I stood there—frozen—my feet refusing to move, my lips trembling.

In front of me was babu, gripping my arm with bruising force, panting like he had run from a demon.

And on the other side...

That kind uncle.

The same one who held my hand so gently last night. Who made me smile... even if it was for a minute.

But something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Babu's face was pale—like all the blood had drained from him. His lips quivered, and sweat dripped down his forehead even though the sun had faded.

Why... why was babu terrified?

And why was the kind uncle... smiling at me?

I gulped, clutching my shawl tightly around myself.

Did he tell him?

Did he tell babu I went outside yesterday?

No...

No, he promised...

He wouldn't.

I looked back and forth—confused—caught between two men I feared in completely different ways.

Before I could speak, before I could even ask what was happening—

Babu suddenly fell to his knees.

Right there.

On the dusty floor in front of the kind uncle's shoes.

And what he said next...

Shattered something inside me.

"Please..."

His voice cracked.

"Please take her. Take my daughter. Do whatever you want with her. Marry her. Lock her. Sell her—I don't care. But please..."

His head touched the ground.

"Please don't kill me."

I couldn't breathe.

Did I hear that right?

I stepped back.

No... no...

"Babu...?" I whispered.

But he didn't even look at me.

For the first time in my life... I saw my father beg.

Not for me. Not to protect me.

But to give me away.

Like I was a burden.

Like I was nothing.

My chest ached so bad, I couldn't hold the tears anymore. They slid down silently.

And all the kind uncle did...

Was keep looking at me.

With a calm smile.

My heart was racing.

Faster than it ever had in my life.

I stood there, numb, but my mind was screaming—

What's happening here?

Why is babu revealing me...?

Why... now?

And why is he—that kind uncle—here again?

I stared at him...

And he stared back with a faint smile that felt too calm for this storm.

Then suddenly, babu looked up, forcing a broken smile to his face as he said—

"Main toh bahut khush ho jaunga agar meri beti ki shaadi aapke ghar mein ho jaye, Thakur sa."

("I'll be very glad to marry off my daughter into your family, Thakur sa.")

And then I froze.

Completely.

Thakur sa?

I blinked.

My lips parted.

"Thakur... sa?" I whispered under my breath.

He's Thakur sa...?

The Thakur of this region...?

The man people whispered about with fear... the man whose name made even elders lower their voices... the one with soldiers, power, and no mercy?

I took a step back, almost losing balance.

No wonder Babu was trembling like a leaf.

No wonder he threw me forward like a sack of wheat.

My legs felt weak.

He's Thakur sa.

And I...

I've been caught between a father trying to sell me...

And a man powerful enough to buy a village.

I looked at him again—his sharp eyes, his heavy aura.

How didn't I notice it before?

How could I think he was just a kind uncle?

No.

He's not just an uncle.

He's a king.

And now...

He wants me.

I was standing like a fool.

Frozen.

I didn't blink.

I didn't move.

I didn't even breathe properly.

My brain couldn't catch up with what my ears had just heard.

He's Thakur sa...

And he came here—for me.

To buy me.

Like I was a... thing.

He stepped closer, and I instinctively took half a step back, but he didn't stop.

He lowered himself gently, his tone calm—almost too calm.

"How are you, Devyani?"

His voice was soft. Almost kind.

But I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

I just looked at him. Blankly.

He had power in his eyes. That dangerous calm in his smile. And still, he was the same man who had made me smile last night when I sat in a car for the first time in my life.

And now?

He was the same man who had come... to take me away.

To marry me off.

To a stranger.

I didn't say a word.

Didn't nod.

Didn't even blink properly.

I just stood there.

Like an object.

Like I had no voice. No choice. No name.

He looked back at babu—who was standing there silently, still slightly bent in fear.

"I'll come tomorrow to take her," he said.

Just like that.

As if I was a parcel to be collected.

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

Then—

He leaned forward.

And placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

My body stiffened.

His touch didn't hurt.

But it burned.

Not on the skin—on my soul.

Then he turned away, walked back toward the rows of black cars that had brought him here like royalty.

And just like that—

He left.

Leaving behind silence.

And a girl who had no idea...

If her tomorrow would ever belong to her again.

As soon as the cars disappeared from the village road and the dust settled...

Babu turned toward me.

His face—no longer afraid.

Now, it was something worse.

Rage.

His eyes were bloodshot. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might break.

He stormed toward me.

I stepped back instinctively, already trembling.

"How does he know about you?" he hissed, voice sharp like a knife.

"How does Thakur sa know I have a daughter alive?!"

My lips quivered.

"B-babu... I—"

SLAP!

My head jerked sideways. The sting was instant.

"Chup!!" he shouted.

("Shut up!!")

"How?! What did you tell him? How does he know you exist?!"

"Woh..." I gulped, voice barely above a whisper, "main... kal raat... main bahar chali gayi thi..."

("I... last night... I stepped outside...")

For a second, silence.

Then—his hand dropped.

Not to his side.

But to his belt.

And I knew.

I knew what was about to happen.

"Tu gayi thi?! Bahar?!!" he roared.

("You went out?! Outside?!!")

I tried to run.

But the belt came crashing down before I could take a step.

CRACK!

It struck my back. The pain sliced through my body like fire.

"Kya socha? Ki tu kisi ko dikhegi aur tujhe le jaayenge rani banane?!"

("What did you think? That someone would see you and make you a queen?!")

CRACK!

I fell to the floor, crying now, curling into myself.

But the belt didn't stop.

"Ek baar bola tha na—andar reh! Andar reh!"

("Didn't I tell you once—stay inside! Stay inside!")

"Babu... please..." I sobbed.

My voice cracked. My body shivered.

He hit harder.

Again. And again.

Until I couldn't even cry.

Until my breath came out in gasps.

Until the world became blurry.

And all I could think was—

I should've never stepped out.

I lay there on the cold floor... my back burning, tears soaking into the dusty ground.

The belt had finally stopped.

But the silence didn't bring peace.

Only fear.

Because I knew what was next.

And I was right.

Raghu bhaiyya came stomping into the room, his eyes wild, fists clenched.

He must've heard everything. Maybe even saw it.

But there was no sympathy in his eyes.

Only the same rage Babu had.

"Tu gayi thi bahar?!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the house.

("You went outside?!")

I didn't speak.

I couldn't.

I just looked up at him with bloodshot, pleading eyes.

But mercy was never something Raghu learned.

Before I could even sit up properly—

THUD!

His foot kicked into my side, throwing me back to the ground.

"Tujh jaisi badnami ghar ki izzat khatam kar deti hai!"

("Girls like you destroy the honour of a house!")

"Bhaiyya... please..." I whispered, my voice breaking.

He yanked me up by my arm, dragging me like a doll, and slapped me so hard my ears rang.

"Ek din ke liye Babu ghar nahi tha, aur tu nikal gayi ghoomne?!"

("He wasn't home for one day, and you ran off to wander?!")

Another hit.

My head slammed against the wall.

Stars burst behind my eyes.

Pain exploded across my temple.

I tasted blood in my mouth.

I didn't even cry now.

The pain was too much.

Too deep.

My body had stopped reacting.

And for the first time in my life...

I wished I didn't exist.

I was still on the floor... my body aching, my mind spinning, my lips bleeding.

But then I heard his voice again.

Babu.

He stood near the doorway, breathing heavily, his eyes still dark from anger. But now, a sickening calmness had returned.

He looked at me with disgust, then waved his hand toward Raghu.

"Chhod is manhus ko."

("Leave this cursed girl.")

He spit near the corner.

"Waise bhi kal chali jaayegi."

("Anyway, she's leaving tomorrow.")

I blinked slowly.

Leaving?

That word echoed inside me, but I couldn't react.

Then Babu knelt beside me—not with affection, but the way a snake coils close before striking again.

"Suno..." he said, his tone suddenly sweet—too sweet.

("Listen...")

"Wahan jakar zyada zubaan chalayi na, ya bataya ki hum tujhe kaise rakhte hain... toh main khud tujhe kaat daalunga."

("If you go there and run your mouth, or tell them how we treated you... I will kill you myself.")

My body flinched.

He leaned closer, his eyes cruel.

"Yeh yaad rakhna—Babu tumse bohot pyaar karta tha."

("Remember this—Babu always loved you very much.")

Loved?

I wanted to laugh.

But no strength left. Not even for tears.

"Aur agar pucha ki ghar se bahar kyun nahi nikalti thi... toh kehna Babu tumhe is zalim duniya se bacha ke rakhna chahta tha."

("And if they ask why you never stepped out of the house... say Babu just wanted to protect you from this cruel world.")

Protect me?

No.

He caged me.

Beat me.

Crushed me.

And now... now he wanted to erase all of it with a lie.

"Yeh kehna ki Babu ne kabhi kuch bura nahi kiya."

("Say Babu never did anything wrong.")

"Warna jo bhi hoga, uske liye khud zimmedar hogi tu."

("Or whatever happens after that—will be your own fault.")

And just like that, he stood up and walked away.

Leaving me broken.

Not just in my body.

But in my truth.

The scorching sun of Rajasthan slowly dipped behind the horizon, casting a golden glow over the vast land... and on a hill, standing with timeless glory, stood Thakur Haveli.

A palace, not a home.

A symbol of legacy, not luxury.

Its stone walls whispered tales of generations.

Its high arches, courtyards, and intricate jharokhas held the pride of Thakur Virendra — the man who ruled with silence more than words.

As his convoy of cars roared into the haveli gates, guards straightened, servants rushed to bow, and the huge wooden doors were opened with synchronized grace.

Virendra Thakur stepped out, his shawl resting on one shoulder, his eyes cold and unreadable, yet dignified.

He removed his shoes at the entrance and walked directly into the inner courtyard — where two elderly figures sat, waiting under the soft golden glow of the havan diya.

His father, Thakur Samar, white-haired and proud, leaned on a carved cane, still commanding respect with just a look.

His mother, Rajmata Durgeshwari, wore a simple silk saree, her silver hair braided with maroon threads — calm, poised, and watchful.

Virendra bowed down.

First to his father.

"Padharo beta." Samar Singh nodded, placing a hand gently on his son's head in blessing.

Then to his mother.

He touched her feet, and she smiled softly.

"Laado thakur sa... aaj ghar ki dehleez pe shubh kadam rakhe."

("My dear son... today your steps have brought something sacred to our home.")

Virendra stood upright and said with calm gravity,

"Kal is ghar mein bahu aayegi maa... par usse pehle aap dono ka aashirwad zaroori tha."

("Tomorrow, a daughter-in-law will enter this house... but before that, I needed your blessings.")

Rajmata Durgeshwari turned slowly, her brows drawing in confusion.

Rajmata:

"Bahu? Someone is getting married?

She paused, her voice growing sharper.

"What do you mean, Virendra?"

Samar Singh Rathore, their father, looked up from his armchair, his face wrinkling in concern.

Samar:

"Is it Aditya? Is he getting married?"

He hesitated.

"But... Rivan is still unmarried. Virendra, we can't..."

Virendra cut him off gently, but his words shook the ground beneath them.

Virendra:

"No, Baba sa. Not Aditya. It's Rivan... Rivan is getting married”

Both Rajmata and Samar stared at him like he had lost his mind.

Rajmata (furious and horrified):

"Tum pagal toh nahi ho gaye, Virendra?! Rivan... aur shaadi?!"

("Have you gone mad, Virendra?! Rivan... and marriage?!")

"Kyun aag ke kuen mein haath daalne ja rahe ho?! Mar jaaoge!"

("Why are you willingly putting your hand into a pit of fire?! You'll destroy yourself!")

Virendra's lips curled into a bittersweet smile—resigned yet unshaken.

Virendra:

"Marna toh hai maa... aaj ya kal, kya farq padta hai?"

("I'll die someday, mother... whether it's today or tomorrow, what difference does it make?")

He took a deep breath, his voice steady and final.

"Par shaadi toh hoke rahegi... chahe meri arthi kyun na uthe."

("But this wedding will happen... even if it costs me my funeral pyre.")

Durgeshwari Devi raised her brows gently.

"Larki kaun hai?"

He paused for a moment.

"Naam hai Devyani."

Samar Singh tapped his cane once on the ground.

"Umar?"

Virendra didn't lie.

"Athara ." (Eighteen.)

There was a brief silence.

But then Rajmata spoke — her voice neither in shock nor in protest.

Just... fate-bound.

"Toh kal se woh is haveli ki izzat hogi."

("Then from tomorrow, she will carry the honour of this haveli.")

Thakur Samar Singh Rathore narrowed his eyes as Virendra stood calmly, arms behind his back.

The silence stretched a little... until the old lion finally spoke.

Samar Singh continued, his tone turning sharp.

"Aur tumhe lagta hai RIVAN maan jaayega?"

Virendra remained silent.

Virendra didn't blink.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't answer.

Because even he didn't know.

That face.

Those innocent eyes.

That raw pain.

They'd burned something in his soul — something protective, something dangerous.

A dry laugh left the old Thakur's lips.

"Tum sher se khel rahe ho, Virendra. Sher ki poonch mat pakdo... kaat ke alag kar deta hai."

("You're playing with a lion, Virendra. Don't grab a lion by the tail... he'll rip it off.")

He took a slow step toward his son.

"Mujhe dar hai... kahin is baar, tum usi sher ke muh mein na chalay jao."

("I fear... this time, you might walk right into the lion's mouth.")

Virendra finally spoke, voice low but firm.

"Agar Rivan ko barbaadi se koi bachaa sakta hai... toh woh sirf woh ladki hai."

("If anything can save Rivan from self-destruction... it's that girl.")

Samar Singh raised a brow.

"Aur agar usi ladki ne tumhara khoon karwa diya toh?"

Virendra smiled faintly.

"Tab bhi... main yeh faisla badalunga nahi."

There was silence again.

But this time... a storm had been invited.

And far away, Devyani — broken and unaware — was being prepared for a fate she had never imagined.

Rajmata Durgeshwari Devi sat upright now, her calmness shifting into concern. The diya's soft glow reflected on her sharp, graceful features as she turned to her son.

"Virendra," she said, her voice soft but edged with authority, "at least show us who this girl is... where she comes from. You brought her name like a storm — but left the winds of doubt behind."

Virendra sighed, knowing this moment would come.

He reached into his shawl and brought out a folded paper — a letter with sealed stamps and account summaries.

"Her name is Devyani... daughter of Hariram," he said finally.

The moment the name dropped, Samar Singh Rathore's expression changed.

He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Hariram? The same one who's drowning in our debt?"

Virendra nodded once.

Rajmata's face turned unreadable.

She was silent for a moment. Then:

"Toh yeh karz chukane ke liye larki de raha hai?"

("So he's paying his debt by giving his daughter?")

Virendra didn't answer.

Because they were right — at least partially.

But they didn't know what he had seen in that girl... the fear, the innocence, the helpless trembling... as if she hadn't just stepped into the world — but escaped it.

"Virendra," Rajmata said sharply now, "we are not just a Thakur’s . We are the royal bloodline of Rajasthan. Our name doesn't merge with shadows. Bringing a girl from that background into this palace is not just dangerous — it's disrespectful to the name we've built for generations."

Samar Singh added coldly,

"She's not from our world, Virendra. She doesn't belong here. And if she truly is that man's daughter—then bringing her in is like inviting mud into a temple."

But Virendra only looked between them, eyes unwavering.

"Mud," he said softly, "blooms lotuses too."

His father scoffed.

His mother frowned.

But none of them could change what was coming.

Because Virendra had made the decision.

And tomorrow... Devyani Sharma — a girl from a forgotten, locked room — would become Rivan Thakur's wife.

Rajmata Durgeshwari's brows knit with visible concern now. Her voice lowered, but the weight in it didn't.

"Aur tumhe lagta hai, tum Rivan ko manaa loge?"

("And you really think you'll convince your Rivan?")

"Woh toh sapne mein bhi shaadi ka naam sun ke pagal ho jaata hai," she added bitterly.

("He loses his mind even at the mention of marriage, even in his dreams.")

Virendra didn't flinch.

He smirked, folding his arms behind his back as he looked toward the open courtyard — the sky above turning orange with twilight.

"Shaadi toh hokar rahegi sapne me hi Sahi”

("This marriage will happen, no matter what.")

Samar Singh Rathore let out a dry, tired chuckle.

"Waise bhi, poore sheher mein koi baap apni beti uske saath shaadi karne ko tayyar nahi."

("Anyway, no father in the entire city is willing to marry his daughter to Rivan.")

"Uska gussa, uski maar—pura sheher kaapta hai uske naam se. Toh hone do shaadi. Lekin..."

He glanced at Virendra.

"Mujhe us bechari ladki ke liye afsos ho raha hai. Kya pata, woh Rivan uske saath kuch aisa-vaise kar de."

("I feel sorry for that poor girl. What if Rivan ends up doing something dangerous to her?")

But Virendra's gaze didn't shift.

Instead, his voice turned calm, quiet — but sure.

"Woh ladki ko haath bhi nahi lagayega."

("He won't even touch her.")

"Na gusse mein, na pagalpan mein. Kabhi nahi."

Samar Singh frowned.

"Aur kis bharose pe keh rahe ho yeh sab?"

("And what makes you so sure?")

Virendra exhaled slowly.

“Mujhe mere bete pe itna toh Yakeen hai woh meri biwi ki parwarish pe daag Lagne nahi dega”

Durgeshwari  closed her eyes for a moment, sensing the storm building from both ends.

"Yeh raah aasaan nahi hogi, Virendra."

He nodded.

"Main chahta bhi nahi ke raasta aasaan ho. Main chahta ho—raasta sahi ho."

("I don't want the path to be easy. I want it to be right.")

A heavy silence settled in the haveli, as the wind outside picked up pace — just like the change destiny was preparing to bring.

In the grand living hall of the haveli, tension hung like a heavy fog. Servants stood far back, pretending to dust, but every ear was alert.

Virendra Thakur, standing tall in his royal attire, turned towards his parents and declared:

" lekin Shaadi kal hi hogi."

("The wedding will happen tomorrow.")

The room fell into stunned silence.

Samar Singh Rathore choked on his sip of tea and burst out laughing.

"Tumne daru pee li hai kya, Virendra?"

("Have you drunk alcohol, Virendra?")

He slammed the glass down and stood up.

"Tumhe pata bhi hai kal kya hai?"

("Do you even know what tomorrow is?")

Virendra's face remained unreadable.

"Pata hai, Baba sa."

("Yes, I know, Baba sa.")

Rajmata Durgeshwari stood slowly from her seat, her voice rising with disbelief and hurt.

"Tum pagal ho gaye ho, Virendra?"

("Have you gone mad, Virendra?")

"Kal... Kal Vasundhara ki barsi hai!"

("Tomorrow is Vasundhara's death anniversary!")

Her eyes misted with restrained emotion.

"Woh din jahan Rivan ka hosh ud jaata hai... Jahan woh insaan nahi, jaanwar ban jaata hai..."

("The day when Rivan loses control... when he becomes a beast, not a human being...")

Samar's face grew serious now, all humour gone.

"Aur tum usi din uski shaadi karwana chahte ho?"

("And you want to get him married on that very day?")

Virendra looked them both in the eye.

His voice was calm—but iron-clad.

"Isi liye toh kal."

("That's exactly why—tomorrow.")

"Woh din har saal uske liye maut ka ghoont ban chuka hai."

("That day has become a poison he drinks every year.")

"Iss baar, usse jeena padega."

("This time, he'll have to live.")

Rajmata clutched the end of her saree, distressed.

"Tum Vasundhara ki maut ka tamasha bana rahe ho, Virendra."

Virendra took a long breath and said softly:

"Nahi maa... iss baar Vasundhara ki maut ek nayi zindagi ko janam degi."

("No, Mother... this time, Vasundhara's death will give birth to a new life.")

Samar stared at his son with a storm of thoughts in his eyes.

"Mujhe dar hai Virendra... ya toh yeh ladki uske zakhm bhar degi..."

("I fear, Virendra... either this girl will heal his wounds...")

"Ya unhi zakhmon mein khud dhoob jaayegi."

("Or she'll drown in them herself.")

Virendra closed his eyes for a second.

He knew the risk.

He also knew the girl.

And the boy.

And the wreckage they both carried.

And somewhere, in that wreckage, he had seen the possibility of something pure.

__________________________

How’s the chapter?

Excited for their marriage?

What do you think RIVAN will do?

And who is vasundhara?