Tanishk entered his room in silence, the quiet hum of the city far below barely registering in his mind. 

This place—his own space, far from chandeliers and family expectations—was the only place that still felt like it belonged to him. Not to the Chandravanshis. Not to society. Just him.

He opened the tall cabinet, reached behind a row of business journals, and pulled out the old, worn leather diary. Its corners were frayed, pages warped slightly from years of use and the weight of unsaid things.

He sat at his desk, cracked it open, and let the pen rest against the paper for a long moment.

July 29
12:57 a.m.

And then, he began to write.

They forced again. Both of them—Maa sa and Baba sa. Like always. First, with this dinner. Before that, with this marriage.

I told them I didn’t want to be there. I told them I had things to do. Real ones. But no—according to them, being a Chandravanshi means showing up. Playing the part. Making sure the Goyenkas see us as perfect. Because God forbid the illusion shatters.

But I knew what tonight really was. It wasn’t just about an engagement dinner. It was a stage. And Kashish and I were just the puppets, like we’ve been since the day they signed us into this relationship.

I didn’t want this marriage. Neither did she. We were best friends once. And they ruined even that. Turned it into a contract between last names. She was my person. My childhood. My calm. But they twisted it into something... transactional. Something cold.

And now? We don’t talk unless we have to. We don’t fight—we’re too exhausted even for that. We coexist, dressed in designer clothes, walking red carpets for a life that isn’t ours anymore.

She shouldn’t have to pretend. But she did.

Because that’s what this family made her into—grace under pressure. A crown with thorns. And I’m not any better. I stayed quiet when I should’ve fought for her back then. I let them push us both into this, thinking we could adapt. We didn’t. We just... broke in silence.

And still, even now, something in me wants to protect her. Even if I don’t know how.

She must cried , she is such a cry baby. Kasish was always weak and soft.

Someone else cried tonight, too.

Shree.

A stranger. An accident in my day. And yet... the only person who felt like she wasn’t performing for something.

She dropped a vase and panicked like the world was about to end. She cut her hand trying to clean it up before I could see. And the way she flinched when I raised my voice—

She's lived through something. I could see it in her eyes. Something worse than anything we pretend doesn’t exist in this family.

And yet... she looked at me like I wasn’t made of marble and legacy. Like I was just a man.a normal human.

What does that say about me?

That I found more honesty in a stranger’s fear than in my own home?

Maa sa says I owe it to the family to show up. Baba sa says it’s about legacy.

Maybe all I want now is to finally stop being who they want me to be.

And start figuring out who I actually am.

Before it’s too late.

—T.

He closed the diary softly, leaned back in the leather chair, and let the city lights outside his penthouse window spill across the floor.

Down below, the world kept turning.

But up here, Tanishk Chandravanshi sat still—caught between two lives, and one truth no one had ever let him say out loud:

He never chose this.

Not the marriage.
Not the legacy.
Not the mask.

And maybe… it was time to stop wearing it.

The moment Kashish stepped into the silence of her wing of the mansion, she dropped the composure she had fought so hard to hold all evening.

The heels came off first—kicked to the side. Her dupatta next, tossed on the velvet bench by the dresser. Her jewelry clinked softly as she unclasped it with shaking hands. One by one, every ornament of her polished exterior fell away until only she remained.

And then she walked straight to the bathroom.

She locked the door behind her.

The marble floors were cold under her feet. The lights glowed soft and golden, but nothing about the room felt warm tonight. Her reflection stared back at her from the giant mirror above the sink—flawless makeup, perfect hair, but eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

She turned away from it.

And then the first sob came.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to silence it—but another followed. Then another.

Her knees gave way, and she sank to the cool floor beside the bathtub, curling into herself like a wounded animal. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks now, unrelenting.

Why didn’t he come?
Why didn’t Tanishk come?

She had waited. Through every polite smile, every tight-lipped question, every pointed silence from the Goyenkas. She kept glancing toward the door, hoping—just once—he’d walk in. That he'd stand beside her, even if only as a formality.

But he never did.

And the silence he left behind screamed louder than anything else in that room.

She had seen the look on Angad’s face. She had felt Malini’s cold disappointment drip down her spine like melting ice. But it wasn’t their judgment that hurt the most.

It was her own father’s.

Her Papa, who once held her little hand and said she deserved the stars—he hadn’t met her eyes once tonight. And her brother,Yash, who used to bring her mango ice cream after school? He had spoken to everyone except her.

They despised her now.

Not because of who she was. But because of what this marriage had done to her.
What she had become inside it.

It hadn’t started this way. At the beginning, they were proud. Her Papa had beamed when the Chandravanshis came with the rishta. Her brother had clapped her back and teased her about childhood crushes. Tanishk and she had history, they said. Friendship. Familiarity. It would work.

But friendship doesn’t survive silence. Not when love is replaced by obligation. Not when respect turns into formality.

Somewhere between the whispered fights and cold dinners, her family started looking at her differently. Like she was weak. Like she had let them down.

But what had she done?

She didn’t choose this either.

She didn’t force Tanishk to marry her. Their parents did. Just like they forced him to carry the family name, and her to bear its weight like a crown of fire.

She had tried. God, she had tried. She wore every expectation like a second skin. She smiled at the right times, folded her hands, played the perfect wife, daughter-in-law, hostess. And yet—

Here she was.

Crying on the bathroom floor because her best friend—her husband—hadn't even cared enough to show up and stand next to her.

Not for her.
Not even for his own parents.

She whispered through tears, “You hate me that much, Tanishk?”

And the silence answered back.

Only the sound of her sobs, echoing in the cold tiles, filled the space around her. Not one voice came to check. Not one knock on the door.

Just her.

Alone.

Like always.

She curled tighter into herself, her body shaking with the weight of it all—shame, anger, heartbreak, and a humiliation so deep it seeped into her bones.

And in that moment, Kashish Chandravanshi—the perfect daughter-in-law, the flawless hostess, the childhood friend who became a wife—felt like nothing more than a girl no one wanted to choose.

Not even the man who once promised her the world.

The tears slowed eventually, though the ache in Kashish’s chest did not.

She leaned her head back against the bathroom wall, breath shallow, eyes red and glassy. The cold tile at her back grounded her, barely—but inside, something had already cracked.

And when her eyes finally fluttered shut, memory took over.

It pulled her somewhere softer. Somewhere warmer.

The lake shimmered in the golden light of evening. Kashish sat at the edge of the dock, feet dangling just above the water, giggling as she splashed droplets at the boy beside her.

Tanishk.

He scowled in mock offense, wiping his cheek dramatically. “I swear, Kashish, do it again and I’ll push you in.”

“You won’t,” she grinned, eyes twinkling. “You’re too scared of Malini aunty yelling at you if I catch a cold.”

He huffed and looked away—but she saw the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Besides,” she said, nudging his arm, “you like it when I win.”

“I do not,” he muttered.

“You always let me go first during games. Even Ludo!”

“That’s because you’re bad at it.”

She gasped. “Take it back!”

“Make me,” he grinned now—fully, widely, in the way only Tanishk ever could. Mischief in his eyes, sun in his hair. That version of him—the one before the suits, the meetings, the silence—lived in her like a permanent photograph.

She didn’t know it then, but that summer would be one of the last ones before the world changed.

Before business calls replaced birthday cakes.
Before ‘Papa said’ started meaning more than ‘what do you want?’
Before their names became weapons other people used to bind them.

Back then, Tanishk wasn’t the Chandravanshi heir.
And she wasn’t the ‘chosen match’ for a family legacy.

They were just Kashish and Taniskh.
Two kids hiding candy in the library.
Two best friends lying to their mothers just to stay out by the lake a little longer.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you, Kashish,” he’d whispered that day, when she scraped her knee chasing a butterfly and cried under the banyan tree.

She’d sniffled and asked, “Promise?”

And he had pinky-sworn it, solemn and wide-eyed.

The memory dissolved like mist when Kashish opened her eyes again, her breath hitching.

She looked around the bathroom, sterile and cold, and felt like that girl by the lake had died a long time ago. Or maybe just gotten buried under saris and silence and chandeliers.

A bitter smile touched her lips.

“He broke the promise,” she whispered to the empty room.

Then, softer—more to herself than anyone else—

“So did I.”

Sneak peak- Chapter 15

Malini continued, adjusting the pallu of her saree with a practiced flick. “You should have called. At least today. People will ask where he is. It’s your brother’s wedding, and your husband’s absence will be… noticed.”

Kashish finally turned to meet her eyes. “Let them notice.”