episode 2

She doesn’t even feel the next few sentences passing between their families — the polite jokes about wedding food, the laughter about honeymoon destinations.

She’s frozen — locked inside her own body while his hand stays heavy on her shoulder like a brand.

She tries to keep her eyes dry, tries to stare straight ahead at the clock on the wall, the faded family photo above the TV — anything but him. But the tears come anyway. Slow at first, then quicker, spilling hot and helpless down her cheeks.

He feels her shoulders tremble.

He turns his head, his breath warm against her ear — the sweetness in his tone mocking the sharp twist underneath.

"Aw, baby," he murmurs, too softly for anyone else to hear, “Don’t start crying now.”

His thumb brushes her cheek — wiping a tear so slowly it sends a cold shiver down her spine. He studies the wetness on his thumb, then looks at her with a spark of amusement in his eyes — like he’s enjoying this too much to hide it.

"Save these for later," he says, voice dipped in dark amusement. “You’ll need them then. I haven’t even done anything yet, Maya.”

She opens her mouth — to say no, to beg him to stop, to tell her father to look at her, really see her — but the words stick like stones in her throat.

Raghav leans in, so close his lips graze her ear — soft, deadly:

"You ran away last time. You saved yourself once. But you can’t save yourself from me after marriage. There won’t be anywhere to run, will there? My pretty wife… always mine."

His hand slides down her arm, squeezing her fingers just tight enough to hurt. Then, like nothing happened, he turns back to the family with that same charming smile, answering some question about the guest list.

No one notices her tears now.

No one sees how her chest heaves, her heart cracking open under the weight of what’s coming.

They only see a beautiful, shy bride-to-be, tucked under her perfect fiancé’s arm.

And all she can think is — Who will believe me now? Who will save me now?

The laughter drifts from the hallway as their fathers shake hands one last time, sealing the arrangement.

Maya stands by the sideboard, her palms pressed so hard against the wood that her fingertips sting. She tries to steady her breathing — tries not to let her eyes flick toward him.

But of course, Raghav watches her — the whole time. Like he’s memorizing every crack in her armor, every tremble she tries to hide.

When the front door finally closes behind his parents, Raghav lingers — waiting just long enough for her father to follow the guests outside.

And then it’s just the two of them, in the hush of the hallway that once felt safe.

He steps closer — so close she feels the heat of him again, the scent of the aftershave she used to love. His smile curves wide — that same amused sweetness that makes her want to scream.

"You didn’t cry too much this time. Good girl," he says softly, his tone like a pat on the head. “But come on, Maya… we can’t have you acting like a stranger now.”

She lifts her chin, forcing herself to look him in the eye — though her voice comes out as a whisper:

"What do you want?"

His grin sharpens, teeth just barely showing. He reaches for her phone on the sideboard — picks it up, rolls it between his fingers like a toy.

"You still have me blocked everywhere, hmm?" His tone is mocking, like they’re exes laughing over an old joke. “That’s not how a good fiancée treats her future husband, is it?”

She doesn’t answer — her pulse pounding in her ears.

He leans closer — his lips brushing her temple this time.

"Unblock me tonight. Everywhere. I want to see you. Talk to you. Whenever I want."

She swallows, her throat dry as paper. “I don’t want to.”

He laughs under his breath — a low, dark sound that makes her stomach knot. His hand comes up — two fingers tipping her chin up just enough to trap her gaze.

"You don’t have to want to, Maya. You just have to do it."

His thumb drags over her lower lip, so gentle it makes her want to bite him. “You’re mine again. Stop pretending you can shut me out. You can’t save yourself from me now… so be good. Be smart.”

She jerks her face away. He lets her — for now.

The front door swings open again — her father’s voice booming cheerfully from the porch. The moment breaks. The world shifts back to pretend normal.

Raghav tosses her phone back onto the sideboard — his grin widening.

"Tonight," he murmurs as he passes her by. “Unblock me. Or I’ll do it myself when we’re husband and wife. And then there’ll be no blocking me ever again.”

That night, Maya sits curled up on her bed, the phone a dead weight in her hands.

Her room — the same walls she grew up in — feels like a cage now. No locked doors can keep him out anymore.

She scrolls through her contacts, her thumb hovering over his name — that familiar string of letters that once made her smile. Now, it makes her hands shake.

She knows if she doesn’t unblock him, he’ll find a way. He’ll twist her father’s ear, turn it into “she’s being disobedient.” She can’t afford to make him angry — not yet.

So she does it. One flick of her thumb — Unblock.

A little green circle lights up next to his name. Active. Waiting.

She drops the phone onto her blanket like it’s burned her. She can’t breathe — her chest tight, her mind racing with old memories she’s tried to bury.

It takes less than a minute.

Her phone buzzes. One new message.

And another.

And another.

She stares at the screen, the words swimming before her eyes:

Raghav: “Good girl. I knew you’d listen.”

A second message pings — more mocking, almost playful:

Raghav: “You look so pretty when you cry. Did you cry while you did it? Did you think about me touching you when you pressed that button?”

Her stomach twists. Her thumb hovers over Block again — but she doesn’t dare.

A third message slides in, colder now — a hook hidden in the honey:

Raghav: “Meet me tomorrow. That little café near the OYO on Ring Road. 4 PM. You remember that one? We used to sit there for hours… maybe you’ll change your mind again after.”

The implication hangs in the air — You know what happens if you say no.

If she refuses, he could do worse than text her. He could show up at her door. He could tell her father she’s misbehaving, spoiling the family name.

The phone slips from her fingers onto the blanket. She buries her face in her knees, trembling so hard she thinks her bones might rattle right out of her skin.

He’s never going to let her go.

And tomorrow… she’ll have to see him again. Near that cheap OYO — the same place he always hinted about when they were together. A place where secrets don’t get locked doors.

She squeezes her eyes shut — wishing the world would swallow her whole. But she knows wishes are useless now.

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