one side stood her brother—the only family she had left.

And on the other... herself.

Her hands trembled.

For once, she had hoped that he would put aside his selfishness and—

"Main aise kaise decide karun? Yeh zindagiyon ka sawaal hai aur main toh-"

(How can I decide just like that? People's lives are at stake and I-)

She tried to steady her voice and ground her emotions.

But in that room, there was no trial.

Only verdicts.

"Mujhe jitna kehna tha, keh diya."

(I said what I needed to say.)

He rose from his chair, straightening his cuff. 

Then she saw it—the gun tucked beneath his blazer.
That alone was enough to deliver his final message. This wasn't a request.
It was a choice.

Choose. Or lose.

She hurriedly stood up and nearly stumbled into the edge of the table.

He simply walked past her.

"Main karungi shaadi... bas aap Arush ko ismein mat laaiye."

(I will marry... just leave Arush out of this.)

He slowly turned his head toward her, and a faint smirk appeared on his lips.

Without another word, he walked toward the door.

Just as his hand touched the handle—

"Itna toh bata dijiye... kaun hai woh shaqs?"

(At least tell me... who is that person?)

"Shaadi ke baad tumhe pata chal hi jayega. Aur haan, shadi hone tak tum yahi rahogi, tumhara phone mere paas."

(You'll find out after the wedding. And till the wedding, you'll stay here, and I will keep your phone.)

A cold reply to her hollow, bitter question.

The door closed behind him. And silence returned.

She sank to the floor.

No tears. No screams.

Even the tears had abandoned her.

She looked at her empty hands.

The hands that were meant to be held by the man she loved were now fated to belong to a stranger.

A bitter smile found its way onto her lips.

"Na woh beparwah tha,
Na unhone kabhi meri beqadri ki.

Hum haare toh bas kismat se,
Jise hamari mohabbat manzoor hi nahi thi."

(He never loved me carelessly,
Nor did he ever fail to cherish me.

If I lost anything, I lost it to fate—
A fate that simply could not accept our love.)

                                  ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌