The engagement party gleamed with chandeliers and polished marble floors, every surface reflecting light, wealth, and carefully curated happiness. Soft music floated through the air, mingling with false laughter and practiced smiles.
Avya stood slightly apart, dressed simply compared to the glittering crowd. Her eyes moved, absorbing everything—the whispers, the stares, the unspoken judgments. She hated places like this. Too loud. Too dishonest.
Naira stood beside her, fingers clenched tightly around Avya’s hand. Her smile was thin, stretched just enough to pass as joy. Her palm was cold.
“I just… I want you to meet him,” Naira murmured, almost pleading.
Avya nodded once and followed as Naira guided her through the sea of guests. With every step, Naira seemed to shrink, shoulders curling inward, like a bird with clipped wings forced to keep flying.
Then he turned.
Riaan Malhotra.
Perfectly groomed. Perfectly poised. His tailored suit fit him like armor, and his expression revealed nothing. His eyes were dark, sharp, and unreadable—eyes that missed nothing.
“This is Avya Mane,” Naira said softly. “My best friend.”
Avya extended her hand, her face composed. “Mr. Malhotra.”
His grip was firm, confident. “Ms. Mane.”
For a moment, the world seemed to pause.
Their gazes locked—two guarded souls assessing the other in silence. Avya saw intelligence there. Control. A man used to power. And Riaan saw something too—a stillness that didn’t belong in a room full of noise.
Naira shifted nervously. “I’ll… I’ll get us something to drink,” she muttered before slipping away.
Riaan’s gaze followed her retreating figure, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “Your friend seems uneasy,” he said quietly.
“She’s pretending,” Avya replied coolly. “Pretending never ends well.”
Riaan studied her for a second longer, as if committing her words to memory.
The night dragged on.
Avya watched Naira laugh when spoken to, nod when expected, accept congratulations with trembling grace. Every smile looked rehearsed. Every movement screamed distress.
Near midnight, Avya escaped to the balcony for air.
Moments later, Naira followed.
Tears streaked her carefully applied makeup, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She clutched the railing as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
“I can’t do it, Avya,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I love someone else. I can’t marry him.”
Avya didn’t soften.
“I’m going to run away,” Naira added desperately. “Tonight. Tomorrow. I don’t know. But I can’t stay.”
Avya’s voice was like ice. “Running isn’t honesty. It’s cowardice.”
Naira flinched.
“At least give him the dignity of knowing the truth,” Avya continued. “He deserves that much.”
“I’m scared,” Naira sobbed, sinking to the floor. “If I say it, I’ll lose everything. My family. My name. My life.”
“You’ll lose more by staying silent,” Avya warned. “Lies don’t disappear. They rot.”
Naira buried her face in her hands, shaking.
Avya watched her—really watched her—and felt something shift inside her. A quiet, irreversible understanding.
Fear had already chosen for her.
Naira wouldn’t tell him.
As Avya stared out into the city lights below, a chill settled in her chest. She had seen it all—the hesitation, the deception, the inevitable collapse waiting to happen.
And when it did, everyone would pretend it was fate.
But Avya knew better.
Some endings aren’t accidents.
They are choices.
And she had just watched one being made.
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