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✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅𝕾𝖆𝖙 𝕾𝖗𝖎 𝕬𝖐𝖆𝖑 𝕵𝖎⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦

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Attendence lagao! Homework kis kis ne kiya Aaj ka bhi karna

Comment please, I would love reading your comment

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦┆・

My consciousness flickered back like a dying bulb — the hum of engines under my skin, cold leather beneath my palms, the bite of restraints around my wrists. A blindfold smothered my sight. My breath came sharp, uneven.

"Chhodo mujhe! Meri aankhein kholo!" (Let me go! Open my eyes!)

I twisted, fighting the cuffs digging into my skin.

"Mujhe yahan kyun baandh rakha hai?" (Why have you tied me up here?)

From the shadows ahead, a voice cut through the cabin—calm, controlled, annoyingly steady.

"Chodo ya chhodo? Apki awaaz itni hil rahi thi ki samajh hi nahi aaya tum kya bol rahi ho." (Should I fuck you or leave you? Your voice was shaking so much I couldn't even understand what you were saying.)

I stiffened. Even blindfolded, I could hear the arrogance dripping from him.

"Suno budhe bakwas mat karo samjhe. Ek bhanvre ko apni aukaat ka pata hona chahiye ki use kabhi bhi champa ka phool nahi milta." (Listen you oldie don't talk nonsense. A bee should know its place—it never gets the champa flower.)

Footsteps approached — slow, deliberate.

"Plane mein ho. Private jet." (You're in a plane. A private jet.)

Then fingers at the back of my head, loosening the blindfold.

Light stabbed my eyes. I blinked until the blur sharpened into white leather seats, polished wood, and a man standing like he owned the sky.

Dhruv.

Tall. Still. Arms crossed.

My wrists burned, but my voice didn't.

"Apki awaaz toh bilkul clear sunai de rahi hai. Problem meri bolne mein nahi, tumhari samajh mein hai." (Your voice is perfectly clear. The problem is in your understanding, not my speaking.)

I tugged at the cuffs — not to escape, just to show him I wasn't scared.

"Aur haan... next time 'chhodo' aur 'chodo' ka difference samajhna seekh lena. Varna log apko hi dictionary dekar baithne ko bolenge." (And yes... next time learn the difference between 'leave' and 'fuck'. Otherwise people will hand you a dictionary to sit with.)

She tilted her head with that signature Tara defiance.

"Aap sirf behre hi nahi... balki buddhu bhi ho. Par main bewakoof nahi." (You're not just deaf... you're a fool too. But I'm not stupid.)

His eyebrow twitched. Barely. But I saw it.

Good.

I lifted my chin.

"Waise... tum ho kaun? Naam kya hai?" (By the way... who exactly are you? What's your name?)

For some reason he didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't react to "behera" or "buddhu."

He just looked at me like I was noise in an otherwise perfect machine.

Then, in a voice so calm it felt like a warning:

""Aapko mera naam jaanna zaroori hai?" (Is knowing my name necessary for you?)

He stepped closer, shadow falling over me.

"Dhruv." (Dhruv.)

I smirked.

"Acha... toh tumhara naam Dhruv hai." (Oh... so your name is Dhruv.)

My tone sharpened.

"Ab batao, iss sundar si ladki ko kyun baandh rakha hai?" (Now tell me, why exactly have you tied up this beautiful girl?)

He didn't flinch.

"Aapke pita ji ki kripa se hum dono ke beech ek business agreement sign hua hai." (By your father's decision, a business agreement has been signed between the two of us.)

My breath hitched.

"Business ke liye." (For business.)

Another beat.

"Aur us deal ka hissa... aap hain." (And part of that deal... is you.)

The world tilted.

✦ FLASHBACK — MY MEMORY RETURNS ✦

College parking lot. Quiet. Too quiet.

I unlocked my car.

"Ms. Tara Sethi?"

Three men. Black suits. Blank faces.

"Kaun ho tum?" (Who are you people?)

No answer.

A paper held out.

"Tumhare papa ka message." (A message from your father.)

My stomach dropped.

I reached — he didn't let go.

His grip tightened.

I stepped back — saw the SUV. Engine running. Door open.

Instinct screamed.

I ran.

A hand grabbed me. Another blocked me.

"Humein sirf aapko le jaana hai." (We just need to take you.)

I fought.

"Chhodo mujhe!" (Let me go!)

Then a strange smell. Dizziness. Vision blurring.

My knees buckled.

The last thing I remember was fighting for my breath.

A voice:

"Chalo." (Come.)

Then darkness.

✦ BACK TO THE PRESENT ✦

I snapped back, breath uneven.

"Mere papa ne... kya kiya?" (What did my father... do?)

Dhruv's voice was quiet.

"Wahi jo unhe sahi laga." (What he believed was right.)

My chest tightened.

"Agar aisa hota, papa mujhe batate. Tum jhooth bol rahe ho." (If something like this had happened, my dad would've told me. You're lying.)

He didn't blink.

"Sach ko jhooth kehne se sach badalta nahi." (Calling the truth a lie doesn't change the truth.)

My fury cracked through my voice.

"Call lagao." (Make the call.)

He dialed.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello?"

My world stopped.

"Papa...?"

His voice was steady. Too steady.

"Tara?"

"Papa, yeh kya ho raha hai? Yeh log—" (Dad, what is happening? These people—)

Dhruv put it on speaker.

My father's voice filled the cabin.

"Tara... jo agreement humne sign kiya hai, usme tumhara role zaroori hai." (Tara... in the agreement we signed, your involvement is necessary.)

Agreement. Role. My stomach twisted.

"Papa, aapne koi deal ki? Mujhe kyun nahi bataya?" (Dad, you made a deal? Why didn't you tell me?)

Silence. Long. Heavy.

"Tara... jo maine kiya, majboori mein kiya." (Tara... what I did, I did out of helplessness.)

My heart cracked.

"Papa...?"

He inhaled shakily.

"Company loss mein ja rahi thi. Dhruv ka investment hi ek raasta tha." (The company was sinking. Dhruv's investment was the only way out.)

I felt sick.

"Papa, please— mujhe ghar le chalo—" (Dad, please— take me home—)

"Tara, beta... abhi phone rakhna hoga." (Tara, dear... I have to hang up now.)

"Papa, please—"

Click.

Silence swallowed me whole.

"Nahi... yeh sach nahi ho sakta." (No... this can't be true.)

Dhruv's voice cut through me.

"Ab samajh aaya?" (Do you understand now?)

Something inside me snapped.

"Tumne unse jhoot bulwaya hai! Tumne unhe manipulate kiya hai!" (You made him lie! You manipulated him!)

He didn't react.

"Mere papa aisa kabhi nahi kar sakte! Tumne unhe dhamkaaya hoga—" (My dad would never do this! You must have threatened him—)

He finally moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

He pulled out a folded document.

My breath hitched.

He opened it. Turned it toward me.

My father's signature stared back at me.

Bold. Clear. Final.

"Yeh aapke pita ji ka sign hai." (This is your father's signature.)

My throat closed.

"Aur yeh unka decision." (And this is his decision.)

The heading burned into my eyes:

Mutual Business Agreement.

Dhruv's voice stayed cold.

"Aapke pita ji ne mujhe primary partner banaya hai." (Your father made me the primary partner in his company.)

A beat.

"Aur aap... us agreement ka central clause hain." (And you... are the central clause of that agreement.)

Tara's breath shattered.

Her voice came out as a broken whisper:

"Nahi... yeh jhooth hai... yeh sab jhooth hai..." (No... this is a lie... all of this is a lie...)

Dhruv didn't blink.

"Jhooth hota toh main apko yahan nahi laata." (If it were a lie, I wouldn't have brought you here.)

He folded the document again with surgical precision.

Slid it back into his jacket.

Then looked at her with that same cold, unshaken calm.

"Apke pita ji ne apko bali ka bakra nahi banaya, Tara Ji." (Your father didn't sacrifice you, Tara.)

A beat.

"Unhone tumhe bargain banaya." (He made you the bargain.)

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦┆・

Bye Guys. ✨

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