CHAPTER THIRTEEN : HIDDEN IDENTITIES
Mini snapped, her voice dripping with frustration. “Stupid! He is the same boy you were going to marry that day, but you ran away!”
Priya gasped, her eyes widening. “Mini, I think you have some confusion,” she said, her tone defensive but uncertain.
Mini leaned closer to her camera, her voice sharp and pressing. “I think you may have forgotten that your mother told you his name—Aryan Khanna—who manages his dad’s business in Paris. The name of their company is something related to Group…”
“K-Group?” Priya whispered, her heartbeat quickening.
“Yaa, right,” Mini confirmed firmly.
Priya’s face paled, her voice trembling with fear. “But if it’s him, then why doesn’t he recognize me?”
“Because like you didn’t see his photo, he also didn’t see your photo,” Mini explained, her tone calm but edged with seriousness.
Priya’s panic grew. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “What if he finds out about this? Because he is very angry with the girl who ran away after leaving him at the wedding. Means… from me. What should I do now?”
Mini’s expression softened slightly, though her tone remained steady. “Stay with him as you are until now, and don’t let him know.”
“But wait, what about his parents? If they recognize me?” Priya’s voice shook with rising fear.
“Of course they will, because they know you. By the way, are they not at home now?” Mini asked.
“No, they are in India. But in a few days, they will come here for our wedding. Then what will I do?” Priya’s words tumbled out, her voice cracking with worry.
“They are here, right?” Mini asked, her face turning serious.
“Hmm,” Priya nodded.
“Don’t worry. Let me handle it in my way,” Mini said firmly, her confidence grounding Priya for a moment.
“How?” Priya asked, searching her friend’s eyes through the screen.
“Do you trust me?” Mini asked.
“Hmm,” Priya whispered, nodding.
“Then don’t worry… Okay?” Mini said, her tone soft but resolute.
“Okay,” Priya breathed, her shoulders lowering slightly.
“Good.”
But just then, Priya heard the faint sound of footsteps outside her room. Her eyes darted toward the door, panic flashing across her face. “Looks like someone is coming. I’ll talk to you later.”
The screen went black, but Priya’s heart didn’t slow down. Her chest tightened as her eyes flicked to the door, wondering if Aryan had overheard something, or worse—if the truth was already slipping out.
“Riya, have you set all your stuff?” Karan’s voice broke the silence as he stepped into the room. His tone was casual but carried that elder-brother-like concern.
“Not yet,” she said softly, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta.
“Why?” he asked, tilting his head with curiosity, but also a little impatience, as though he couldn’t understand what was stopping her.
“How can I touch Mr. Aryan’s wardrobe in his absence? If he minded it, then?” she replied hesitantly. Her voice was low, filled with caution and respect, but underneath it was a clear trace of fear—fear of offending Aryan, fear of crossing invisible boundaries.
Karan frowned, then his lips curved into a small smile. His tone became reassuring, almost teasing. “Why would he? If he had to mind it, he would never allow you to stay in this room and touch his belongings. And yaa, you’re his future wife, and it’s also your room from now. So, now set your stuff.”
His words carried both encouragement and reality. To him, it was simple logic. To her, it was a heavy reminder of the new life she was stepping into, one she wasn’t ready for.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice carrying a mixture of surrender and unease.
Then Karan left, closing the door behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
The room suddenly felt too big, too quiet. Priya’s eyes traveled slowly to Aryan’s wardrobe, standing tall in front of her like a silent guardian. She took a deep breath, her heart hammering. Karan’s words echoed in her ears—“you’re his future wife, and it’s also your room from now.”
Her chest tightened. Future wife. The phrase lingered, filling her with both warmth and fear. Slowly, she sat down on the bed, her gaze fixed on the wardrobe. What if he doesn’t like me touching his things? What if I really don’t belong here?
She buried her face in her hands, torn between duty, fear, and the confusing reality of this contract marriage.
Aryan was walking down the hall toward his room, his steps heavy with the exhaustion of the day. But as he approached, a soft humming drifted through the slightly open door. The tune was light, sweet, and almost playful. He paused. For a moment, he simply stood there, surprised. Who could be humming inside my room?
Curiosity tugged at him, and he pushed the door open gently. His eyes softened when he saw Priya.
She was standing in front of the mirror, wrapped in a white bathrobe, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders as she rubbed it dry with a towel. Her face glowed with freshness, her humming filling the room with a sense of warmth and comfort.
Aryan froze in the doorway, a small, unintentional smile curving his lips. It was rare to see someone so natural, so unguarded, in his space. For a man used to discipline and control, the sight felt strangely calming. He leaned against the doorframe, watching quietly.
Then, through the mirror, Priya noticed him. Her eyes widened slightly, and the melody stopped abruptly. “What are you doing here?” she asked, turning around quickly, her cheeks heating up at the thought of him catching her like this.
“Miss, it’s my room also,” he replied with a faint smirk, his tone calm but playful.
“Oh yaa…” she muttered, lowering her gaze, embarrassed. The reality struck her—she wasn’t in her own room. She was sharing this space with him.
She tried to keep talking casually, but mid-sentence, a sudden realization hit her—she was still standing in a bathrobe. Her breath hitched, and her face turned crimson. Without another word, she grabbed her clothes in a rush and dashed into the bathroom.
Aryan blinked in surprise at her sudden reaction, then let out a quiet chuckle. Watching her flustered retreat, his smile lingered. She’s so easy to read, he thought, shaking his head slightly.
A few minutes later, Priya stepped out, now dressed neatly, her hair brushed back. She tried to act normal, but Aryan’s gaze was fixed on her, steady and unreadable.
“What are you looking?” she asked, raising her brows, her tone mixed with curiosity and self-consciousness.
“Nothing,” he said, shifting his eyes away smoothly, though a ghost of amusement still lingered in his expression.
Before she could say anything more, a knock interrupted them. The servant entered and bowed slightly. “Sir, dinner is ready.”
“Okay, you go… we’ll come in a while,” Aryan said firmly. The servant nodded and left.
Then Aryan turned to Priya, his voice softening. “You must be feeling hungry, you go and eat dinner, I will come after freshening up.” Without waiting for a reply, he picked up his towel and disappeared into the bathroom.
Left alone in the room again, Priya exhaled, her heart still racing from the earlier encounter. Why does he look at me like that? she thought, pressing her hand to her chest before heading toward the dining hall.
After getting fresh, Aryan went downstairs, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. As he stepped into the living area, he noticed Priya sitting quietly on the sofa, her phone resting untouched in her lap. The faint glow of the chandelier above cast a soft light on her thoughtful face.
“Haven’t you eaten yet?” he asked while walking toward her, his tone carrying a hint of concern.
Priya lifted her eyes to him, offering a small smile. “I thought when you come, we will have dinner together,” she said softly.
Aryan paused for a moment, slightly taken aback by her words. A warmth stirred in his chest—this gesture of hers was simple, but it felt strangely intimate. “Then let’s come,” he replied with a smile, masking the tug in his heart. As he walked beside her, his thoughts whispered, She’s really a wife material.
They sat at the long dining table, the clinking of cutlery breaking the silence. For a while, neither spoke, until Aryan looked at her and said casually, “Riya, my mom and dad are coming tomorrow.”
Priya froze mid-bite, her eyes widening. “Tomorrow?” she asked, disbelief echoing in her tone.
“Hmm,” Aryan nodded, taking a sip of water.
Priya’s mind instantly raced. So soon? I hope Mini has taken care of everything… otherwise, what will I do? A quiet dread settled in her stomach, though she forced her face to remain calm.
“What are you thinking?” Aryan’s voice broke through her thoughts. His sharp gaze was fixed on her, as if he could sense her unease.
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, trying to brush it off with a small smile.
Aryan leaned back in his chair, studying her. Then, as if to lighten the moment, he added, “And yes, tomorrow morning the dress designer will come for our wedding dress.”
Priya managed to steady her tone, even though her heart skipped. “Okay,” she said simply, lowering her eyes to her plate.
The rest of the dinner passed in quiet harmony, though the air between them carried an unspoken tension—her anxiety, his curiosity.
After finishing, they both went upstairs into their room. The night was still, the only sound being the faint rustle of the curtains swaying with the cool breeze from the balcony. Priya sat down on the bed, hugging her knees slightly, while Aryan dropped onto the mattress beside her with a sigh.
As she looked at him, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Don’t you want to sleep?”
“Yaa… I’m very sleepy,” he admitted, lying down on the bed without hesitation, his eyes half-closed in weariness.
Priya’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you going to sleep here?” she asked in disbelief, her voice laced with nervousness.
“Of course, this is my room. So, I’ll sleep here,” Aryan replied matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Priya’s heartbeat raced. She shifted uncomfortably, clutching the edge of the blanket. “Mr. Aryan, I can’t sleep in the same room with you,” she said firmly, her tone both anxious and defensive.
“But we are—” he began, only for her to cut him off quickly, her voice rising in panic. “Go now… You have to sleep somewhere else, or I’ll go somewhere myself.”
Aryan sat up, raising his hands in surrender. “Hey… hey… relax… I just came here to get my pillow… I’m going,” he said with a faint chuckle. Picking up his pillow, he walked toward the door, throwing her one last amused glance before leaving the room.
Priya exhaled deeply, pressing a hand against her chest. The room suddenly felt larger, emptier, yet her heart was restless. Why does he make me feel like this… nervous yet safe?
Meanwhile, in the hallway, Aryan shook his head with a small smile, carrying his pillow with him. She’s something else… he thought before heading toward the guest room.
The morning sunlight streamed in through the tall glass windows, spreading a soft golden glow across the dining area. Aryan walked in, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, the faint smell of freshly cooked food filling the air. His steps slowed when he noticed Priya at the dining table, carefully placing dishes one by one with delicate precision.
“Why are you doing this? There are servants for this work,” he said, his tone half curious, half scolding, though his eyes lingered on her with interest.
Before Priya could respond, one of the servants, who was standing nearby, quickly added, “Sir, not only this, she had taken us out of the kitchen and made all the breakfast herself.”
Aryan raised his brows, visibly surprised. For a moment, he stared at Priya, his lips curving into a slow smile. “Oh really… now I have to taste it,” he said, his voice laced with genuine excitement, like a child eager to try a new dish.
Priya glanced up at him shyly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Sure… let me serve you,” she said softly, her voice carrying both pride and nervousness.
Aryan walked closer to her, his steps unhurried. When he reached her side, he leaned down slightly, his hand gently coming to rest on her shoulders. Priya stiffened at his unexpected touch, her heart fluttering as her eyes darted up to meet his. His expression was warm yet firm, as if he didn’t want her to argue.
“You sit here,” he said, guiding her toward the chair with quiet authority, his tone softer than usual but leaving no room for refusal.
Priya hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as though she wanted to protest, but the way he looked at her made her obey silently. She lowered herself into the chair, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta.
Turning to the servant, Aryan straightened and gave a small nod. “Serve us…” he ordered calmly.
The servant immediately moved forward, beginning to place the food onto their plates. Aryan, however, kept his eyes on Priya for a moment longer, watching the way she shifted in her seat, clearly unused to being treated this way. His heart stirred with a strange feeling he didn’t want to name just yet.
Priya, on the other hand, sat quietly, her mind a whirlwind. Why does he care whether I serve or not? Why does it feel like he… notices me more than I thought he would?
The breakfast table, usually filled with routine silence, now carried a quiet but undeniable tension—soft, unfamiliar, yet strangely comforting.
The servant carefully placed the food onto Aryan’s plate while Priya sat quietly, her eyes lowering as though she was waiting for a judgment she wasn’t prepared to hear. Aryan picked up the spoon, his expression unreadable for a moment as he took the first bite.
Priya leaned forward slightly, watching him nervously, her fingers tightening around the edge of the tablecloth.
Aryan chewed slowly, then lifted his gaze to her. A teasing glint sparked in his eyes as he asked, “Did you really make this?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Y-Yes…” she replied, her voice soft but laced with anticipation.
For a moment he said nothing, just held her gaze while chewing deliberately. Priya’s nervousness grew, her lips parting as though she was about to defend herself, when finally Aryan’s lips curved into a smile.
“It’s delicious,” he said, the words carrying more warmth than she expected. “Better than the chefs in this house.”
Priya’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face before a small smile tugged at her lips. “Really?” she asked, her tone soft, almost childlike, as though she needed to be sure he wasn’t teasing her.
Aryan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied expression. “Really. I didn’t know my… future wife had this hidden talent too.”
Her cheeks flushed at his words, and she quickly dropped her gaze to her plate, pretending to focus on her own food. “It’s just simple cooking,” she murmured, though her lips couldn’t hide the shy smile forming.
Watching her, Aryan felt something stir inside him, something beyond gratitude for the food. There was a sense of homeliness in the way she had prepared everything, something he hadn’t felt in years. He took another bite, savoring not just the taste but also the effort behind it.
“You should cook often,” he said casually, though the softness in his tone betrayed his true feelings. “Not because the servants can’t… but because it feels different when it’s made by you.”
Priya looked up at him, startled by the honesty in his words. For a second, their eyes met across the table, the air between them carrying an unspoken emotion neither dared to name.
The servants moved silently around them, but to both Aryan and Priya, it felt as if they were the only two people at that table.
After some time, the designers arrived carrying racks of exquisite outfits, each piece shimmering under the soft light of the living room. The servants carefully arranged the dresses, creating a breathtaking display of colors and fabrics.
Priya’s eyes widened in awe. She slowly walked around the dresses, touching the delicate embroidery, her expression torn between excitement and confusion. “These are all so beautiful,” she whispered, almost to herself, before turning to Aryan. “I don’t know what to do… Can you please help me?”
Aryan had been sitting casually on the couch, his elbow resting against the armrest, watching her with quiet amusement. At her request, his gaze shifted from her anxious face to the rows of dresses. He stood, walked over, and studied them for a while, his expression thoughtful. Then, without hesitation, he picked out two gowns.
Handing them to her, his fingers brushed hers lightly. “Try these two,” he said in his usual calm, decisive tone.
Priya took them gently, her lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. “Okay.” There was something reassuring about the way he chose so easily, as though he somehow knew what would suit her best.
After a while, once she finalized her dress, the designer turned to Aryan. “Sir, which one do you want for you?”
Aryan’s eyes, instead of scanning the suits, lifted directly to Priya. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, soft yet unreadable, before he said, “Pick one for me.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Me?” she asked, pointing to herself in disbelief.
“Hm,” he nodded once, his tone steady, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to let her decide for him.
Priya hesitated, then walked towards the suits. Her fingers moved across the fabrics nervously before she finally picked one and turned to him. “This one,” she said, her voice carrying both shyness and certainty.
“Okay,” Aryan replied simply, but his eyes flickered with a subtle warmth that made her chest tighten. Turning to the designer, he added, “Final this one.”
Priya tilted her head, a small frown playing on her lips. “At least try it once,” she suggested, her tone soft but hopeful, as though she wanted to see him in the suit she had chosen for him.
Aryan looked at her for a long second, his lips curving faintly as if amused by her persistence, but then he shook his head. “No, it’s okay,” he replied, his voice calm and firm.
“As you wish,” she said, trying to hide her slight disappointment with a polite smile. Yet inside, her heart beat faster at the thought that he had trusted her choice without question.
For Aryan, it wasn’t just about the suit. He wanted to see what she thought fit him, as if letting her opinion quietly matter more than anyone else’s.
The doorbell rang sharply through the house. Priya quickly walked over, smoothing her clothes nervously before opening the door.
Standing outside were Mr. and Mrs. Khanna. A smile instantly appeared on her face, though her heart was pounding. “Hello, Uncle and Aunty,” she greeted politely, her voice soft yet respectful. Mrs. Khanna’s eyes widened in surprise as she blurted, “Priya?”
❁𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑❁
❀𝕴𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙!❀
♡ 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 ♡
.
