The Temple courtyard was almost empty, except for the flicker of oil lamps and the cold echo of dawn wind brushing through the pillars. Siddharth stood in front of the sanctum, the harsh temple bells vibrating somewhere in the background. His head still felt heavy - not spinning anymore, but numb, fogged, irritated.
He had attended business meetings in the worst conditions, made billion-rupee decisions with a calm face, survived betrayals, negotiations, boardroom pressure - but nothing had prepared him for this.
A girl stood beside him.
A trembling girl.
Wrapped in a soft pastel saree that clung unevenly to her shoulders, the pleats slipping, the pallu partly torn.
Her eyes...
Red.
Swollen.
Empty.
He didn't even know her name until minutes ago.
Siddharth inhaled slowly, trying to steady the situation in his mind.
This isn't love. This isn't emotion. This is responsibility.
This is... necessary.
His grandmother's teachings echoed faintly:
"A real man never lets a woman's dignity be destroyed. Never."
He clenched his jaw.
That's why he was here.
Nothing more.
Roohi stood a few steps behind him, fingers fisted into the edge of her saree. She looked like a small bird trapped in a storm - shaking, breath hitching, shoulders collapsing inward.
He glanced sideways.
She wasn't looking at him.
She wasn't looking at anything.
Her gaze was fixed on the dusty temple floor, as if the world had pressed her down until she could barely stand.
The priest cleared his throat softly, unsure, "Beta... shall we begin?"
Siddharth nodded stiffly.
Roohi flinched at even that small movement, as if expecting another accusation, another slap, another harsh word.
Her father's words from earlier still echoed between them:
"Who will marry a characterless girl like you?"
Siddharth wasn't sentimental - but those words had made something deep inside him go rigid.
Now, as she stood inches from him, those same words wrapped around her shoulders like a choking rope.
The priest began chanting.
The sacred fire crackled.
Siddharth felt the strangeness of the moment - how unreal it felt, how wrong the timing, how forced the situation was.
But he also felt the weight of her silence.
Her wrists had faint bruises - maybe from someone dragging her.
Her cheek had a smear of something - maybe someone's forceful grip.
She kept swallowing, as if trying to hold her tears in.
She didn't deserve this,
Siddharth thought, and the tight knot in his chest pulled painfully.
Roohi's POV
The world was spinning slowly, painfully, like a film reel stuck between frames.
She couldn't understand any of this -
the temple,
the fire,
the man standing beside her,
the way her heart felt torn open.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She held her saree tightly, afraid it might fall apart the way everything else had.
Am I dreaming? Is this real? Am I truly standing here?
She tried to breathe, but every breath came out broken.
Sarika's words echoed:
"You deserve nothing. You're a problem. A burden."
Her father's slap still burned on her cheek.
She remembered the force, the sting, the humiliation.
She had begged.
She had cried.
She had sworn she didn't do anything wrong.
No one listened.
No one ever listened.
Now she was standing in a temple... marrying a man she had never met.
A man who didn't look at her with love, or warmth, or even anger.
Just calm, cold acceptance.
Why is he doing this?
Why would he ruin his life because of me?
Another wave of tears threatened to fall, but she held them back, biting her lip until she tasted blood.
The priest called for the garlands.
Siddharth took one.
Roohi's fingers twitched when he lifted it.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
He waited patiently for her to look up.
She didn't.
Her eyes stayed on the ground, too afraid to meet his gaze.
Finally, he stepped closer and gently placed the garland over her bowed head.
Not a romantic gesture.
Not a symbolic one.
Just... necessary.
When it was her turn, her hand trembled so violently that the flowers slipped from her fingers. She gasped, panicked, bending quickly to pick it up.
But Siddharth caught it before it fell completely.
For a split second, her fingers touched his.
Cold.
Soft.
Terrified.
He didn't react outwardly - but inside, a small uncomfortable ache spread through him at how badly she was trembling.
She barely lifted the garland.
She didn't look at him.
She simply raised her hands enough for him to bow slightly so she could place it.
The priest's voice softened seeing her state.
Now came the mangalsutra.
Siddharth took it from the priest.
The black beads touched his palm - warm, almost symbolic of the weight of what he was about to do.
Roohi's vision blurred.
Her breathing hitched.
The world dimmed and brightened again.
She felt like collapsing.
Siddharth noticed.
Without touching her, he spoke low, careful:
"Stand still."
She nodded once, mechanically.
He stepped behind her, lifting the mangalsutra.
Her hair brushed his fingers - soft, trembling lightly with her shaky breaths.
He fastened it with steady hands.
Roohi closed her eyes tightly.
I'm married.
I'm married to a stranger.
Why? Why is this happening?
The priest cleared his throat again.
"Now... the sindoor."
Roohi's breath caught.
Her fingers curled tightly.
A tear escaped even before she lifted her eyes.
Siddharth opened the small silver box slowly.
For the first time, Roohi looked up at him -
just one quick, fragile glance......and Siddharth felt something crack inside.
Her eyes were trembling pools of fear and pain.
Not demanding.
Not pleading.
Just... hurt.
His fingers hovered above her forehead.
Her lashes fluttered.
Another tear rolled down.
Why does she look so scared of me?
Why does she look like she's breaking?
He gently touched the sindoor to her hairline.
Soft.
Careful.
Almost apologetic.
Roohi inhaled sharply, as if that single touch stole the last breath she had.
The red streak looked too bright against her pale, tear-stained skin.
She trembled.
He felt... heavy.
Heavy in ways he couldn't explain.
Responsibility, he told himself.
But his chest ached anyway.
Back to original scene flow
The priest asked them to sit for the pheras.
Siddharth guided her gently - not by holding her, but by stepping slowly so she would follow.
Four rounds.
Four silent steps.
Four unspoken promises neither fully understood.
After the last phera, Roohi's knees buckled.
She almost fell.
Siddharth caught her elbow - firm, steady.
Her breath broke.
A sob escaped before she could stop it.
"Don't faint here," he said quietly, not unkindly.
She shook her head, trying to gather gravity back into her body.
The priest blessed them softly.
But Roohi couldn't hear anything.
Everything sounded muffled.
Everything felt numb.
Her fingers moved unconsciously to the mangalsutra - the symbol of something she never imagined this way.
A tear fell on it.
Siddharth saw.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
The ceremony ended.
The bells rang again.
She stood like a fragile piece of glass about to crack.
He stood like stone - but even stone felt something that moment.
Responsibility.
That's all it is, Siddharth whispered to himself.
For her...
it felt like the world had ended.
The temple steps felt colder than the marble inside.
The moment the ceremony ended, the world around them continued as if nothing had happened - birds chirping, the early sunlight warming the sky, the scent of incense fading in the breeze.
But for Roohi, everything had stopped.
For Siddharth, everything had become heavier.
He didn't speak as he led her down the steps.
He didn't touch her.
He didn't guide her physically.
He simply walked -
and she followed.
Her steps were small, uneven, trembling.
Her eyes never lifted from the ground.
The photographers weren't there.
There was no celebration.
No music.
No family blessing them.
Only silence.
As they reached the car, Siddharth opened the door for her mechanically.
Roohi looked at the seat like it was a place she shouldn't dare to sit.
"Sit," he said quietly.
She obeyed instantly, folding herself into the corner like she was trying to take as little space as possible.
Siddharth sat on the other side, closed the door, and signaled the driver.
"Home," he said.
The car started.
Inside the Car
The hum of the engine filled the tense silence.
Roohi's hands were in her lap, twisted together painfully tight.
Her shoulders were still shaking from the last of her suppressed sobs.
Siddharth leaned back, shutting his eyes for a moment.
He wasn't drunk anymore.
But the remnants of the drug made everything feel unreal.
Married.
He was married.
To a girl who had cried through the entire ceremony.
His jaw tightened.
He didn't regret it.
He didn't feel anger or irritation.
Only a deep exhaustion that settled into his bones.
His gaze drifted to her briefly.
A small girl.
Broken.
Tired.
Still holding her breath like she expected another attack.
"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.
Roohi stiffened, startled by his voice.
"Tw-twenty-one sir... ."
Sir.
The word hit him strangely.
"You don't have to call me that," he said quietly.
She swallowed.
"S...sorry."
He didn't reply.
She fidgeted with the edge of her saree, her eyes glued to her fingers.
He noticed her thumb bleeding slightly - probably from biting it too hard.
His chest tightened.
A strange, unwanted discomfort.
She wasn't pretending.
She wasn't manipulating.
She wasn't dramatic.
She was simply hurting.
SIDDHARTH POV
The ride to his mansion was quiet. Too quiet.
Roohi sat beside him in the car, her hands locked together, her knuckles pale and trembling. Her forehead still bore the fresh, bright line of sindoor he had applied moments ago. He hadn't meant to look at her again and again, but the sight kept pulling at him-the tears that had spilled down her cheeks, the way her lashes had fluttered when the red touched her skin, the way she had swallowed her sobs so silently as if even her pain had no right to be loud.
He had seen hundreds of business deals collapse.
He had seen seasoned men break down in front of him.
But none of that had affected him the way this girl's silence did.
He leaned back in the seat, trying to steady the chaos in his head.
What have I done?
What is this situation?
How did I end up marrying a stranger?
He rubbed his forehead. It still throbbed faintly from last night's dizziness, the blur that had pulled him into that dark room, the sudden loss of control he still couldn't fully explain. Everyone had looked at him as if he had destroyed that girl's life. Everyone had expected him to take responsibility.
And he had taken it.
Because of his mother.
Because of his grandmother.
Because he had been raised to protect, not exploit.
Because he had been taught that a man's strength meant standing up, not running away.
He hadn't planned any of this.
He hadn't even known Roohi existed until this morning.
But when she had looked at him with those scared, shattered eyes and whispered, "I didn't do anything... please believe me," something inside him had turned heavy. A guilt he didn't understand. A responsibility he didn't choose. A girl he never expected.
He exhaled deeply.
Marriage.
He was married now.
A cold, sharp word.
A word that pressed on his chest like a weight.
He didn't love her.
He didn't know her.
He didn't even know what she liked, feared, believed.
This was not a relationship.
This was not fate.
This was an accident, a storm, a mess.
And yet... there she was.
Quiet.
Fragile.
Shivering slightly, though the car was warm.
He pulled his gaze away, turning to the window.
He wasn't a gentle man.
He wasn't patient.
He wasn't soft.
He was strict, rational, controlled-the kind of man who never let emotions interfere with decisions.
But today...
Today he had made the most emotional decision of his life.
His phone buzzed.
Ankita: "Bhai where r u?? Mom is crying."
Grandmother: "Come home immediately. Everyone is waiting."
Father: "Siddharth. We need to talk."
He closed his eyes.
Yes. This was going to be a storm.
He looked at his side again.
Roohi hadn't moved. Her eyes were fixed outside the window, but she wasn't seeing anything. She looked too lost to even breathe properly.
She looked like someone who had been pushed into fire from all sides.
He sighed.
He may not want this marriage...
But he also didn't want to break her anymore.
Not after she had already been broken by people who should have protected her.
He straightened slightly.
If she had to survive in his house, he would make sure she wasn't humiliated.
She was his wife now.
Not by love.
Not by destiny.
But by responsibility.
And Siddharth Raichand knew how to carry responsibility-even if it suffocated him.
ROOHI POV
Her hands refused to stop shaking.
Her heartbeat felt like it was stuck in her throat, suffocating her, drowning her breath every few seconds. The red sindoor on her forehead felt heavier than a mountain. Every time it brushed her skin, she remembered Sarika's scream, her father's hand, Raghav's disgusted eyes.
She wanted to forget.
She wanted to rewind.
She wanted to disappear.
But here she was-married.
The word didn't feel real.
She wasn't meant for this life.
She wasn't meant for this man.
Roohi wiped her tears with a trembling hand.
Her wedding had no flowers.
No happiness.
No mother's blessing.
No father's warmth.
It had screams.
Violence.
Accusations.
And silence.
She turned slightly to look at Siddharth.
He sat sternly, jaw set, eyes cold and distant, like someone carrying the weight of a thousand battles inside him. His presence filled the car-powerful, strict, controlled. She could feel the hard authority radiating from him, the kind that commanded rooms and silenced people.
He didn't belong in her world.
She didn't belong in his.
She looked away quickly.
Tears pooled again. She didn't even wipe them this time. They slid down silently, falling onto her simple saree-the same one she wore last night at the party, when she still thought life had hope.
The party.
The moment everything shattered.
She could still see Sarika's fake tears.
Still hear her father shouting, "Go and die."
Still feel the poison in the drink.
Still feel the terror of waking beside a man she didn't know.
Roohi closed her eyes.
Her breath hitched painfully.
Her mother...
If she were alive...
She would never have let this happen.
Her real mother would have held her, protected her, told her she wasn't wrong... told her she wasn't dirty.
But she wasn't here.
And now Roohi's life was tied to a man who didn't even look at her twice.
She swallowed hard.
He wasn't cruel.
But he wasn't comforting either.
He was distant, like he didn't want anything to do with her.
She didn't blame him.
Who would want a wife like her?
A girl painted as "characterless"?
A girl who brought scandal into his house on the first day?
She dug her nails into her palms.
I didn't do anything...
Why does no one believe me?
She felt fresh tears run down her cheeks.
Siddharth glanced at her once.
Just once.
And in that brief second, she saw something strange in his eyes-something almost like guilt, like he wished he could undo her pain but didn't know how.
Her chest tightened.
But he immediately looked away again.
And the moment passed.
Roohi’s POV
Malhotra Mansion
I had never seen a house like this in my life. Calling it a mansion felt too small—it was a kingdom. Marble floors that shone like water, chandeliers dripping crystal light, gold-rimmed portraits of generations of Malhotras staring down as if judging the newest mistake of their lineage—me.
The moment I stepped in, silence slammed through the hall.
And then… chaos.
Dadi, small but fierce, rose from her velvet armchair as if she had been personally betrayed by the universe. “Siddharth!” she barked.
Behind her, Rekha Malhotra—his mother—stared at me as if I were dirt sticking to her expensive carpet. Prakash looked stunned,
Sunitha’s hand went to her mouth in shock, Rahul muttered something under his breath,
I stood frozen beside Siddharth, every atom in my body shaking. My cheap clothes, still wrinkled from the terrible night I wished I could erase, felt painfully out of place in the palace-like hall.
Siddharth’s hand touched my arm—light, steady. “Stay beside me,” he whispered.
I tried. I really did.
But the storm broke.
“How could you?” Rekha’s voice sliced through the room. “Marrying… marrying some girl from nowhere? Without even informing us? Siddharth, have you lost your mind?”
“She’s not from nowhere,” Siddharth said quietly.
His calmness only seemed to make everyone angrier.
Prakash stepped forward, voice booming. “Is this some kind of joke? A Malhotra heir marries without our approval? Without even telling us who she is?”
Dadi’s gaze sharpened like a blade. “Who is this girl?”
My throat went dry. Words refused to form.
Siddharth answered for me. “Her name is Roohi Sharma.”
Rekha’s scoff stung. “Sharma? Which Sharma family? Industrial? Political?”
“No,” I whispered. “Just… Sharma.”
It was the wrong answer.
Rekha’s face tightened like she was swallowing poison. Rahul whispered to Sunitha, “She doesn’t even belong to our circle—”
“I didn’t ask for this marriage,” I blurted before he could finish. My voice cracked, but the truth pushed through. “It… it just happened. You don’t have to accept me. I—”
“Roohi.” Siddharth’s voice cut in, firm. “Stop.”
He wasn’t angry. Just… resolute.
Dadi pointed a shaking finger at him. “You brought a stranger into this house as your wife. We deserve an explanation.”
Siddharth’s jaw flexed, but his voice stayed maddeningly calm. “There was a situation. A dangerous one. If I hadn’t stepped in, her name—her entire life—would have been destroyed because of a scandal she didn’t cause.”
“And that makes marriage the solution?” Prakash snapped. “This house has reputation. Legacy. You cannot make decisions like this!”
“I didn’t have time to think,” Siddharth replied. “I acted.”
one who could stop it.”
Rekha’s voice rose. “You didn’t stop anything. You created a disaster! The media will tear us apart when they find out. Investors will ask questions. Your entire image—”
“Enough.” Siddharth’s voice wasn’t loud. But it was final.
A strange, thick silence fell.
Everyone stared at him.
Calm, unshaken, but there was a glint of exhaustion in his eyes—like he had been fighting a war long before this moment.
“If you all want an explanation,” he said, “you’ll get it. But not at the cost of disrespecting her.”
Rekha inhaled sharply. “Siddharth—”
“I’m not finished, Mom.”
The entire room froze.
Siddharth stepped slightly in front of me, a subtle shield.
“I know the marriage was sudden,” he said. “Shocking. But I will not stand here and let you blame her for something she had no control over. She was a victim of someone else’s cruelty.”
Dadi’s voice softened, just a little. “And you chose marriage as her rescue? Beta, that is not how our family works.”
“I know.” He rubbed a tired hand across his forehead. “I know it breaks every rule. Every expectation. But I wasn’t going to leave her there to be destroyed.”
Rekha folded her arms tightly. “We do not accept her .”
My breath hitched.
And then Siddharth spoke the words that stunned even me.
“If you don’t accept her ,” he said quietly, “I will leave the mansion .”
The room erupted.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Siddharth, think before you talk!”
“You can’t walk away from the empire you built—”
But Siddharth didn’t flinch.
“This marriage may not have been planned,” he said, “but it is mine. She is my responsibility now. And my family—my home—will not insult her.”
His voice didn’t rise once, but it hit harder than any shout.
For the first time, he looked directly at me.
And something in his eyes—not softness, not love, but a quiet promise—made my chest ache.
“You’re safe here,” he said.
I didn’t know whether to believe him.
But in that moment, standing in the glittering heart of the Malhotra mansion, surrounded by strangers who hated my presence…
He was the only person not letting me drown.
Siddharth’s POV
The moment my words fell into the hall like a dropped weapon—If you don’t accept her , I will leave mansion
Dadi pushed herself up with trembling hands. “You’re too impulsive, Siddharth.” She shook her head and walked away, muttering prayers and disappointment under her breath.
My mother didn’t bother hiding her anger. “This girl will ruin you. Remember my words.” She shot Roohi a final, sharp look and turned away, heels clicking like insults against the marble floor.
Dad didn’t shout this time —heavy, disappointed. “We expected better from you.” Then he walked off without another word.
Sunitha murmured, “I hope you know what you’re doing, beta,” before pulling Rahul along.
Rahul glared at Roohi as if she’d personally set fire to the empire.
The hall emptied one by one, the echo of their anger lingering like smoke after a fire.
Roohi looked like she had forgotten how to breathe.
I turned toward her. “Come with me.”
She followed, silent, small, like she was shrinking inside herself. I led her up the sweeping staircase, down the long corridor lined with portraits of every Malhotra who ever mattered. Their eyes followed us—accusing, judging, warning.
When we reached my room—the largest suite in the mansion—I pushed the door open. She stepped in and stopped as if afraid to touch the glossy wooden floor.
I closed the door behind us.
The moment the click echoed, Roohi collapsed.
Not onto the bed. Not onto the floor.
Onto her knees.
Before I could react, she bent forward and grabbed my feet with shaking hands.
“Roohi—”
Her voice broke like shattered glass. “It’s all because of me. All this hatred… your family fighting… the things they said… everything happened because of me.”
Her tears soaked into the fabric of my trousers, hot and desperate. I had seen people break in business deals, in negotiations, in boardrooms. But this wasn’t breaking—it was collapse. Pure, raw, human collapse.
I knelt immediately and pulled her hands away from my feet. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever do that.”
She shook her head violently. “I didn’t want this marriage. I didn’t want any of this. I should have left. I should have died that night. Why did you—”
“Stop.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “Don’t say that again.”
She looked up at me, eyes swollen, lashes wet, face pale with shame. She looked like a girl who had been fighting battles alone her entire life and didn’t know how to stand anymore.
“I destroyed your entire family,” she whispered.
“You didn’t destroy anything.”
“I did—”
“No.” My voice steadied. “My family isn’t fragile enough to break because of your existence.”
She flinched like the word existence itself hurt.
I softened my tone. “Roohi, listen to me. What happened tonight… it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t choose that situation. And you didn’t choose this marriage. I did.”
“That’s what scares me,” she whispered. “You sacrificed everything because of me.”
“I didn’t sacrifice anything.” I exhaled slowly. “I made a decision. The only one I could live with. If I had walked away that night, you wouldn’t be alive to blame yourself today.”
Her lips trembled. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved. Your life was perfect.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “Perfect? You think a life built on expectations and performance is perfect?”
She looked at me cautiously.
I continued, “Roohi, I’ve been groomed to be a Raichand-Malhotra since the day I was born. Every word, every action, every breath evaluated. You think this life is easy? You think power feels like freedom? It doesn’t. Not always.”
Her tears slowed as she listened.
“For the first time,” I said quietly, “I made a choice that was mine. Not my family’s. Not society’s. Mine.”
She covered her face with her palms. “I don’t belong here.”
“I know,” I said honestly. “Not yet.”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“But you will,” I added. “You will find your place. And until then, I’m here. I’ll handle everything.”
“You don’t even know me,” she whispered. “Why are you doing this?”
I hesitated.
Because I had seen too many people break for the world’s entertainment.
Because I knew what it felt like to be trapped in expectations.
Because she looked like someone who had never been protected in her life.
But I couldn’t tell her that.
So I simply said, “Because it was right.”
Her eyes filled again.
“You don’t have to.” I stood up slowly. “Just try to rest.”
I guided her to the edge of the bed. “Lie down.”
She hesitated. “Where will you sleep?”
“couch.”
Her eyes widened. “No. I can sleep on the floor—”
“I said I’ll sleep couch .” My tone left no room for argument.
After a moment, she nodded weakly and lay on the bed, curling into herself. She looked so small against the huge expanse of the mattress.
I grabbed the spare blanket stored there, and returned. The couch on the far side of the bed , was more than comfortable. Luxury didn’t matter.
What mattered was distance.
Not because I didn’t trust myself.
But because I didn’t want to frighten her more than she already was.
As I lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling carved with gold patterns and old family symbols, my mind refused to quiet.
For the first time in years, the empire didn’t matter.
The wealth didn’t matter.
The name didn’t matter.
Only the broken girl sleeping on my bed did.
My thoughts kept drifting back to her.
To the way she fell at my feet.
To the fear she carried like a second skin.
To the fact that no one in her life had ever stood up for her.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly.
This marriage had started as protection.
But something told me it was going to become far more complicated than that.
I glanced at her once more—curled tightly under the blanket, shoulders still shaking faintly even in sleep.
I had promised her safety.
Now I had to keep that promise… even if it meant standing against my own family.
As the night settled over the Malhotra mansion, I lay awake on the couch, listening to the fragile breaths of the girl fate had placed in my life. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—anger, judgment, revolt—but I knew one thing with stark clarity: I wasn’t backing away. Not from this marriage. And not from her.
“Sometimes destiny doesn’t arrive with love… it arrives with responsibility. And in protecting someone else, you discover pieces of yourself you never knew existed.”
Write a comment ...