Ishika's POV

The alarm sound filled that room. That annoying, soul-crushing, sleep-murdering sound. Sunlight streamed through the window along with cool morning air, but that light and that noise? They were disturbing my precious sleep.

My hand—trained by years of this torture—automatically reached out and slapped the alarm into silence.

Sleep. Beautiful, beautiful sleep. Just five more minutes...

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"WHY THE HELL DOES EVERYONE WANT TO KILL MY SLEEP?!"

I dragged myself out of bed, stumbled to the door, and opened it—eyes still firmly closed. I didn't even need to see who it was. I knew. It was always him.

Without waiting a second, I turned around and flopped back onto my bed, pulling the blanket over my head.

Go away. Go away. Go away...

"Bhabhi! You told me you wanted to go for a walk!"

Dev's voice. Bright. Cheerful. Unbearably energetic this early in the morning.

Damn. I did say that.

Wait. Walk means exercise. Exercise means losing weight. And I need to lose weight because—

Oh my god. I can't become a fatty pig.

My eyes flew open. I shot up from the bed like I'd been electrocuted.

"Just wait 5 minutes, kk? I'm coming!"

I ran to the bathroom. Fresh up. Quick. Efficient. Because Dev doesn't wait. And honestly? I didn't want to keep him waiting.

We went for a walk together—Dev, Meera Ma, and Vikram Papa. My in-laws. My real family. The people who actually made me feel like I belonged somewhere.

Walking with them, laughing with them, I realized something.

I'd become more than a daughter-in-law.

I'd become a friend.

A part of this family that I never asked for but somehow couldn't imagine living without.

When we came back, I freshened up again and wore my purple saree today. My favorite. The one that made me feel powerful. Beautiful. Like I owned my own life.

And then I went to work.

My flower boutique. My kingdom. My freedom.

I run it with Riya, my best friend. My partner in crime. My escape plan.

It's my money. My business. My choice.

And honestly?

That's the only thing that keeps me sane.

Evening.

Coming home from work, there's nothing better than hot tea with samosas. The perfect way to end the evening and start the coming night.

I talked to Ma and Papa. Dev wasn't home—he'd gone on a business trip. Poor sunshine boy. He hates business trips.

After dinner, I went to my room.

My room.

My freedom.

The only space in this world that's truly mine.

I love this room so much. If I ever miss anything from this marriage, it's this room. And mainly—the balcony.

The balcony.

When I get the love of my life, I really want to make out on this balcony. Under the stars. With the cool breeze. Wild fantasy? Maybe. But I only get one life, yar. So it's not bad to think like that, right?

Kk. Now it's my story time. Time to read my book. My escape. My fantasy.

Bye. See you tomorrow.

But that was before everything changed.

The Next Morning

The alarm sound filled the room again. Sunlight. Cool air. The same routine.

But this morning? This morning was different.

My hand on autopilot slapped the alarm into silence. I got up from the bed, still half-asleep, eyes firmly closed.

My fingers worked on autopilot, untying my saree from last night. The silk pooled at my feet. I stood there in just my blouse and petticoat, swaying slightly, my brain still swimming in the dark waters of interrupted sleep.

"Ishika, if you don't lose weight, save your number as 'Fatty Pig' from now onwards."

That woke me up.

My eyes flew open. I grabbed the weighing machine like it was my mortal enemy. Stepped on it. Held my breath.

59 kg.

Damn it, Ishi. Still the same weight.

"How can any man even lift me?" I muttered, glaring at the numbers like they had personally betrayed me.

My brain, still not fully functioning, had a brilliant idea.

"Should I remove my blouse too?"

Before my conscious mind could stop me, my fingers were already working on the hooks. The blouse flew across the room like a discarded butterfly. I stepped on the machine again.

59 kg.

Still the same.

And then—a voice. Low. Husky. Coming from somewhere behind me.

"Why don't you remove your black bra too, love?"

My sleep-addled brain processed this information slowly.

"It doesn't make any difference, yar..." I replied, completely oblivious. "Or should I..."

My hands were already reaching for the clasp when—

REALITY HIT ME LIKE A TRUCK.

Wait. Why the hell is a MAN'S voice coming from my room? In the morning? When I'm standing here in just a PETTICOAT and BRA?!

My head snapped toward the voice so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

And then I saw him.

HIM.

Vivaan.

My husband.

The ghost who had spoken exactly one sentence to me on our wedding day. The stranger who had promised me divorce papers. The man who had been so absent from my life that I'd forgotten he even existed.

He was sitting on the chair near the window. Like he'd been there all along. Watching. Waiting.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—

He rose from the chair. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator who had just spotted his prey.

And he started walking toward me.

His eyes dark, dangerous, unreadable were fixed on me like I was the last meal on earth and he hadn't eaten in years.

THIS IS IT. THIS IS HOW I DIE.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each beat screaming at me to run.

But my legs? My traitorous, useless legs refused to move.

I stepped backward. One step. Two steps.

THUD.

My back hit the wall.

Damn this stupid wall! Can't it move aside?! Why does it have to exist RIGHT NOW?!

I couldn't think straight. My brain was just a jumbled mess of panic and wait, was that adrenaline? No. No, that's not adrenaline.

That's something else. Something I refuse to acknowledge.

He was in front of me now. His body inches from mine. His presence overwhelming every sense I had.

I could smell him. Something woodsy. Something expensive. Something that made my already panicked heart skip a beat for entirely wrong reasons.

His hand moved toward my face. I flinched.

But he didn't hurt me. His fingers found a strand of my hair, tucking it gently behind my ear. The touch was featherlight. Electric. Confusing.

His voice low, teasing, dripping with something that made my stomach flip—rumbled through the small space between us.

"Ya, love... you should remove your black bra..."

Oh my GOD.

"...or what about this petticoat? You should remove that too."

My brain short-circuited.

Wait. What?

WHAT?!

His hand moved lower. Toward my cleavage. Toward the mangalsutra that hung there—the symbol of our unwanted marriage. He held it. Played with it. Like he owned it. Like he owned ME.

And then—the worst part—he SMIRKED.

He's enjoying this. This monster is ENJOYING my misery.

"I didn't realize my wife had such... interesting morning rituals," he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. "Should I leave so you can continue? I wouldn't want to interrupt your... self-assessment."

I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. I wanted the sky to open up and take me to heaven. I wanted ANYTHING but to be standing here, half-naked, being teased by the man who had promised to divorce me.

Wait. Divorce. Right. He wants to divorce me. So why is he—

Before I could complete that thought, he stepped back. Just one step. But it felt like miles.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something. A piece of paper.

My heart stopped.

Is this it? Are these the divorce papers?!

He held it up. His eyes never leaving mine.

"I came to give you something," he said. "But I think I'll wait."

He put the paper back in his pocket.

NO! WHAT?! GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE ME MY FREEDOM!

But he just smiled. That infuriating, mysterious, completely confusing smile.

"We'll talk later," he said. "After you've put on some clothes. Or not. Your choice, love."

And then he walked out of my room. Just like that.

Leaving me standing against the wall, half-naked, completely confused, and somehow feeling like I had just lost a battle I didn't even know I was fighting.

stood there for a full minute. Maybe two. My brain trying to process what had just happened.

What. The. Hell. Was. That.

I looked down at myself. Bra. Petticoat. The weighing machine still innocently sitting on the floor.

How did I even get here? Why did I remove my blouse?!

I grabbed my saree and wrapped myself in it like a shield. A very, very late shield.

My face was still burning. My heart was still racing. And my mind—my traitorous, useless mind kept replaying that moment.

The way he tucked my hair behind my ear.

The way his voice dropped when he said "love" The way his fingers played with my mangalsutra.

The way his eyes never left mine.

NO. STOP. I hate him. I want divorce papers. I want FREEDOM.

But why did my stomach do that weird flip thing when he called me love?

Traitorous body. Traitorous heart. Traitorous EVERYTHING.

I collapsed on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Today was supposed to be a normal day. Wake up. Weigh myself. Hate my weight. Go to work. Come home. Dream about my future boyfriend/husband/Thailand adventure.

Instead, I got... THIS.

My husband is back. And he's... different. Not the cold stranger from the wedding night. But something else. Something worse.

Because cold and distant I could handle. Cold and distant meant divorce papers. Meant freedom. Meant flying away to Thailand with my bestie.

But this? This teasing, smirking, "love" calling version of him?

This was dangerous.

And the scariest part?

A tiny, traitorous part of me wanted to see what happened next.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

To be continued...

"Some fantasies are dangerous. Some desires are deadly. And some love stories... they don't ask for permission."

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