One evening, as Kanika lazily scrolled through her phone, a notification lit up the screen. It was an unexpected message—an invitation to her college reunion.
Three years had passed since graduation, and the sudden announcement filled her with a rush of excitement.
“Wao, it’s really been so long since I’ve been to a proper party,” she thought, eyes gleaming. “Finally, something where I can flaunt my saree collection.”
The reunion was scheduled for the coming Sunday, the 7th, from 6 PM to 11 PM.
Thank God the venue’s nearby, she noted mentally. Thirty minutes max. Now the only hurdle left—convincing Papa. I’ll just promise him I’ll be back by 9.
With a grin stretching across her face, she shot up from the bed and marched toward her parents’ room. The door was already open. Her father sat buried in paperwork, glasses perched low on his nose, while her mother was scribbling in a notebook—most likely making a list.
“Papa…” she called softly, enough to get their attention.
Her mother’s eyes lit up the moment she saw her. With a joy that doubled Kanika’s, she chirped, “Kanika! Accha hua tu aa gayi. Main toh tere paas hi aane wali thi.”
She immediately set her pen and notebook aside, patting the bed beside her. Kanika, slightly confused, sat down.
Her mother started, “Do you remember I told you about your Sramishtha— Her wedding is almost fixed. Only the date was pending…”
Kanika gave a half-hearted nod.
“Well, the date is finalized now. It’s on the 15th of this month. Everything’s happening in such short notice…” Her mother pulled a pitiful face. “Sramishtha is manglik, you know na? Not all dates are suitable for her, and this one turned out to be the only auspicious one.”
Then came the final blow.
“We’re going there on the 6th. That still gives us a week to prepare,” her mother added cheerily, handing her the notebook. “Look, I’m making a list of everything we’ll need. You tell me what you want; I’ll add it too. Tomorrow, we go shopping!”
Kanika's POV:
Argh, Bhagwan ji, aapko mujhse koi personal dushmani hai kya? Gaon ab basa bhi nahi tha ki lutere bhej diye.
I can’t go there. Not for that bitch’s wedding. Especially not at the cost of missing my reunion! I need a plan...
She blurted out quickly, “But Maa, the wedding’s on the 15th! Why are we going on the 6th? Won’t we look... desperate? We can just go on the 13th or 14th—”
Her mother gave her a chappal-throwing glare.
Kanika laughed nervously. “I mean... the 10th, Maa. Five days are more than enough for all the rituals and stuff.”
But her mother missed the sarcasm entirely. “Beta, try to understand. She’s manglik, she has more rituals than a regular bride. And you know how important Bua are for all that. I'm the only sister your mama has. They don’t have any other option. Ab zyada dimag mat chala, just get ready.”
Then, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she whispered, “You know, the earlier we go, the more people will notice you. Kya pata, accha rishta mil jaaye…”
Kanika gulped hard, biting her lower lip.
Nope. Nope. Nope. That tall bitch always looks down on me—literally and emotionally—because of my height and weight. There’s no way I’m going there pretending we’re all happy cousins. Bhaad mein gaya reunion, par us kuttiya ki shaadi mein toh main definitely nahi jaungi.
Then it struck her. Her eyes lit up with a brilliant idea.
She turned to her mother, voice steady and dramatic: “Maa, I don’t think I can come with you.”
Her mother froze, then slowly set everything aside. “Aur ab kya naya drama hai?”
“Maa, please try to understand. This month, I have to give my Mains exam. Do you even realize how tough that is?” she said, layering emotion onto her words. “I can’t throw away a whole year just for someone’s wedding. And you know it’s Papa’s dream that at least one of his children becomes an IAS officer. I’m almost there. I can’t afford to lose focus now.”
She turned to her father, eyes brimming with false sincerity.
Her mother, clearly suspicious, arched a brow. “Aur sirf yeh 15 din hi padhegi tu? Poora time library mein kya kar rahi thi?”
Then came the expected move—the one she'd been aiming for.
“Swara,” her father finally spoke, his voice calm and final. “Kanika thik keh rahi hai. UPSC ka mains likhna school ke semester jaisa nahi hota. It needs serious dedication. Every second counts. If she stays there for two weeks, it’ll mess with her focus. Kanika, tum yahi raho. Just give it your best. I want results. Don’t worry about anything else.”
Kanika gulped again. This time with real fear.
Oh god, bachpan se kabhi belt treatment nahi mila, par agar is baar Mains nahi nikla, toh wo kami bhi puri ho jaayegi.
Her mother snapped at both of them. “Are you two serious? If she won’t attend anyone’s wedding, who’ll attend hers? Half the relatives already have issues with her, and the rest won’t even bother now. And you never know—she might meet someone nice there! Even your family noticed me at a cousin’s wedding, and look—I’m now married to you with three kids!”
Her father, clearly done, sighed and returned to his paperwork. “Don’t worry, Swara. Everyone will attend. We’re her parents, we’ll be there. And if it’s about matchmaking, just take good pictures of her and show them around.”
Kanika grinned, ear to ear, as if she'd just won a battle. With the grace of a victorious general, she walked out of the room.
**It was an ordinary afternoon**
when Kanika, busy stirring something in the kitchen, heard the doorbell ring. She paused, eyes narrowing. *Maa’s in the shower. Bhai must be at school. And didi… probably on FaceTime with her fiancé, lost in la-la land.*
*Great. That leaves only me.*
With a small sigh, she turned the flame to low and trudged toward the door, wiping her hands on her dupatta.
But the moment she opened it, her soul almost escaped her body.
Standing right there, dressed in tradition, pride, and unsolicited authority, was **Anakveer’s Dadisa**. Beside her, equally unannounced and equally judgmental, stood **Purnima aunty**, the wife of Anak’s elder uncle.
Kanika froze.
She blinked at them in disbelief, trying to process the sight.
Just then, a sharp voice snapped her back to reality—annoyed and dramatic.
“O baisa, andar aane nahi kahogi? Khair, *pranaam-namaste* toh main tumse umeed bhi nahi rakhti.”
Kanika jolted. “Aaiye aaiye, Dadisa. Aaiye Purnima aunty,” she stammered and bent quickly to touch their feet, trying to mask her surprise. “Andar aaiye.”
She ushered them inside, planted them gently on the living room sofa, and flashed a tight-lipped, barely-there smile before fleeing to the kitchen.
There, she clutched the cold drink bottle, muttering under her breath, *God! Why the hell is this old tornado here?*
Then it hit her.
*Oh no... don’t tell me... she actually took that day’s comment seriously. Fuck! She’s here to pressure my parents into getting me married!*
Panic setting in, she assembled a tray of snacks, glasses, and drinks in record time—desperate to avoid another scolding for basic hospitality.
Back in the living room, with her heart pounding in her throat, Kanika placed the tray gently on the table and handed a glass of cold water directly to Dadisa. “Paani… garmi bahut hai… hehee…”
Dadisa took the glass, curling her lips with amusement. “Waah. Tu toh samajhdaar ho rahi hai. Bina kahe kaam karne lagi.”
Kanika offered a nervous chuckle in reply and handed the next glass to Purnima aunty.
Just then, Dadisa peered around. “Waise, Swara dikh nahi rahi. Kidhar hai?”
As if summoned by the universe, her mother appeared on the stairs, towel drying her hair. Her eyes lit up seeing the guests.
“Maasa! Aap yahan?” she rushed forward, touching Dadisa’s feet and greeting Purnima aunty with a warm smile. “Koi kaam tha toh humein bulwa leti!”
“Aree Swara, pehle baith jao. Aur rahi baat aane ki, toh mauka hi aisa tha.” She turned to Purnima. “Bahu, card nikaalo.”
With a gracious nod, Purnima took out a **wedding invitation card** and a **box of sweets**, offering them with a wide smile.
“Randhir ki shaadi fix ho gayi hai. Pure parivaar ke saath aapka aana zaroori hai, Swara bhabhi.”
Swara received it with warmth. “Bahut bahut badhaai ho bhabhi! Hum zaroor aayenge.”
But Dadisa wasn’t done. “*Sirf aayenge nahi*, sare *vidhi-vyavhaar* mein shamil bhi hona hai. Tum log toh apne ho, toh mehmano wali baat nahi chalegi.”
Swara laughed softly. “Aap befikar rahiye, Maasa. Randhir bhi toh humara hi baccha hai.”
“Ye hui na baat!” Dadisa grinned and promptly popped a **rasgulla** into her mouth.
---
**Kanika’s POV:**
*Ruko zara… Randhir ki shaadi?* Kanika frowned. *How come I didn’t know about this?*
As if reading her mind, Dadisa tilted her head. “Kyunki baisa, kuch dino se toh tu ghar aana hi chhod di. Bata, kyun nahi aa rahi thi?”
*Excuse me?!* Kanika blinked. *Was I thinking too loudly? What the hell—how does she know what I’m thinking?*
But all she could say out loud was, “Woh… actually I was busy in studies.”
Before the questions continued, she made a quick escape toward the kitchen. “Gas jal rahi thi!”
Inside, while stirring the **yam curry**, she grumbled.
*Duniya ke saare log isi mahine mein shaadi kyun kar lete hain? Pehle wo lambi naagin, ab ye Randhir. Aur Anak ne mujhe kuch bataya bhi nahi. Not that he would—he can’t stand Randhir or Manu. He won’t even hear their names without rage issues.*
*Never mind. Sabji and parathas are ready. I should sneak away to my room.*
Just as she stepped out, a voice halted her.
“Waise, kya bana rahi thi baisa? Khushboo toh badi achi aa rahi hai.”
“Ji… woh… yam ki sabzi… bana rahi thi.”
“Yam?” Dadisa frowned.
“Matlab suran ki…” she clarified.
“Waise, tu khana bhi bana leti hai? Aashcharya hua!” Dadisa taunted.
Kanika gave a fake smile. *Yaar, ye har baat pe compliment ki jagah comment kyun karti hai?*
Swara interjected cheerfully, “Maasa, aap try kyu nahi karti? Bahut acha khana banati hai.”
Kanika almost laughed internally. *Haan try kyu nahi karti… already had 2 rasgullas, 2 chamcham, kaju katli, 5 dry samosas… kya kya try nahi kiya.*
To her shock, Dadisa said, “Thik hai, try kar hi lete hain.”
They settled at the dining table, and Kanika served them.
Dadisa took a bite—and froze.
“Arey baisa! Tu itna accha khana bana leti hai?! Yeh toh humein maloom hi nahi tha. Sach batau Swara, maine kabhi itni acchi suran ki sabzi nahi khayi!”
Purnima joined in, “Beta, tumhare haathon mein toh jaadu hai!”
Kanika’s lips curled into a soft, proud smile.
Just then, Dadisa opened her purse and pulled out money. “Yeh lo, baisa. Tumhara haq.”
“Nahi nahi… iski kya zarurat—” Kanika protested.
“Zarurat hai. Humare yahan jab Lakshmi ke haath ka bana pehli baar khaate hain, toh *neg* dete hain. Chahe woh bahu ho ya beti. Aur yeh tumhara haq hai.”
She looked at her mother for approval. Swara gave a nod—refusing it would’ve been disrespectful.
Even Purnima handed her a note with a sweet “Bless you, beta.”
Kanika felt a strange warmth in her chest. *Maybe this old tornado isn’t that bad after all…*
But her bubble burst in seconds.
“Swara, Kanika toh sundar bhi hai, padhi-likhi bhi, sabhyata bhi hai, aur ab toh khana banana bhi aata hai. She’s all grown up. In a few months, she’ll turn 26. Don’t you think it’s time to look for a groom?”
Swara sighed, “Maasa, bas uski badi behen ki shaadi ho jaye, phir—”
“Arey Swara, badi beti hi beti nahi hoti. She’s already half-settled, engaged. If you don’t start searching now, it’ll get too late. Shaadi koi baazar nahi jahan pasand aaya aur turant le liya. Pehle 2 log mana karte hain, phir aap kisi ko. Tab jaake koi yogya milta hai.”
*Here we go again.* Kanika’s eye twitched.
“I’m saying this because you don’t have a *saas* to guide you. But I know you since you entered this house as a bride.”
Swara smiled politely. “Maasa, I understand. And thank you for your concern. I was thinking the same.”
---
Kanika, meanwhile, was plotting murder in her head.
*What does she think—just because we call her Dadisa, she’s actually Jagat Dadisa?*
After lunch, they stood to leave.
But before leaving, Dadisa turned one last time and tossed the final bomb.
“Waise Swara, mujhe iski photo WhatsApp kar dena. Mere bhai ka poota hai. Bahut achha ladka hai.”
She walked out.
Without blinking, Swara forwarded the photo before even closing the main door.
Kanika, fuming, stormed into her room and slammed the door. She was about to throw the money in rage—then paused mid-air and slid it carefully into her drawer.
*Lakshmi Mata pe gussa nahi nikalte.*
Then she stared at the ceiling.
*God knows which past life I trapped this woman in. Why is she so determined to trap me now?*
Frustrated, she ruffled her hair.
*Ugh. I should just sleep.*
__________________________________
The house was in controlled chaos.
Swara darted between rooms like a whirlwind, triple-checking everything—kitchen locked, windows latched, important documents sealed, and puja room double-secured. Her father was calmly barking instructions to the driver, while her siblings bickered over who packed whose charger. They were finally leaving for Swara’s maternal home for a week-long wedding celebration.
Kanika stood by the gate, watching the rush, feeling a strange mix of calm and ache. Her parents and siblings were piling into the car now, the luggage finally crammed in.
Before settling in, her father turned to her with a stern expression.
“Kanika, no matter what, don’t go out for too long or too far. Library bhi jaane ki zarurat nahi. Har kaam yahin se ho sakta hai. And not even my friends or employees—*no one* comes inside this house. Samjhi?”
She nodded like an obedient schoolkid. “Yes, Papa.”
Her mother came next, hugging her tightly. “Beta, there’s enough food and snacks at home. Bahar bilkul mat jaana. If anything urgent comes up, call us immediately. Thik hai?”
Kanika clutched her mother’s dupatta for a second, fighting back the lump in her throat. “Okay, Mumma,” she whispered.
“Take care,” they chorused.
And with a honk and a wave, they drove away—just like that.
Silence fell over the house like a heavy blanket.
Kanika stood for a while, blinking at the quiet.
This was the **first time** she would be **completely alone** at home. A part of her was emotional, a little overwhelmed. But a bigger part—the devilish, thrill-seeking part—was dancing inside her like *Kevin from Home Alone.*
Before she could decide what to do next—clean, dance, sleep, or throw a mini party—her phone buzzed.
**Anakveer calling.**
“Hello?”
“Ani? Aap thik ho?”His voice was calm, but clipped.
“Yes. What happened?”
“You’re calling to check on me? I’m fine. They left just thirty minutes ago. Not a child, remember?”
“If you need anything… anything at all—even if it’s just discomfort—let me know,” he said with intensity.
Kanika smiled, warmed and amused. “You’re acting like I’ve been abandoned in a jungle. Chill! Btw… what are *you* wearing tomorrow?”
“What?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“The reunion, Mr. Rajput. Aren’t you going?”
His answer was ice-cold. “Have I ever gone to such places that too without you? Why would I go now?”
Kanika rolled her eyes. “Ugh, seriously? I’m literally *dying* to go, but can't even step outside for too long. And you—*you* have the freedom and still saying no? Not fair.”
“Do you really want to go *that* badly?” His voice turned dangerously soft, almost chilling.
“Yes! But what’s the use now?” she replied dramatically, sighing into the phone. “Let’s just drop the topic. It hurts, you know…”
But what he said next stunned her.
“When I’m alive, nothing can hurt you. Be ready. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 6 PM.”
Her eyes widened. “Anak, let it be! I really can’t. You know my father—he’s kept all the important documents here. And my sister’s wedding jewellery! If something gets stolen, they'll literally sell my kidneys to recover it.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
“Nothing will happen. You just need to get ready. 6 PM sharp. Don’t worry about the house. You forget, Kanika, *who I am*. Don’t you trust the royal guards? You know their loyalty and combat skills. They’ll be positioned around your house tomorrow. Just get ready.”
Kanika’s face lit up. Her joy was untamed, like a kid handed fireworks.
They talked a little longer—her teasing, him warning, both smiling more than they admitted—before finally saying goodnight.
“Okay, good night Anak. Sleep well.”
But what she didn’t know was that he was far closer than she imagined.
---
**Outside her house**, parked discreetly in the shadows, was a dark SUV. Inside it, Anakveer sat in silence, staring at his laptop screen with sharp, unwavering focus.
Tiny windows blinked open and shut—angles of the roof, the main gate, the back wall, the staircase near the terrace.
Nano-drones buzzed silently in the sky above, invisible to any normal eye.
He tapped his Bluetooth earpiece.
“I want all of you guarding this house… *in silence.* Like oxygen—there, essential, but unseen. *Understood?*”
A chorus of replies echoed in his ears, crisp and obedient. “*Ji, hukum.*”
Anakveer pov:
**Eleven shadow guards** had already taken positions around her
house—blending into the darkness, sworn to loyalty, trained in silence. They had moved in *within minutes* of her family’s departure. After all, Anak had started planning the very moment she mentioned she'd be home alone.
He glanced once more at the live feed on his
screen, satisfied.
Then he leaned back in his seat, his eyes lingering on the glowing window of her room.
“Good night, baccha,” he whispered under his breath.
And as the moonlight cast cold silver shadows across the sleeping city, **a determined obsession settled quietly on his face**.
---
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