Chapter 36: ❗ 35 ❗

I slammed my purse onto the console table the moment I stepped into my room, exhaling sharply as I kicked off my heels. My feet ached, my head pounded, and my patience—what little I had left—was hanging by a thread.

That was... something.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to punch Aditya or be mildly impressed by how effortlessly he managed to get under my skin. He had this way of twisting words, throwing my own sarcasm back at me, making me—ugh—actually enjoy the conversation.

And that was dangerous.  Because the last thing I needed was to find something remotely tolerable about this ridiculous arrangement.

I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.  I had gone into that café expecting to be bored out of my mind. Instead, I had spent the entire time locked in a battle of wits, every insult disguised as playful banter, every smirk a silent challenge.

I groaned, turning onto my side, hugging a pillow close. No. I wasn't going to think about him.

Not about the way his gaze had darkened when I told him I was a war.

Not about the way his lips had twitched when I suggested redecorating his office in pink.

Not about the way, for a single fleeting moment, he had looked at me with something that almost resembled understanding.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

I closed my eyes, trying to push everything out of my head.  But sleep didn't come. Instead, my mind replayed every word, every look, every unspoken moment between us.

Why did it feel like he wasn't as against this marriage as he pretended to be?

And why—despite every bone in my body screaming at me to hate him—did I feel like I wasn't either?

The entire house was a whirlwind of chaos.

Everywhere I turned, there were people—decorators, florists, caterers, and a hundred relatives I barely remembered—shuffling around, shouting instructions, adjusting garlands, setting up lights, and making sure every corner of the Rajput mansion screamed wedding extravaganza.

And I? I was suffocating.

Sitting on the living room couch, I sipped my tea, trying to block out the madness around me. My father was busy discussing arrangements with Aditya's parents, my aunts were busy fawning over the dulhan-to-be, and my cousins were sneaking sweets from the dining table like mischievous little devils.

"Avni, did you even pick your wedding lehenga yet?" My cousin Shreya plopped down beside me, stuffing a laddoo into her mouth.  "Yes, Shreya di, for the hundredth time." I rolled my eyes, placing my cup down. " You only helped me pick out."

"Oh, that one." She sighed dramatically. "Honestly, you could've picked something heavier. That embroidery is too simple—"  "It's my wedding, not a fashion show," I muttered, rubbing my temples.

Shreya nudged me with her elbow. "Okay, okay, don't bite my head off. But I have to ask—" she wiggled her brows—"any special feelings for your would-be pati-dev?"  I nearly choked on air. "What? No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on," she whined, hugging a cushion. "At least admit he's hot."  I pursed my lips, glaring at her. "Shreya di, I swear if you don't stop—"

"Uff, just saying! You two were arguing like maniacs at the engagement, and now you're forced to get married in two days. It's straight out of a Bollywood movie!"

Bollywood movie, my foot.

There was nothing romantic about this. Nothing soft, nothing dreamy, nothing that made me feel butterflies. Only frustration.

Yet, deep down, a tiny, annoying voice in my head whispered—Then why does it feel like something is shifting?

I shook my head, pushing the thought away.  Just then, a commotion near the entrance caught my attention.

Aditya.  Of course.

Dressed in his signature crisp black shirt and grey slacks, he stepped inside, his face set in that usual arrogant expression. His eyes swept across the hall, uninterested in the wedding madness, before landing on me.

For a second, his gaze lingered.  Then, with a smirk tugging at his lips, he strode toward my father.  Great.

The last thing I needed was to deal with him again.

I grabbed my phone and stood up, deciding to escape to my room before someone forced me into another conversation about flowers or napkin colors.

But as I turned, my father's voice stopped me.  "Avni, come here. Aditya needs to discuss something with you."

I inhaled sharply, closed my eyes for a brief second, and turned around.  This was going to be a long day. I really didn't want to do this.

But with my father's expectant gaze and Aditya's insufferable smirk, there was no way out. So, with a sigh heavy enough to knock over a few floral arrangements, I turned back and walked toward them, my fingers gripping my phone a little too tightly.

"What?" I asked, standing in front of Aditya without bothering with pleasantries.  His eyes flickered with amusement. "That's how you greet your would-be pati, Avni? No 'hello'? No 'how are you'?"

I crossed my arms. "Let's get something straight, Aditya. I am not interested in playing this whole oh-we're-getting-married-so-let's-act-cute game. Say whatever you need to say and get lost."

His lips twitched, but before he could respond, my father cleared his throat. "Avni, behave," he warned, giving me a pointed look.  I huffed, rolling my eyes but biting back my next snarky remark.

"Now," my father continued, looking between Aditya and me, "since the wedding is only two days away, there are a few final things you both need to take care of. Avni, your wedding outfits will be delivered tomorrow. And Aditya, your mother wanted to confirm the guest list—"

Aditya held up a hand, cutting him off. "I already gave it to the planner. There's nothing to change."

"Perfect," my father said, pleased. "Now, I need to check on the caterers. You two should talk. You'll be married soon—you might as well start communicating properly." Before I could protest, he was already walking away, leaving me alone with him.

Aditya shoved his hands into his pockets, watching me with the kind of expression that made my skin itch.  I knew that look.

It was the same look he had at the café. The look he gave me every time I challenged him, every time I stood my ground. Like I was some kind of puzzle he enjoyed figuring out.  "I hate this," I muttered under my breath.

His smirk deepened. "What exactly do you hate, Avni?"  His voice was so casual, so effortlessly smooth, and yet I knew he was pushing me, waiting for my reaction.

I stepped closer, tilting my head. "You."  That earned a chuckle from him. "Now, that sounds more like a confession than an insult."

I scoffed. "Keep dreaming, Aditya."  He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "I do, sweetheart. And you're always in them."

My breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but I recovered quickly. "Too bad they're just dreams. Reality is, you and I are stuck in this mess because of our fathers."  His expression turned unreadable. "Stuck?" he repeated, as if tasting the word.

"Yes, stuck," I snapped. "We both know this isn't a marriage—it's a business deal. A way for our families to keep their so-called loyalty intact. Nothing more, nothing less."  For the first time, he didn't have a comeback.

He just stared at me, his jaw clenching slightly, his usual arrogance fading into something unreadable.

Then, as if flipping a switch, he smirked again. "You know, for someone who claims to hate this wedding, you sure seem obsessed with talking about it." I groaned, throwing my hands in the air. "You are impossible."

"And you are—" he stepped closer, his voice a low murmur, "—really fun to mess with."  I narrowed my eyes at him before turning around. "I am done with this conversation."

As I walked away, I heard him call out, "See you tomorrow, meri hone waali biwi."

I flipped him off without looking back, storming up the stairs to my room.

__________________________________

Guys it's not too hard to vote. You just have to tap a button

Thanks for reading💗