The announcement of their engagement had come like a carefully orchestrated symphony — sweet music to the ears of two families with fortunes to secure, legacies to fortify. Sia’s family, small but dignified, brought an unspoken grace to the table, while Kabir’s family brought power, promises, and the gleam of wealth that had been polished by generations of ambition.
The dinner at the Kashyap residence had ended in a swirl of polite farewells and exchanged smiles — the kind that concealed everything real beneath layers of tradition. But as dawn broke the next day, Sia woke to find the entire charade stepping deeper into its next act.
The Malhotra and Kashyap families had decided to meet again, this time at the grandeur of the Malhotra mansion, to finalize the engagement date and discuss the details of the ceremony. Another round of conversations. Another round of laughter that didn’t reach the eyes. Another day of playing roles in a play she hadn’t auditioned for.
For Sia, it felt like watching her life be negotiated piece by piece, sealed with every handshake and approving nod. New day. New fakeness. The same quiet ache in her chest.
She stood in her room, dressed in a red saree that clung to her like armor — a traditional outfit that should have been soft and feminine, but on her it became a statement of quiet strength. The drape of the fabric across her shoulders was like a shield, the pleats at her waist like the edges of a fortress. Even the gentle shimmer of her jewelry — delicate gold bangles and a small bindi on her forehead — became part of her armor, a quiet assertion that she would not let herself be reduced to a mere accessory in this grand transaction.
Her mother’s gentle fussing and the soft swish of her saree’s pallu as she adjusted it again and again felt like echoes of the night before — different setting, same stage.
When they arrived at the Malhotra mansion, Sia’s breath caught at the sight: the gleaming marble floors, the vast chandeliers that spilled light across the silk-draped furniture, the air thick with expensive perfume and polite deception. It was a palace built on old money and new power — and today, it was where the next chapter of her life would be written.
The families sat together — Sia’s father with quiet dignity, Kabir’s father with the easy charm of a man used to getting his way. They spoke of engagement dates and auspicious hours, of guest lists and elaborate menus. All of it framed as tradition, but to Sia, it was another transaction, another set of terms to be signed in the air.
She sat beside her mother, her fingers resting lightly in her lap. On the surface, she was every inch the obedient daughter — poised, graceful, silent. But inside, every word felt like a weight on her ribs.
Kabir’s father spoke of alliances — not just of families, but of businesses. Of how this union would solidify the ties that had already begun to take shape behind boardroom doors. Sia’s father nodded politely, his brow furrowed in thought, and in that moment Sia saw it all so clearly: the strings that had always been there, tugging her closer to a future that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with leverage.
She forced a small smile, her mind a quiet whirlwind. New day. New fakeness. Same sense of being caught in a world that didn’t see her as anything but an elegant ornament in red.
But even in that moment — draped in the softness of tradition — she felt the quiet steel within her. She had learned to wear her armor in plain sight, to let the red silk whisper of her heritage even as her posture declared that she was more than the role they’d written for her.
Kabir watched her from across the table, his jaw tight, his gaze searching hers as if he could read the silent protest in her eyes. When the meeting paused for a moment of tea and small talk, he leaned close, his voice low, words meant only for her.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked softly.
Sia hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of her saree. But she nodded, rising with a quiet grace that masked the storm beneath.
They stepped away from the table, out into the quiet corridor where the grandeur of the mansion gave way to muted shadows and soft lamplight. Kabir turned to her, his voice heavy with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say in front of their families.
“Sia,” he said gently, “I know how all this must feel to you. The deals. The negotiations. Like you’re being bought and sold.”
She looked at him, her eyes steady, the words she’d swallowed all day poised on the edge of her lips.
“It’s exactly what it feels like,” she said quietly. “A new day, a new kind of fakeness. And I’m expected to play my part.”
Kabir reached out, his fingers hovering near hers but never quite touching. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re just another term in their deal. I want to know you. The real you — not the one they’re dressing up in red and gold for their convenience.”
For a moment, the silence was thick between them, the air heavy with unspoken truths. Then Sia spoke, her voice soft but sure.
“Then see me, Kabir,” she said. “See me beyond the red sarees and the polite smiles. See the woman who will not be reduced to anyone’s terms.”
And in that quiet moment, as the murmur of their families’ laughter echoed down the halls, Kabir knew: if he wanted this to be more than a transaction, he would have to earn her trust, word by word — in the spaces where the light was real and the laughter was honest.
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