Myra stepped downstairs and immediately sensed it.
Chaos.
The house was alive in a way it never was for her.
Maids moved back and forth hurriedly, their arms full of clothes, boxes, and wrapped parcels. Laughter echoed from the hallway as someone gave instructions, someone else complained about space, another called out names.
Everything was being taken to Anaya’s room. The wedding is in two days. Everyone is busy.
Myra stood there for a moment, unnoticed.
She watched as silk sarees were carried past her, their bright colours flashing like celebration itself. Decorative trays followed—perfumes, bangles, neatly packed wedding essentials. Each item seemed more important than the last.
Rajveer and Anaya had bought a lot for the wedding.
Too much.
As if love needed proof in the form of excess.
Her gaze shifted to the living room.
Her parents were seated close to Anaya, their faces softened with pride. Her mother opened a velvet box carefully, as though it held something sacred. Inside lay traditional jewellery—heavy, intricate, passed down through generations.
“This was my mother’s,” her mother said warmly, placing it in Anaya’s hands. “And this one is new. For your new beginning.”
Anaya smiled, eyes shining.
Myra watched quietly from a distance.
No one looked at her.
No one called her closer.
No one thought to include her.
She wasn’t jealous.
Just… forgotten.
She folded her arms slowly, feeling the familiar ache settle in her chest. It wasn’t loud. It never was.
She realised then that this house had already chosen its centre.
And it wasn’t her.
She turned away silently, retreating upstairs before anyone noticed she had been there at all.
-----------------
Anaya entered her room with the jewellery boxes cradled in her arms.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
For a second, she stood there—
a smile still blooming on her lips.
Then it faded.
Completely.
Her hands trembled as she threw the boxes onto the bed.
They landed with a dull thud.
“Argh…” she breathed out harshly, the sound trapped in her throat.
She couldn’t even scream.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she pressed her palms against the edge of the bed, trying to steady herself. She shut her eyes, counting her breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
It didn’t help.
The rage didn’t settle.
It only grew.
She straightened suddenly, eyes flashing.
She had to do something.
Fast.
If she didn’t, she would be trapped in a marriage with no escape.
She didn’t want to get married.
Not now.
Rajveer had been her first love. For years, she had believed that was enough. But somewhere along the way, reality had stripped away the illusion.
He was always working.
Always serious.
Always chasing numbers, deals, power.
He didn’t know how to enjoy life.
Didn’t know how to laugh without checking the time.
Didn’t know how to live beyond money.
And worst of all—she knew what marriage to him would do.
He would turn her into him.
Disciplined.
Controlled.
Lifeless.
The thought made her stomach twist.
She didn’t want that future.
She wanted freedom.
She wanted excitement.
She wanted a life that felt like hers.
Not one where she was tied to a man for the rest of her life, slowly shrinking to fit his world.
Her jaw tightened.
Decision burned behind her eyes.
She wasn’t ready to be someone’s wife.
-------------------
Anaya sat at the centre of the table, laughter spilling easily from her lips.
The café buzzed with music and chatter, her friends gathered around her like satellites—eyes bright, voices loud, drinks constantly refilled.
“A future Mrs. Rajveer,” one of them teased, raising her glass.
“Do you even realise how lucky you are?”
Another leaned closer, grinning.
“A model. Rich. Beautiful. And now marrying the most handsome and powerful man in the city.”
They all laughed, admiration thick in the air.
Anaya smiled.
She smiled because this was familiar.
This praise. This attention. This feeling of being admired.
Her friends looked at her like she was a prize the world had chosen.
“We’re so proud of you,” one of them said sincerely.
“You’ve won at life.”
Won.
The word echoed pleasantly in her mind.
“This is your bachelor party,” another declared. “One last night of freedom before you settle down.”
Freedom.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass.
Then someone spoke from behind her.
“Still the same, Anaya.”
She froze.
Slowly, she turned.
Rajiv stood there, a casual smile on his face, dressed simply, effortlessly familiar.
Her past.
“Rajiv?” she asked, surprised.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, pulling out a chair. “I heard you’re getting married.”
She nodded, her smile slipping into something polite.
They ended up sitting slightly away from the others, the noise of the café fading into the background.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
They talked about small things at first—college memories, mutual friends, the years that had passed too quickly. Rajiv laughed easily, the same way he always had, and Anaya found herself relaxing without meaning to.
It felt familiar. Comfortable.
Dangerously so.
At some point, the others drifted away, leaving them alone at the table. Rajiv leaned back in his chair, studying her quietly.
“You’re not excited about the wedding,” he said suddenly.
She looked up, startled.
“What makes you say that?” she asked, forcing a light smile.
“You haven’t mentioned it once,” he replied. “And every time someone congratulated you, you smiled—but your eyes didn’t.”
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
Silence stretched between them.
“I’m just tired,” she said finally.
Rajiv didn’t push. He never had to.
After a moment, he spoke again, softer this time.
“You loved him once,” he said. “For years, right?”
The words landed heavier than she expected.
She exhaled slowly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I did.”
“Then what changed?”
She stared at the table, watching the condensation trail down her glass.
“He changed,” she said quietly. “Or maybe… I did.”
Rajiv leaned forward.
“He doesn’t see you,” she continued, her voice steadier now that she’d started. “Not really. Everything is about work, schedules, money. There’s no space to breathe. No room to be me.”
Rajiv listened carefully, his expression unreadable.
“And marriage will fix that?” he asked gently.
She laughed under her breath.
“No,” she said. “Marriage will trap me.”
The word hung in the air.
Rajiv’s gaze softened, but there was something else there too—something calculating.
“You were never meant for a life like that,” he said. “You were always restless. Always wanting more.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him.
“And you?” she asked. “What do you want now?”
A slow smile curved his lips.
“Travelling around the world,” he said simply.
Her heart skipped—not from love, but from possibility.
He hesitated, just long enough to seem unsure.
“I’m leaving,” he added casually. “Going to the U.S. for a few months. Work. Something new.”
She stilled.
“Oh,” she said. “When?”
“Soon .”
He watched her closely as he spoke again.
“You don’t have to decide anything,” he said lightly. “I just thought… you should know there are other ways to live.”
Other ways.
The words settled into her mind quietly, like a seed.
And Anaya didn’t push them away.
--------------
Two days later
The Wedding Day
Myra sat in front of the mirror, carefully sliding the bangles onto her wrists.
The soft clinking sound filled the room.
She was dressed in a traditional silk saree—gold and peach—its fabric falling perfectly against her skin. The warm colours complemented her brown complexion, and the gold jewellery resting against her neck made her glow in a way she rarely noticed.
For once, she looked… radiant.
She studied her reflection for a moment, then smiled.
Not out of pride—but quiet happiness.
Everything seemed in place.
Satisfied, she picked up her purse and phone and stepped out of her room.
As she walked down the corridor, she slowed near her sister’s door.
Anaya’s room.
A thought crossed her mind.
She must be getting ready by now.
Myra smiled to herself, imagining her sister sitting in front of the mirror, surrounded by makeup brushes, sarees, laughter, excitement. She felt a small flutter of anticipation.
She wanted to see her.
Just a quick look.
Myra reached out and gently pushed the door open.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
No music.
No voices.
No movement.
Her smile faded slowly as she stepped inside.
The room was empty.
The bed was untouched.
The mirror bare.
No sign of Anaya anywhere.
Myra stood there, a strange chill crawling up her spine.
Something wasn’t right.
“Anaya…”
Myra called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She glanced around the room.
Silence.
A strange, heavy silence.
She walked toward the bathroom and pushed the door open.
Empty.
Her heart began to thud faster.
“Myra…”
Her mother’s voice made her flinch.
She turned sharply.
Her mother stood at the doorway, her face tight with impatience. Two women stood behind her—one of them the beautician, makeup kit clutched to her chest.
“Where is Anaya?” her mother asked.
To be continued
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