Destined to Be Yours

Vedha woke up to the sunlight spilling across the ornate curtains of her room, but the warmth didn't reach her.

Shourya's words from the night before still echoed in her ears, heavy with anger and disdain.

"You're greedy. You ruined my life."

Her heart ached with the weight of his accusations, but beneath the pain, a small voice whispered: "He doesn't know the truth. He doesn't know me."

Gathering her resolve, Vedha decided she needed to try again—to talk to him, to make him see her for who she truly was. She stepped out of her room, her footsteps hesitant yet determined, and made her way through the vast, silent mansion toward his room.

Halfway down the hall, she saw the old maid, her hands trembling slightly as she carried a small tray with a cup of coffee and a neatly folded napkin.

"Let me take that," Vedha said gently.

The maid hesitated, her age-worn face filled with confusion. "But—"

"I'll give it to him," Vedha interrupted softly, taking the tray from her hands. She offered a faint smile. "You deserve some rest."

The maid nodded reluctantly, stepping aside as Vedha continued her path toward Shourya's door. She paused, her breath catching as she raised her hand to knock.

"Come in," came his curt voice from the other side.

Vedha pushed the door open, her breath hitching as she stepped inside.

The room, bathed in muted sunlight, was adorned with paintings that immediately captured her attention.

Dozens of canvases lined the walls, each one vividly detailed. The subject of the paintings was unmistakable—Shourya and a woman. The woman's beauty was undeniable, her gaze filled with warmth and love, and the connection between them leapt from the brushstrokes.

Vedha's eyes lingered on the corner of each canvas, where the artist's signature was scrawled: Meera Malhotra.

Her chest tightened as realization dawned. "Oh," she murmured under her breath, her voice barely audible. "She's a painter… but she's the reason my life has lost all its color."

She placed the tray on the table beside him and spoke softly. "Shourya…"

He looked up from the papers he was reading, his expression hardening the moment his eyes met hers. His gaze flickered to the tray before narrowing.

"What is this?" he asked coldly.

"I thought—" she began, but his sharp tone cut her off.

"You thought you could impress me?" he snapped, his voice rising. "Don't think for a second that I'll fall for this."

Vedha took a small step back, her hands trembling. "That's not—"

Not what?" he interrupted, standing abruptly. His towering figure loomed over her, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Do you think bringing me coffee or playing the dutiful wife will erase the fact that you and your brother trapped me in this marriage?" His words were laced with venom.

Vedha tried to speak, but her voice failed her.

"You think you can buy my forgiveness with gestures like this?" he continued, picking up the cup and hurling it against the wall.

The porcelain shattered, coffee streaking down the pristine surface.

Vedha flinched at the sound but stood her ground, refusing to cry in front of him.

"You're pathetic, stay out of my way. I don't need your pity or your fake concern."

The words pierced her, but she didn't let them break her completely. Without a word, she turned and left the room, her steps steady despite the storm raging inside her.

Reaching the solitude of her room, she leaned against the door, her tears finally falling. "Is this the bright future my brother promised me?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Is this what he believed was best for me?"