The room still smelled like jasmine and panic.

Somewhere between the rustle of silk and the clink of bangles, Anaya Malhotra forgot how to breathe. Tara's bridal lehenga weighed more than cloth ever should - heavy not with embroidery, but with expectation.

Outside the wedding hall, laughter rang loud and unbothered. Inside, Anaya was drowning beneath the storm her sister had left behind.

Tara had vanished - just like that. No grand drama. No goodbye. Only a message with more questions than comfort.

"If I don't do this today, I'll never be free."

Free from what?

Anaya didn't know. Maybe she never would.

All she knew was that her mother had looked her in the eye, trembling, and whispered the words that turned her life upside down.

> "Wear it, Anaya. Just... for the photos. Just until we figure it out."

But it wasn't just the photos.

It was the pheras. The sindoor. The mangalsutra.

And now, it was Aarav Rathore's name etched beside hers on a marriage certificate she never intended to sign.

She stared into the mirror, trying to find herself in the reflection. But all she saw was Tara - the confident older sister, the socialite, the daughter their parents had placed their bets on. Anaya had always stood in the shadows - quieter, softer, sometimes invisible.

Except to her readers.

Except when she wrote.

As Paro.

Her pen name had been her only rebellion. Her only voice. And somewhere in the city, perhaps even tonight, a stranger she would never meet might be reading her latest book, underlining words she wrote through tears.

Little did she know - that stranger was Aarav Rathore.

And fate had just made her his wife.

---

The wedding had passed in a blur of rituals Anaya barely remembered. Every chant, every flower showered on her head, felt like a nail sealing her into someone else's life. She had wanted to scream - to confess - but the fear of disgrace, of her father's already weak heart collapsing, had silenced her.

Now, seated beside Aarav in the backseat of a luxury car, wrapped in layers of red and gold, she felt the full weight of what she had done.

The car moved silently through the dark Delhi streets, city lights flashing past like ghosts.

Aarav hadn't said a word since they left the mandap.

Not that she expected him to.

She'd seen his eyes when he first looked at her - not confusion, not curiosity.

Disgust.

He knew.

Maybe not the full truth, but enough to realize she wasn't Tara.

And he was furious.

Still, he didn't raise his voice. He didn't confront her.

He did something worse.

He ignored her.

The silence between them was colder than any accusation.

Anaya clutched her hands in her lap, trying to keep them from shaking. Her anxiety always crept up at night - but tonight, it roared. Her chest tightened, throat dry, fingers numb. She tried to breathe the way her therapist had taught her, in slow counts.

But how do you calm a storm when you're its cause?

Aarav stared out the window, jaw tight.

He wasn't just angry - he felt betrayed.

He had allowed himself to go through with this farce because it was Tara. He didn't love her, no. But at least she had been the agreement, the plan. Now, sitting beside a stranger who wore her clothes and her face shape but not her voice or scent or presence - it was almost insulting.

"Who are you?" he asked suddenly, voice like steel.

Anaya flinched. She turned to him slowly.

"I... I'm Anaya. Tara's younger sister."

His eyes didn't soften.

"And where is Tara?"

Anaya's voice caught. "She... she left. She didn't say where."

He looked away again. "Of course she did."

A beat of silence. Then another. And then:

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

She hesitated. "I tried. But my mother... my family, they panicked. It was too late. You were already at the venue. Everything was already... happening. I thought... I thought it would only be temporary. That we could explain later."

Aarav gave a short, cold laugh. "Explain later? To whom? The media? The board members? My shareholders? My parents?"

"I didn't mean for this to happen-"

"But it did."

His voice wasn't raised. It didn't need to be.

He looked at her for the first time - properly. Eyes sharp, calculating, as if trying to see through her skin.

"You stood there and let them put vermillion in your hair, knowing it wasn't meant for you."

Anaya opened her mouth, but no words came.

"I don't know what game your family is playing," he continued, "but I won't be part of it."

She looked down, ashamed. "I'm not playing a game."

He didn't respond. He didn't need to.

---

When they arrived at the Rathore mansion, servants bowed, music played softly, and a tray of aarti waited at the door. But Aarav walked straight past it, leaving her behind in silence.

Anaya stepped in alone, heart pounding.

The house was enormous - modern, elegant, and icy cold.

Just like the man who lived in it.

A woman approached - graceful, with warm eyes. Meera Rathore, Aarav's mother.

She cupped Anaya's face gently. "You look tired, beta. Don't worry, everything will feel real from tomorrow. Aarav's just a bit... stubborn. But he's good-hearted."

Anaya smiled weakly. If only she knew.

Aarav didn't stay for the welcoming rituals. He disappeared into his study like a ghost, leaving the newlywed charade to die at the doorstep.

---

That night, Anaya sat alone in the guest room she'd been shown to.

Not the master bedroom.

Not her husband's room.

A guest.

She stared at the blank wall, her head still heavy with pins and her heart heavier with guilt.

In her bag, hidden beneath spare clothes and tissues, was a notebook - the same one where she scribbled her next novel. The heroine in that story was bold, witty, and unafraid to speak her truth.

But Anaya?

She couldn't even whisper hers.

She thought of Aarav again. Not the angry groom, not the ruthless businessman. But the reader - the man who had once posted anonymously under her online story, thanking her for writing something that "felt like silence could finally breathe."

He had no idea it was her.

And now, he probably never would.

Anaya closed her eyes, sinking into the pillow.

They were strangers under the same roof. A marriage signed in panic and shadowed by secrets.

But somewhere, in a quiet part of her soul, she wondered:

Could two wrongs... ever make something right?

---

To be continued.....