
18
17.BETWEEN FEAR AND TENDERNESS


If you love my work, please support me.
Write a comment ...


She sat in front of the mirror, quietly observing her reflection as if she were trying to understand the woman staring back at her. There was no hurry in her movements, no nervousness either. Just a calm stillness surrounded her, as if she had already accepted something long ago. Her hair was neatly parted, filled with a deep line of sindoor that stood out against her dark strands. A small red bindi rested perfectly between her brows, simple yet striking. She wore no makeup, yet there was an undeniable glow on her face, something raw and untouched. Her wrists were adorned with layers of bangles that softly clinked with every slight movement. Around her neck hung a mangalsutra, its presence both heavy and meaningful. Every element she wore enhanced her beauty, making her look like a bride anyone would admire without a second thought. She slowly stood up, adjusting the folds of her attire, her eyes still fixed on her reflection. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Just a quiet acknowledgment of what she had become in this new life. A faint smile touched her lips. “I look perfect… don’t I?” Her voice was soft, almost amused, as if she already knew the answer. She tilted her head slightly, studying herself one last time before her expression settled into something deeper, something that could not be seen on the surface. “Perfect enough to be someone’s bride…” There was a pause. “But never enough to be chosen.” Her fingers lightly brushed against the mangalsutra, feeling its weight as her eyes softened, not with weakness, but with understanding. She knew the truth. No matter how beautiful she looked, no matter how perfectly she fit into the image of a bride, she was never the one he wanted. She was not his choice. She never had been. And that was exactly who she was. THE UNCHOSEN BRIDE.



There’s a victorious smile on his face, the kind that belongs to a man who has finally conquered everything he ever wanted. Drunk on his own triumph, he enters the room quietly, the sound of the door closing echoing like the seal of destiny. And there she stands before him, a bride. His prize. The proof of his victory. As his gaze lingers on her, there’s no warmth in his eyes, only possession. She doesn’t look away, but her eyes hold no sparkle, no life only tears that fall silently, betraying the storm within her. He takes slow, deliberate steps toward her, his voice sharp, laced with pride and cruelty. “You made a big mistake trying to defeat me. Look now I’ve written my name over your entire life. What will you do now?” And in that moment, under the weight of his words, she realizes her silence has become her rebellion, and his victory… might just be his greatest downfall.



His heartbeat was racing, louder than ever. He pushed the door open suddenly, but even the sound of it didn’t make her turn around. She didn’t look at him once. Seeing her like that filled him with a strange kind of fear, something he had never felt in his entire life. Without a word, he walked straight to her and gently pulled the shawl from her shoulders. She didn’t react, didn’t move. He looked at her face, and then, without a moment’s hesitation, unzipped the side of her dress just enough to see what his mind already dreaded. His eyes widened in shock, these scars telling the story of her torture. For a second, time stopped. Then he shut his eyes tightly, the truth too painful to bear, and pulled her into his arms as if trying to hide her from the whole world. His hands trembled, his breath came unevenly, but there were no words, only silence, heavy and breaking. A tear slipped from his eye, and with a deep, shaking breath, he whispered the only word his heart could form. “Meher.”



His breaths were deep and uneven, pounding against her skin like waves during a storm. There was something about this moment, something he could never fully explain that always left him completely intoxicated. It wasn’t just desire; it was the way she existed so quietly, yet with such power, in his world. He loved watching her—how she struggled between surrendering and resisting, her lashes fluttering as if battling the urge to close her eyes. But he didn’t want that. Not tonight. She tried to look up at him, wanting to meet his gaze, to read his expression, but something held her back—something stronger than hesitation. That’s when he smirked, knowing exactly what was happening within her. Without warning, his lips brushed against hers—not gently, but with purpose. He captured her lower lip, sucked it lightly, then bit down just enough to make her gasp. Her eyes flew open, startled, questioning. His voice, low and commanding, barely above a whisper, sent a shiver through her. “Keep looking into my eyes…” There was no space for defiance in his tone—only a quiet demand woven with need. His intense gaze held hers captive. She wanted to close her eyes, to retreat into the overwhelming sensations, but his eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—had locked her in place. She tried to resist, but every part of her was now responding to the gravity of his presence. Her breath quickened. His smirk deepened, satisfied by the way her control was unraveling. Her fingers curled into the sheets, her body tense, aching for release, but his every move was deliberate, pushing her to the edge and holding her there. She was no longer in control. She was at his mercy. And strangely, that didn’t scare her… it set her free.



She had learned to recognize his footsteps. Not by sound, because he walked too softly for that, but by the way the air in the room changed when he entered. The silence became heavier, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. She kept her eyes on the floor, her fingers tightening around the end of her saree, her knuckles turning pale. She didn’t know what he would do today, and that was the worst part, not the anger, not the pain, but the uncertainty. A hand reached out and lifted her chin, not gently, not cruelly, just firmly enough to remind her that she did not get to choose where she looked. “Why do you look scared?” he asked quietly. She didn’t answer. She had learned that answers often made things worse. His thumb pressed lightly against her lower lip, as if testing whether she would speak without permission. Then he smiled, slow, calm, almost affectionate. “I have told you before,” he whispered, his face close enough that she could feel his breath, “I don’t like it when you look at me like I’m a monster.” His grip tightened slightly, just enough to hurt. “But I do like,” he continued softly, “that you’re scared of me.” Her eyes finally lifted to his, and that was her mistake. Because the look in his eyes was not anger. It was satisfaction. And that was far more frightening.



She has tears in her eyes, and she is standing close to the wall while pressing her mouth with both her hands. She can easily hear the sounds of shoes coming very close to her, but she does not have the courage to move an inch away from there. The sound stops suddenly. She sits down while sliding on the wall. A man's voice makes her condition worse. "Jaan" "Jaan, come out quickly, baby; I want to see you." She immediately stands up and tries to run away from there. But he quickly arrives there and grabs her from behind. He begins to inhale the natural scent of her body before placing his lips on her neck and commencing his torture. "Leave me ..... " She is unable to bear his torture and falls unconscious.



She is smiling looking at the sky while sitting there in the floodlight of the moonlit night. She loves to come and sit here often. But as soon as she realizes that he is behind her, she immediately turns her face, smiles even wider, and looks at him immediately. I am waiting for you because today again I want to tell you. I love you I love you I love you. But he still does not move even an inch from his place, not even a single word comes out from his mouth. She is very suspicious about it. She immediately asks him "Veer you still love me Nah, say it you love me" There have some tears of blood in his eyes, he starts moving backward. It is very hard for him but he disappeared into the darkness. "No veer." "Please no don't go again, don't leave me again." "I love you veer." She ran after him but he is not there. "Veer " "Veer " She is screaming very loudly but no one response to her back. "Veer no, please come back" She holds her hands tightly looks up at the sky and opens her palms with her teary vision and screams again "Blood" "Veer" "I killed you.”



Her eyes are tightly clenched as he continues to pound on her. His face dropped into her neck's crook. She firmly grasps his shoulders. However, she takes great care to ensure that her nails don't graze him. He let go and put his weight on her small, skinny body. She relaxes her hold on his shoulders, and he lifts his face away from her sweaty, red-flushed crook to get a good look at her face. He sighed and looked proudly at her upper body, where his art is on display. He then kisses her lips and completely inhales her oxygen. She closes her eyes and moves her lips in response to his lead. He turned away from her and properly covered himself before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. She welcomes the sight of his back when she opens her eyes and turns to face him. She correctly covers her face and lets out a heavy sigh. Without spending any time, she quickly gathers her clothing from the floor and puts it on. She lays down on her side once again, but this time her back is on his side. There is a sizable space separating them. She attempts to go to sleep by closing her eyes, but she finds it completely difficult. THIS IS THE FIRST PART OF LOVE WINS SERIES. I HOPE YOU WILL ENJOY IT.

Write a comment ...