Next Morning
Mishra Mansion
Steam filled the bathroom as water cascaded down, the sound mixing with loud music echoing against the tiles.
Inside, Rudrima Mishra—princess of chaos and zero shame—was completely in her element. One hand held a shampoo bottle like a mic, the other dramatically flipping her wet hair as if she was performing on a stage instead of standing under a shower.
“Ty ta fali, jetën time.....” she sang loudly, stretching the words with full emotion, her voice echoing.
She spun around, pointing the shampoo bottle forward like she was addressing an imaginary audience.
“Vetëm ty t'kam…”
Her expressions were over-the-top, her moves even more dramatic—basically a one-woman concert happening at 8 in the morning.
Outside the bathroom, Nandini stormed inside the room with an expression that clearly said I’ve had enough. She knocked hard on the door.
“Abe ae! Maar degi kya hum logon ko?” she shouted. “Tabse dekho—mandhak ki tarah darr darr kar rahi hai! Samajh bhi aa raha hai kya gaa rahi hai tu?”
("Oye! Will you kill us or what?, since that time you're singing like a frog, darr darr! Do you even understand what are you saying?")
Inside, Rudrima ignored her completely, now closing her eyes as if feeling the depth of the song.
“Habibi… habibi…” she sang, clutching the shampoo bottle to her chest like it was a love confession.
“BAHAR NIKAL JALDI!” Nandini yelled again, banging the door harder. “Shaadi mein bhi jaana hai!”
("GET OUT FAST!, we also have to go to the wedding!")
Rudrima finally paused, rolling her eyes dramatically before turning off the shower.
“Ughhh, audience ka koi respect hi nahi hai iss ghar mein,” she muttered to herself, stepping out as if she had just delivered a legendary performance.
(Ughhh, this house doesn't even respect the audience,")
Rudrima stood in front of the mirror, completely lost in her own reflection. Her hips swayed effortlessly as she tilted her face from one angle to another, pouting, winking, even blowing a dramatic kiss to herself.
“Damn… perfection,” she whispered, brushing her hair back like a runway model who knew she owned every gaze.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Nandini walked in, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression screaming I’m done with this nonsense. She leaned against the doorframe, watching the entire self-love performance with zero amusement.
“Chaat de na mirror ko,” she said dryly. “Kyun aur pappiyan deke uska mood kharab kar rahi hai? Kutiya, tujhe ready ho bolne se madam ji ka admiration khatam nahi hua hai?”
(Lick the mirror already, why boring it by giving kisses? Bitch, you're admiration is still not over when I told you clearly to get ready fast)
Rudrima paused mid-pose, slowly turning her head toward her sister. Instead of getting offended, she smirked—sharp, playful.
“Aap lucky ho,” she said, flipping her hair back with attitude, “mera aaj Somvaar hai. Shiv ji ka din hai… warna aapko.”
(You are lucky, today is Monday, Lord Shiva's day other wise I would've...)
Nandini straightened, her glare intensifying.
“Warna kya, huh? Maaregi?” she shot back. “Maine bhi chudi pehen kar nahi rakhi hai, yaad rakhna.”
(Otherwise what, huh? You'll hit me?, I'm not going to stay back, remember that)
The air between them sparked instantly—equal parts irritation and habit.
Before either of them could escalate it further, their mother’s voice echoed from downstairs, loud and unmistakably annoyed—
“Tum dono kutto ki tarah ladna band karo aur jaldi se niche aao!”
(You two! Stop fighting like dogs and come down soon)
A brief silence followed.
Rudrima glanced at Nandini.
Nandini glanced back.
And just like that—
“Tu hi ja pehle.”
(You go first)
“Nahi, Aap jao.”
(No, you go)
The argument… paused, but definitely not over.
Raghuveer Mishra stepped out of his office, loosening his tie slightly as he walked straight toward the kitchen—almost certain of where he’d find her. And, as always, he was right.
Mayuri stood by the counter, completely engrossed in her work, unaware of the presence quietly approaching from behind.
Before she could react, strong arms wrapped around her waist.
She gasped, startled, her hand instinctively clutching the edge of the counter—until the familiar warmth settled in.
“Raghuveer!” she exhaled, her voice softening instantly as she relaxed into his embrace.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he rested his chin lightly against her shoulder. “Missed me?”
“Office mein the, war pe nahi gaye the,” she replied, but there was no bite in her tone—only comfort.
They slipped into quiet conversation, their voices low, familiar… like this moment had existed a hundred times before.
And then—
“OOHOOO.”
Both of them froze.
Standing at the entrance, Rudrima leaned casually against the wall, her eyes sparkling with mischief,
while Nandini stood beside her—already looking away like she hadn’t seen anything at all.
“Sibling dena chahte ho hum dono ko?” Rudrima grinned shamelessly. “Kya baat hai, papa?”
The effect was immediate.
Raghuveer stepped back as if burned, clearing his throat awkwardly, while Mayuri turned away, pretending to suddenly be very busy with absolutely nothing.
“Badtameez ladki,” Raghuveer muttered under his breath before walking up to her and lightly smacking the back of her head. “Yeh sab bakwaas karne ki jagah college pe dhyaan de. Kaisa chal raha hai?”
Rudrima winced dramatically, rubbing her head. “Violence. Pure violence.”
“Answer,” he said, giving her a look.
“Theek chal raha hai,” she replied, shrugging casually.
“Bas theek?”
“Top bhi kar lungi, tension mat lo,” she shot back with a confident smirk.
The conversation shifted just like that—into studies, schedules, expectations—yet the earlier moment lingered faintly in the air.
And in the middle of it all, Nandini stayed quiet, watching… while Rudrima carried on like nothing had ever happened.
The grand venue buzzed with chaos wrapped in luxury, every corner echoing with hurried footsteps and last-minute arrangements. In the middle of it all stood Shristi Verma—calm, sharp, and completely in control.
“Flowers on the left aisle, not the center—are you blind?” she snapped, her eyes scanning every detail.
“And those lights—dim them slightly. This is a wedding, not a concert stage.”
“Make sure the mandap décor matches the theme exactly. No mismatched colors, I don’t want a disaster on my sister’s wedding day.”
Her voice cut through the noise like precision, leaving no room for mistakes. People moved faster, straighter, better—just under her watch.
Today was her younger sister’s wedding.
A day that, by tradition, should have been hers first.
But Shristi Verma didn’t believe in traditions that tried to decide her life for her. Marriage had never been something she desired—and she had made that painfully, undeniably clear to her parents. Not through arguments, not through rebellion… but through a certainty so firm that it left no space for discussion.
They didn’t ask anymore.
Not because they agreed—
but because they knew the answer would never change.
Shristi adjusted the drape of her saree, her gaze hard yet distant for a fleeting second before it snapped back to the present.
“Move faster,” she instructed coldly. “We don’t have all day.”
Shristi was in the middle of instructing the staff when a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug.
For a split second, she stiffened—caught off guard.
But then the familiar presence clicked.
“Sidhi…” she exhaled, her tone softening as she hugged her back.
Sidhi Malhotra pulled away with a bright grin, holding her shoulders. “Miss Verma, still terrorizing people on your sister’s wedding?”
Shristi gave her a small, controlled smile. “Someone has to make sure this doesn’t turn into a disaster.”
“Haan haan, control freak,” Sidhi teased lightly. “But seriously… you okay?”
A brief pause.
“I’m fine,” Shristi replied, as always—short, precise, leaving no room for more questions.
At the same time—
Rudranshi Malhotra stepped into the venue.
Her presence wasn’t loud, yet it carried a weight that subtly shifted the air around her. Her eyes moved—not wandering, but calculating—taking in every corner, every entrance, every possible exit. The decorations, the security, the people… all assessed within seconds.
Nothing escaped her.
Her gaze swept past the crowd and halted briefly at a door—the groom’s room.
A second later, it shifted… stopping at another.
Misthi’s room.
A faint smirk curved on her lips—slow, deliberate, dangerous.
Because while the world around her saw celebration, laughter, and new beginnings—
Rudranshi saw something else entirely.
A setup.
A stage.
And very soon—
This carefully built peace…
was about to collapse into chaos.
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