CHAPTER - 5

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Author's POV

The air inside the Rathore mansion was thick with concern and confusion. It had been three long hours since the newlywed bride had left the temple, and yet, there was still no sign of her. Aarika Singh Rathore, Avyaan’s mother, paced back and forth across the marble floor of the sitting room, her silk saree rustling with every turn she took. Her brows were drawn tightly in a frown, lips pressed in a worried line.

"Where is she?" Aarika asked again, her voice laced with both anxiety and frustration. Her eyes shifted between Sumitra, Avyaan’s aunt, and the maid who stood quietly nearby. "She left with the other car behind us. It’s been over three hours! Why hasn’t she reached yet?"

Sumitra exchanged a nervous glance with the housekeeper before clearing her throat. "Bhabhi, I don’t know. Maybe something went wrong on the way. The rain, perhaps..."

Before they could speculate further, a bodyguard entered the room and bowed slightly.

"Ma’am," he said carefully, "the bride... she was instructed to walk from the main road to the mansion. It was an order from the boss."

Aarika’s face paled. "Walk? In this storm? Are you insane?"

She turned to the maid. "Send someone to get her now! Right now! Go, hurry!"

But just as the girl turned to leave, the main door creaked open.

---

The doors of the mansion opened slowly with a groan, revealing a fragile figure at the entrance. Soaked from head to toe, the bride stood at the threshold with trembling legs and a shivering frame. Her bridal lehenga, once vibrant and elegant, now clung to her form in soaked folds. Her veil was plastered to her forehead, and her bangles jingled with every hesitant movement she made. Her right foot dragged slightly behind her as she stepped forward.

Everyone in the room went still. Even the rain seemed to hush.

Sumitra gasped. Aarika's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh my god... she walked?" Aarika whispered. "She really walked? From the road to here? In the rain?"

The bride took another step forward. Her feet were blistered, and her anklet had snapped somewhere on the road. There were visible marks—raw red skin from the distance she had walked. But despite the pain, her back remained straight, her lips pressed tightly as she fought the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

She didn’t collapse. She didn’t speak. She just kept walking.

Aarika ran forward and held her before she could fall. The soft sound of a motherly gasp left her lips. "Beta, what happened? You’re drenched, you’re hurt... why would he do this to you?"

There was no answer. Just silence. A painful silence.

But everyone in the room knew. Knew that something was terribly wrong.

---

Griha Pravesh.

Aarika prepared the aarti plate with trembling hands. The silver thali was decorated with marigolds, vermilion, a small diya, and a pot of rice carefully balanced near the entrance. The bride, though exhausted, stood tall.

Aarika did her part with care—waving the aarti in front of the bride, whispering her blessings under her breath. Tears glistened in her eyes as she stepped back and gestured toward the kalash.

"Push the pot gently with your right foot, beta. It’s your home now," she said, her voice soft but steady.

The bride raised her injured right foot with effort and nudged the pot forward, spilling rice onto the threshold.

Just then, the sound of leather shoes echoed through the corridor.

Avyaan Singh Rathore.

He stood in all black—cold eyes, sharp jawline, a presence that silenced the very wind. Without glancing at the bride, he walked up slowly.

"Done with the rituals?" he asked his mother without sparing her a look.

Aarika looked at him, torn between fury and disappointment.

"You should have seen her condition, Avyaan. She walked for hours in the rain."

He didn’t respond.

Instead, his gaze fell to the floor. The alta plate was set next to the threshold, waiting for the bride to leave her footprints as per ritual. But he stepped forward, and with the tip of his boot, he kicked a nearby glass vase. It shattered into pieces right in front of the alta plate.

Everyone gasped.

"Walk on that," he said, eyes locked on the bride now.

"What?" Aarika breathed, horrified.

The bride hesitated. Her body trembled.

"You heard me. Walk. Through. That."

Her eyes lifted slightly to meet his. This was the first time she saw the man she had married. And even through the blur of her wet lashes, the rage and cruelty in his eyes was undeniable.

She stepped forward. One step. Two.

Then a sharp wince escaped her lips.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone saw the blood. The bruises. The truth.

Her leg wasn't just injured. It was already damaged. Badly.

Sumitra gasped and ran forward.

"She’s hurt! She’s... she can’t..."

But Avyaan didn’t stop. His cold glare flicked away as if none of it mattered. As if this wasn’t a woman. As if she was just another burden.

He walked away without a single word.

The bride stood still, bleeding on shattered glass.

And yet, she didn’t cry.

She didn’t fall.

Aarika ran forward, held her, and shouted for the maid.

And behind them, the mansion grew darker than ever.

For she was not just a bride now.

She was the wounded queen in a lion’s den.

.

The silence of the mansion was slowly replaced by hushed conversations and uncertain glances. After everything that happened — the rain-soaked arrival, the bloodied feet, the broken glass — Aarika Singh Rathore’s heart couldn’t take more waiting. Without wasting another moment, she dialed a number and called someone she deeply trusted: Dr. Sharanya Mehra, their distant cousin and a renowned physician in the city. Sharanya had known the Rathore family for years, especially Aarika, and didn’t hesitate when summoned in the middle of the night.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open as Sharanya stepped into the mansion. Her heels echoed against the marble floor as she took in the unusual quietness of the house. Aarika met her near the hallway and led her upstairs to the guest room where the new bride — Avyaan’s wife — lay resting. On the way, Sharanya curiously asked, "Badi maa, who is this woman you called me for? Is she a guest?"

Aarika paused just outside the room, her voice low but filled with emotion. "No, Sharanya. She is Avyaan’s wife."

Sharanya stopped in her tracks, blinking in disbelief. "Wait... what? Avyaan? You mean *the* Avyaan Singh Rathore? The devil himself actually got married?"

Aarika gave a dry nod, her eyes dim but serious. "I know. It's hard to believe. But she’s in pain. She walked all the way here... alone. I don’t want her to suffer any more tonight."

When they entered the room, the soft glow of a bedside lamp cast a pale light over the girl resting quietly on the bed. Her head was low, her red bridal veil still hiding her face from everyone’s eyes. Even now, even after the rituals and the pain, she hadn’t let anyone see her.

Sharanya moved closer and gently sat on the edge of the bed. She touched her hand lightly, then whispered in a soft, reassuring tone. "Hey... I’m a doctor. I just need to check your wounds, okay?"

Slowly, she lifted the hem of her bridal lehenga to examine the damage. Her eyes widened at the sight of deep red blisters and swelling over her injured foot. It was clearly more than just tiredness — the skin had torn in places from the long, harsh walk. She cleaned the wounds carefully, then dressed them with care, murmuring comforting words as she worked.

"She’s seriously hurt," Sharanya said quietly, glancing over her shoulder at Aarika. "She must’ve walked for hours like this. It’s not just exhaustion. There’s real injury here."

As she reached up gently to check her temperature and see her expression better, she said, "Can you lift the veil for a second, please? I just need to make sure you’re okay—"

But before she could even finish the sentence, the girl gave a soft but firm shake of her head. She refused.

Sharanya was stunned, unsure of how to respond. She turned to Aarika with confusion in her eyes. "She doesn’t want to show her face. But... she isn’t saying a word either. Not even a thank you. It’s strange."

Aarika felt a subtle shift inside her chest, but she kept her expression composed. "Let her be," she said softly. "She must be overwhelmed."

Sharanya nodded, finishing the examination silently. She handed Aarika a small packet of medicines and gave brief instructions on how to administer them. Then she stood and moved to the door. "I’ll head back now. I have surgeries scheduled early."

But Aarika gently touched her arm and said, "No, stay the night. Just one night. In the morning, check her again. If she needs more care, we’ll decide then."

Sharanya looked back at the girl on the bed, who hadn’t moved even an inch. Something in her heart told her this wasn’t an ordinary girl — not an ordinary marriage, not an ordinary night. "Alright, I’ll stay."

Aarika gave a small, grateful smile and left the room quietly.

Back inside, the bride — Aradhya — struggled to sit up once the room was empty again. The pain in her leg flared with each movement, but she didn’t make a sound. With great effort, she pulled herself up and limped toward the bathroom. Every step was a war against her own body. Her bruises burned with every breath, but her silence remained unbroken. She was determined not to be seen as weak. She had come this far.

After cleaning herself up and refreshing with cold water, she returned to the bed, every muscle trembling. She didn’t remove her bridal veil even as she lay back down. It became her armor now — a wall between her and the world that didn’t ask what she wanted, that didn’t offer her a choice. The soft moonlight from the window bathed the room in silver, casting long shadows across the floor.

And in that quiet, where the world slept, Aradhya lay still… the veil shielding her from more than just eyes. It shielded her from judgement, from fear, from truths too painful to face just yet.

Tomorrow would come with questions. Maybe even answers.

But for tonight… silence was her only language.

.

It was already midnight.

The sky outside was dark, and the entire mansion had sunk into a heavy silence. But inside one of its rooms, Avyaan Singh Rathore stood alone, shirt half-open, the bottle of whiskey still resting beside his hand. His eyes were bloodshot, not just because of the alcohol, but because of the firestorm raging inside his mind.

For the past few hours, he had tried to calm himself—he had tried to believe that this marriage was just a mistake that would pass with time. But every second, her silent face haunted him. And then came the words his men had told him quietly just an hour ago:

“She’s mute.”

That was the final thread. His fingers clenched around the edge of the table. A dry laugh escaped his lips. 

“A mute girl... Really, Dad?”

He whispered to himself, bitterly. The realization sunk deeper with every passing second. He had been forced into this marriage, not by fate, but by his father’s twisted decision. And now, he had been tied to a girl who couldn’t even speak. What kind of game was his father playing? Was this girl just a pawn? A way to control him? A puppet planted in his life to keep eyes on his every move?

His mind twisted with suspicion.

Gold-digger.

Pawn.

Trap.

Every cruel word danced in his head like poison. He could not bear it anymore. Not one second.

Fueled by rage and whiskey, he stormed out of his room and marched toward hers. The house was dark and still, no one to question him or stop him. Within seconds, he was at her door.

He didn’t knock.

The door opened with a sharp thud as he pushed it.

There she was—his new bride. Lying on the bed like a silent shadow, her face still covered by the veil she had worn since the wedding. She flinched at the sound of the door, slowly pushing herself up on the mattress. But she didn’t say a word. Of course she didn’t.

His eyes narrowed.

"You really are mute, aren’t you?" he said coldly, voice like a blade.

She didn’t respond. Just kept looking down.

He took a step closer, eyes burning with anger, confusion, and betrayal.

"Let me guess... My father sent you. Promised you the Rathore name, the mansion, the luxuries. That’s why you agreed so easily, didn’t you?" He scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

"You’re just another one of his pawns. Another piece in his disgusting game. Maybe he thinks I’ll start listening to him if he plants someone close enough to watch me."

She clutched the edge of the blanket tighter, her breathing uneasy.

Avyaan took another step, his words sharp as knives. "Listen to me carefully, and remember this for the rest of your life," he growled. "I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what my father promised you. Just stay away from me. Stay away from my family. Don’t try to act like some innocent bride around here."

His voice dropped lower, colder. "If you try to interfere in my life or in my business even once, I won’t spare you."

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn’t raise her face. Didn’t defend herself. Didn’t speak.

He stared at her for a long moment, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

But then he turned away, eyes stormy, and walked toward the door.

"This marriage means nothing to me," he said one last time before disappearing into the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

And just like that, he was gone.

She remained there on the bed, tears silently soaking her veil. Her hands trembled, her body ached, but her soul… it had cracked a little more tonight. And yet, she said nothing. Only the shadows knew the weight she carried. Only the silence understood her pain.

.

The truth, like water pressing against a cracked dam, doesn’t stay hidden for long.

It began subtly—Sharanya’s silence, her concerned glances, the way her footsteps followed Aradhya’s movements through the day. She had watched her closely, not out of suspicion but out of quiet worry. Every step Aradhya took carried more than just pain; it carried the weight of a hidden truth.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills and the sky turned golden, Aarika Singh Rathore gathered the family in the drawing room. She had sensed something unusual ever since her son left for Dubai. The bride—her new daughter-in-law—had not spoken a word. She was fragile, polite, and invisible. It unsettled her.

Sharanya finally stepped forward.

"There's something you all need to know," she said, her voice gentle, yet firm.

All eyes turned toward her. Aradhya stood near the entrance, her veil still in place, hands folded before her like a fading flower.

Sharanya walked toward her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before turning to the others.

"She’s mute," Sharanya revealed softly. “She cannot speak.”

A collective gasp filled the room. Aarika’s hand instinctively covered her mouth. Sumitra blinked in disbelief. Even the younger cousins fell silent, their playful whispers replaced by stunned stillness.

"But that’s not all," Sharanya continued, her voice tightening. "She’s also... handicapped. Her right leg is damaged. It’s permanent. She’s been walking with pain and effort this entire time.”

Aarika rose from her seat, rushing to Aradhya’s side.

“What are you saying, Sharanya?” she whispered.

“I’m a doctor, Aarika aunty. I examined her thoroughly. She has an old injury, possibly from childhood. Her right leg is weak, and she walks with a noticeable bend. She’s been trying to hide it… but today, I saw her fall slightly near the stairs when no one noticed.”

There was silence again. But it wasn’t the awkward silence of discomfort—it was the heavy silence of remorse.

Aarika turned to Aradhya, who had lowered her head even further, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

"You’ve been walking with that pain… alone… for how long?" Aarika asked, voice breaking.

Aradhya said nothing.

But she didn’t need to. Her silence, paired with the truth now laid bare, echoed louder than words.

One by one, the faces of the family changed—from shock, to guilt, to an aching sadness.

Even Sumitra, who had so coldly dismissed her in the kitchen earlier, stood frozen. The weight of her harshness now suffocated her pride. No one had imagined that the quiet girl, forced into their lives under mysterious circumstances, had been bearing not just rejection—but lifelong pain.

"But why?" whispered Riya — His cousin sister — “Why would badepapa get her married to bhaiya…?”

No one answered.

Because no one had an answer.

It suddenly felt cruel—unforgivable even. To tie a girl like her to a man like Avyaan, who had already left the country without a word. A man known for his temper and secrets. A man who hadn’t even seen her face yet but had shown no signs of care.

Aarika turned away, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

"She didn’t deserve this," she whispered to herself. "No one does."

Sharanya stepped beside Aradhya and placed her arm around her gently.

"You're not alone anymore," she said, her voice firm yet soft. "No matter what the past holds. This house owes you kindness."

And for the first time, Aradhya looked up—not fully, not with confidence—but with a flicker of gratitude. It was small. Barely noticeable. But it was there.

Sometimes, it takes silence to awaken a family.

And that night, the Rathores, one by one, silently vowed to never look away again.

.

TO BE CONTINUED......