Utsav
Sangeet function.
The most irritating part of a wedding.
Although, to be honest, everything about marriage irks me-but this... this sangeet nonsense? It tops the list.
Aditya, my so-called cousin, went all out by hiring a professional choreographer for everyone. Apparently, it's a tradition now-everyone must dance like they're competing in some damn reality show. As if flailing around in coordinated chaos is the measure of celebration.
I had better things to do. Much better. Like being in my study, trying to focus on my surgical textbook about rare cardiac procedures.
Dance and Utsav Mehrotra?
Not even in another lifetime.
Just as I immersed myself in a case study, a familiar and annoyingly enthusiastic voice sliced through the silence.
"Bhai! Come on-it's my wedding! Can't you at least dance for a few minutes? Just once?"
Of course. Aditya.
I should've known he wouldn't let it go so easily.
"I'm not interested, Aadi. Ask Aarav-he'll do whatever you want. Dance, flirt, drink-he lives for it."
I didn't even glance at him, my eyes fixed on the page. My tone stayed cold, distant. Unbothered.
Aditya rolled his eyes dramatically. "Yeah, yeah... you're not interested-what else is new? But seriously, bhai, why are you even here then? You're attending my wedding or... is it something else entirely?"
My jaw tightened at his implication.
Still, I didn't lose my temper. No one gets under my skin. Not even him.
"No means no, Aadi. Try learning that. And as for why I'm here, you're free to think whatever the hell you want. But if I were you, I'd focus more on Aditi and less on my life."
Dismissive. Sharp. Final.
He sighed, hands up in surrender.
"Fine. Don't dance. But at least show up at the sangeet tonight, bhai. Just be there. That's all I'm asking."
With that, he left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Silence returned. Just how I liked it.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the quiet seep into my bones. These soundproof walls-now this was the only thing Aadi got right about this mansion. No one could hear what went on inside. Just like no one could ever figure out what I was truly thinking.
Not even family.
Not even blood.
After spending half the day buried in cardiac journals inside my study, I finally rose from my chair, my movements sharp and deliberate. With silent steps echoing against the polished marble floor, I walked toward my room-my sanctuary-only to find Raghav standing outside, waiting like a servant before a throne.
He straightened instantly at the sight of me, shoulders stiff, eyes uncertain. He didn't meet my gaze directly, but I could sense it-he was trembling in his boots. I liked that. Fear was a currency I dealt in easily.
"Sir, these are the records you asked for," Raghav stammered, extending the thick file toward me with shaky hands.
I took it without a word, offering only a curt nod-dismissive, final. That was all the signal he needed.
Raghav practically fled, walking away faster than dignity allowed, like a man escaping death itself. Typical.
But my concern wasn't Raghav.
It was what lay inside this file. Something far more important than this orchestrated circus of a wedding.
I tightened my grip around the folder and pushed open the door to my room. I stepped inside.
And then... I felt it.
Something was off.
Subtle, but undeniable.
I scanned the room with a sharp, calculating gaze honed by years of reading people before they spoke. Someone had been here. Someone was still here.
I didn't react outwardly-no need to spook the rat too early.
Let her believe she's clever.
Let her think she's learning me.
Let her imagine she's peeling away my layers.
How cute.
I didn't grab her. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't even acknowledge her presence. I walked to the wardrobe, pulled out a towel, and headed for the bathroom as if nothing had happened.
What could she do?
Nothing.
I turned on the shower, letting the water crash down noisily. She'd think I couldn't hear her now.
She'd be wrong.
Her footsteps were slow, cautious, testing boundaries. She moved like a thief-one who knew she was risking too much. And just when she reached the door-frantic. Hurried.
Got you.
She was gone.
Pathetic.
----
Sangeet Night
I stood at the far end of the hall, leaning against a marble pillar, clad in a navy-blue sherwani paired with a white embroidered shawl draped over my shoulder. A silver watch gleamed on my wrist, and a half-filled glass of wine rested between my fingers. The lights dimmed around the grand venue, flickering like stars, but none of them caught my attention.
Across the hall, Aditya sat beside Aditi in front of the main stage, dressed in a grey sherwani that matched Aditi's silver saree. She looked every bit the bride-minimal makeup, soft curls falling over her shoulder, elegant and composed. They were smiling, whispering to each other, wrapped in the glow of celebration.
Then came Aarav's voice through the microphone, loud, cheerful, and theatrical.
"Now for the first performance from the bride's side... please welcome our sassy queen-Miss Maya Shekhawat! And with her, her best friend, Dhruv Tripathi!"
Applause erupted. Cheers followed. Cameras flashed.
And there she was.
Maya Shekhawat.
Striding onto the stage as if the world belonged to her. Like nothing had happened just moments ago in my room. Like she hadn't tried to read me-invade me.
She wore a navy-blue bodycon dress drenched in glitter that shimmered under the spotlight. Her long hair was open, cascading down her back in soft waves. Her makeup was just enough-dramatic lashes, red matte lips, and eyes as green as fire-polished emeralds, burning under the glare of the stage lights. Confidence in every step. Defiance in every breath.
And beside her, the man called Dhruv Tripathi-clumsy, energetic, the kind who seemed born for the dance floor. A well-known author, apparently. So, this was her best friend?
I see.
The music began-"Banno Ki Saheli Resham Ki Dori"-a classic folk beat that echoed through the speakers and filled the venue. She moved with grace, her hips swaying in rhythm, her expressions playful. Dhruv danced around her like a lovestruck boy, his moves exaggerated, dramatic-almost made for a performance like this. He looked like he was flirting.
And she played along.
But her eyes... her eyes were on me.
Not the crowd. Not Dhruv. Me.
Nervous. Uncertain. Yet challenging.
As if she was testing me.
As if she was trying to say-"I can get to you."
Dream on, Miss Shekhawat.
The song ended. The applause was deafening. Laughter, cheers, even a few whistles filled the space. But before anyone could react further, Maya raised the stakes.
The music changed.
A soft piano intro faded in, and the hauntingly emotional tune of "Tera Hi Tera Intezaar Hai" began to play.
She didn't hesitate.
She danced again.
But this time-she danced for me.
Her movements slower. Sensual. Deliberate. Her gaze locked on mine. Every turn, every spin, every sway of her hips-a message. Her crimson lips parted, breath light, chest rising with the music. She started walking toward me with slow, hypnotic steps, like a lioness approaching prey, convinced I wouldn't move.
That I wouldn't react.
She was right.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The moment she reached me, I moved.
Fast.
I grabbed her wrist-tightly.
Possessively.
The room didn't exist anymore. The crowd didn't matter. Even the music seemed to fall into the background. Her eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Of course, she wouldn't. She knew this game. She had asked for it.
An unspoken threat shimmered between us as I stepped forward, closing the distance until there was nothing between us but the heat in the air.
I dropped my wine glass onto a nearby table without a glance.
My other hand found her waist-firmly.
Fingers digging into her skin through the sequined fabric.
And then, I danced.
Not like the others. Not for applause.
But like a storm that had been caged too long.
I led her, controlled her, pulled her into my rhythm. She tried to match my steps, but I wasn't following choreography.
I was claiming.
Owning.
Dancing with Maya Shekhawat was never meant to be entertainment.
It was a warning.
A declaration.
A game she started.
But now... it was mine.
"Where is that picture, Miss Shekhawat?" I leaned in, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, my voice dangerously calm-more a threat than a whisper-as my grip on her waist tightened.
She flinched, just slightly. "Wha-what picture, Mr. Mehrotra? What are you talking about?" she stammered. But it wasn't like Raghav's terrified rambling. No, hers held defiance.
She was scared. I could smell it in her hesitation, hear it in her breath. But unlike the others, she didn't crumble. She stood her ground. Invading my personal space like a foolish kitten stepping into a lion's den.
She started this game.
I'll finish it.
"You don't know what I'm talking about, Miss Shekhawat?" I murmured in a slow, calculating tone, my lips grazing her ear deliberately, sending visible shivers down her spine.
Let them watch. Let them whisper. I didn't care.
All I saw was her.
All I wanted-was control.
"N-No, Mr. Mehrotra," she said, her voice low, breathy, filled with the nervous tension of someone who knew exactly what they were being accused of... but chose to lie anyway.
I smirked.
"The picture you took from my room this afternoon," I said sharply, spinning her into a twirl, only to pull her back with a force that left her breathless. My hold on her waist was firm-unyielding. Suffocating. If she tried to escape now, she wouldn't get far.
Her body stilled. Her wide, uncertain eyes locked with mine.
Her breath hitched.
"It... it was just a picture, Mr. Mehrotra," she whispered. "What's so special about it?"
My jaw clenched.
Just a picture?
How dare she?
What she took wasn't hers. And the fact that she belittled its importance lit a fire under my skin.
"None of your business, Miss Shekhawat," I hissed, voice low and cold. "I want that picture. Now. Or every single zip chain holding your dress together,"-my fingers grazed her bare back, moving toward the clasp-"can be undone right here. Right now."
She gasped, gripping my shoulder too tightly, her fingernails digging into the fabric of my sherwani. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. Panic flickered in her eyes. Panic... and something else.
Desire.
"No... please," she whispered. "I'll give it back. I promise. Just... let me go to my room and I'll get it for you."
She wasn't just afraid-she was uncertain. Her gaze searched mine, desperate, pleading, clinging to the hope that I'd stop if she made a promise.
"Why should I trust you, Miss Shekhawat?" I asked, my voice almost amused now. "You've been a very bad girl lately."
My hand slid lower.
Her grip on my shoulder tightened.
"No-please. I promise. I'll give you the picture. Just don't do this..." she breathed, the words spilling from her lips in a mixture of fear and suppressed emotion.
This-this was not the same confident, fierce woman who strode onto the stage moments ago like she owned the world.
This was something else.
And I liked it.
Not because I wanted her-not like this.
But because she finally understood who she was playing with.
And I didn't want a scene.
Not at my cousin's wedding.
I pulled back slightly, but my eyes stayed locked with hers.
"Five minutes, Miss Shekhawat," I said, voice like ice. "Bring me the picture. And pray I don't lose my patience before then."
I let her go.
And she staggered back, eyes still wide, lips parted, her breath uneven.
She turned and walked away quickly-almost too quickly.
And I watched her go, a smirk playing on my lips.
Let's see what move you make next, little thief.
"Here... here is your picture," she said, her voice low but steady, though her fingers trembled slightly as she extended the photograph toward me. She stood near the door of her room, one hand reaching out with the image and the other gripping the thin chain of her dress, clutching it tightly over her shoulder as if it might slip at any moment. A moment of hesitation passed between us before I took the picture from her fingers-my movements calm, calculated, silent. I glanced down at the photo once, briefly, just enough to confirm that it was indeed that picture. The one she had dared to steal. The one that should have never left my room. I slipped it into the inside pocket of my sherwani without a word, my expression unreadable as always.
"At least now help me chain it back up, Mr. Mehrotra," she said, her tone sharp again, as if trying to reclaim some control over the situation. "Or do you actually want me to strip at your cousin's wedding?"
I paused, tilting my head slightly, letting her words hang between us like smoke. Then I took two slow, deliberate steps toward her, each one echoing with purpose on the marble floor. She stiffened, her body instinctively reacting as I leaned in. My face was mere inches from hers now-my breath mingling with hers, my lips almost brushing against her trembling ones. I saw her eyes flutter closed, could feel the anticipation rising in her chest, the ragged rhythm of her breath betraying every ounce of composure she tried to hold onto. My proximity was intoxicating to her. I knew it.
But I wasn't here to play lover. I was here to assert control.
With a swift, practiced motion, I reached around and zipped up the delicate chain of her dress. The cool metal slid into place with an audible click as her breath caught in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips. I didn't smirk. I didn't say a word. I simply turned on my heel and walked away, each step away from her laced with the same deliberate precision as when I approached. I didn't glance back. I didn't need to. I already knew she was standing there breathless, still processing what had just happened-not from a kiss, not from a touch, but from the sheer intensity of my presence.
I moved through the corridors of the grand Mehrotra mansion, far from the noise of the sangeet, far from the echoing music, the laughter, and the suffocating rituals of what they all called celebration. I didn't care for weddings, for traditions, or for the chaos that surrounded them. All of this-the lights, the people, the music-was nothing but a circus to me. I was here for one reason and one reason only.
Once I was alone in the quiet hallway, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the photograph. My fingers tightened around it slightly as I brought it closer to my face. A woman smiled back at me from the glossy surface-elegant, radiant, her eyes kind and deep, her hair pinned back loosely like a soft halo. She looked no older than thirty. Her expression was serene... almost angelic.
My mother.
For a moment, everything around me went still. The tightness in my chest returned-something I never allowed myself to feel. Not in public. Not even in front of a mirror. But this... this picture had power. A power no one else could understand.
And Maya Shekhawat had dared to touch it.
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"Do let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comments section. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote. Your single vote is enough to give me the courage to keep writing more.
And please, don't judge the characters solely based on the starting chapters. There's so much yet to unfold. Especially Utsav - I know his personality might seem negative at times, but trust me, he's about to go through a powerful journey of transformation.
Let the story breathe a little before forming opinions. Big twists are coming."
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