29. New mangalsutra

* Niharika *

I stood there, leaning against the door, my body trembling with anger and sadness. His words from earlier kept playing in my head like a broken record, each one cutting deeper than the last. I had spent years building walls around myself, shielding my heart from the world's cruelty, and yet, in just one day, he had managed to shatter it all.

I wiped my tears, but they wouldn't stop. My chest felt tight, suffocating with the weight of everything. He was outside, pacing-I could hear his footsteps. I wanted to ignore him, to pretend he didn't exist, but a part of me-why did it even care?-wanted to confront him, to yell at him for what he did.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and opened the door just slightly. My eyes met his, and for a moment, I saw something I hadn't expected-guilt. Regret. But what did it matter? What could possibly make up for the things he had said?

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice barely holding steady.

His lips parted as if to speak, but for a second, he said nothing. Then, softly, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Okay? Did he really think I could be okay after everything? I laughed bitterly, though it hurt to even do that. "Okay? Do I look okay to you?"

I pushed the door open wider, letting him see the wreck he had turned me into. "You ruined my dignity in front of everyone, Shivaay. You called me a disgrace, accused me of things I never did. And now you have the audacity to ask if I'm okay?"

His face twisted in pain, but I didn't care. He deserved to feel every bit of what I was feeling.

"I know I've made mistakes," he began, his voice low. "Terrible ones. I was wrong to say those things, to judge you..."

"You didn't just judge me," I snapped, cutting him off. My voice cracked, but I refused to let that stop me. "You destroyed me, Shivaay. Do you even understand what you did? You questioned my character-the one thing I've always clung to, the one thing I've always protected, even when no one else believed in me!"

I couldn't stop the tears now. They came freely, but I didn't bother wiping them away. "All my life, I've been insulted, Shivaay. By my parents, by society, by people who think I'm not enough. But you? I thought you'd be different. I thought maybe, just maybe, even if you didn't care for me, you'd at least respect me."

His silence was deafening, but I wasn't done. "But you're no different. In fact, you're worse. Because you didn't just insult me-you broke me in a way I never thought possible."

He stepped closer then, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for me but didn't dare. "Niharika, I don't know how to undo the damage I've done. I was blinded by my anger... my insecurities. But I swear to you, I'll do whatever it takes to make things right."

I shook my head, taking a step back. His words sounded sincere, but how could I trust him after what he had done? "Do you really think an apology will fix this? Do you think I can just forget everything you said and move on?"

"No," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I just... I just want a chance. A chance to prove that I'm not the monster you think I am. A chance to be better... for you."

I stared at him, my heart and mind at war. Part of me wanted to believe him, to give him that chance, but the wounds he had left were too fresh, too deep.

"If you truly want to prove yourself," I said finally, my voice steady, "don't just say it. Show it. Until then, don't expect me to trust you."

I stepped back and closed the door softly, leaving him standing there. My chest heaved as I leaned against the door again, my head throbbing with the weight of everything I had just said.

In that moment, I didn't know if I had done the right thing, but one thing was clear-I couldn't let him break me again. I wouldn't.

Shivaay stood outside the door, staring at the wooden surface as though he could see through it. Her words echoed in his mind, every sentence dripping with pain and anger, and he realized just how deeply he had wounded her. He wanted to break down that door, fall to his knees, and beg her to let him fix the damage, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

Inside, I slid down to the floor again, my knees pulled to my chest as I tried to control the sobs threatening to escape. My entire body trembled, not just from the confrontation but from the exhaustion of carrying so much hurt for so long. How could one person bring so much chaos into my life in such a short time?

I thought about his words, his plea for a chance. A small part of me wanted to believe him, to hope that he was capable of change, but the larger part of me-the part that had been let down time and time again-knew better.

He was a man born with power, privilege, and a hardened heart. How could someone like that ever understand the pain of being belittled, the constant fight for self-respect?

Shivaay, on the other hand, paced the hallway, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Every step he took felt heavier, weighed down by guilt and regret. Her words about her parents, about how she had been treated her whole life, stabbed at his heart. He had always prided himself on being fair, on being a man of principles, and yet here he was, proving himself to be everything he despised.

He paused outside the door again, resting his forehead against it. "I'll prove it, Niharika," he whispered, knowing she likely couldn't hear him. "I'll prove I'm not the man you think I am. I swear."

Inside, I heard the faint sound of his footsteps retreating, and for the first time that day, I felt a small sense of relief. The house fell silent, and I was left alone with my thoughts. My mind wandered to all the moments that had led me here-my parents' coldness, the forced marriage, the humiliations. And yet, despite everything, I couldn't shake the memory of the brief moments of kindness I'd seen in him, the fleeting glimpses of a man who might not be so heartless after all.

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away. No. I couldn't let myself fall into that trap again. Words meant nothing without actions, and until he showed me he was capable of real change, I wouldn't allow myself to believe in him.

Meanwhile, Shivaay retreated to his study, his mind in turmoil. He sat down at his desk, burying his face in his hands. For the first time in years, he felt truly lost. He had always been in control, always known how to fix things, but this time was different. This time, he wasn't sure if he could ever mend what he had broken.

As he leaned back in his chair, his eyes fell on the book he had been trying to read earlier. The words on the page seemed meaningless now, a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He picked up his phone and called Prashant again.

"I want results," he said, his voice cold and determined. "I don't care how long it takes or what it costs-find everything about Kanishk Verma. I need to know who he is, what he's done, and why he's linked to my wife. No excuses."

Ending the call, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a long while, Shivaay Singh Ranawat felt powerless, and it was a feeling he hated.

As the night deepened, both of us sat in our separate corners of the house, lost in our own thoughts. Neither of us knew what the future held, but one thing was certain-the wounds of the day wouldn't heal easily, and the road ahead would be long and uncertain.

The morning sunlight poured into the room, casting a golden hue over everything it touched. Niharika stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her dupatta. Her eyes were puffy, betraying the tears she had shed through the night, though she tried to steel herself for the day ahead. She didn't want anyone, especially him, to see her weakness.

The soft creak of the door startled her, and she turned around to see Shivaay entering. He looked exhausted, his hair slightly disheveled, dark circles under his eyes-a stark contrast to his usual composed and commanding self. In his hand, he held a small velvet box.

"What now?" she asked, her tone laced with irritation and weariness.

Shivaay walked closer, stopping a few feet away from her. "Take this," he said, holding out the box.

Her brows furrowed as she eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Open it and see for yourself," he replied, his voice calm, yet carrying an undertone of something she couldn't quite place-was it regret?

She hesitated before taking the box from his hands and flicking it open. Her breath caught when she saw what lay inside: a mangalsutra, its delicate black and gold beads glistening, adorned with a simple yet elegant pendant.

A wave of emotion washed over her, but she quickly shoved it aside, closing the box with a snap. "I already have a mangalsutra," she said curtly. "The one I removed yesterday. If it bothers you so much, I'll wear it back."

"No," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You removed it, Niharika. That one is meaningless now. You're not going to wear it again."

Her jaw tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And you think this will solve everything? That replacing one mangalsutra with another will undo the humiliation, the accusations, and the pain you've caused me?"

Shivaay didn't flinch under her fiery gaze. Instead, he stepped closer, his tone steady but filled with an unfamiliar softness. "This isn't about fixing the past. I know I can't undo what I've done or said. But this,"-he gestured to the box-"this is my way of saying I'm trying. Trying to be the husband you deserve. Trying to respect you, Niharika. Because you are my wife, and whether you believe me or not, you deserve to be treated with dignity."

Her eyes widened, stunned by his words. She had never expected to hear such things from him, the man who had called her a disgrace just the day before. But she quickly masked her vulnerability, refusing to let him see the crack in her armor.

"You expect me to forgive you?" she asked, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You expect me to forget that you doubted my character, insulted me, and accused me of being something I'm not?"

"No," he admitted, his gaze unwavering. "I don't expect forgiveness-not today, maybe not ever. But I can't let you believe that you're less than what you are-my wife, the queen of this house, and someone who deserves better than the way I've treated you."

His words caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. Before she could respond, he gently took the box from her hands.

"May I?" he asked softly, holding the mangalsutra delicately between his fingers.

She froze, her breath hitching. Part of her wanted to push him away, to refuse, but another part-one she wasn't ready to admit-longed to see where this would go.

When she didn't respond, he took her silence as consent. Slowly, carefully, he stepped closer, so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. He reached around her neck and clasped the mangalsutra, his touch light yet firm.

"There," he said quietly, stepping back to look at her. "It suits you."

Her fingers instinctively reached up to touch the beads, her heart a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted to believe his words, but the pain of his past actions still lingered, raw and unhealed.

"This doesn't change anything," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he replied, his expression unreadable. "But I hope it's a start."

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving her standing there, her fingers still resting on the mangalsutra. For a long time, she didn't move, her mind replaying his words and actions.

As the door clicked shut behind him, she sank onto the bed, her emotions overwhelming her. This man-this impossible, infuriating man-had hurt her deeply, yet his unexpected tenderness had shaken her resolve.

And for the first time, she wondered: could this really be the start of something new? Or was it just another fleeting moment in the storm that was her marriage?

Niharika's fingers lingered on the mangalsutra for a moment longer, the cold beads pressing against her skin like a reminder of everything that had transpired. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, each one battling for dominance.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she steadied herself. "No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head firmly. "Don't fall for his words and actions now, Niharika."

She took a deep breath, her gaze hardening as she looked at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her wasn't weak. She had endured years of pain, rejection, and now, this marriage filled with accusations and misunderstandings. But she wasn't going to let it break her.

His words had carried a weight, a softness she hadn't seen before, but she couldn't let that cloud her judgment. He might be trying now, but the scars he had inflicted weren't so easily erased. His actions needed to speak louder than his words, and she wasn't going to let herself be swayed by a moment of vulnerability on his part.

"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath, her voice firmer this time. "This doesn't change anything. Not yet."

She adjusted her dupatta one last time, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle. Whatever his intentions were, she wasn't going to let herself fall into the trap of hope-not until she saw real, consistent change.

Because if there was one thing she had learned, it was that she couldn't rely on anyone else to fight for her dignity. She would do it herself, as she always had.