SAMAIRA 

Parking my car in the allotted slot, I carefully stepped out, trying my best to keep my saree intact. As I walked towards the Avenue, familiar faces began to come into view—faces that had changed, matured, and become more beautiful over the eight long years that had passed. The Avenue was adorned with beautiful floral ornaments, hanging like delicate chandeliers. The decorations were regal, making everything feel like a scene straight out of a movie.

Taking a deep breath, I headed toward the stage where the couple was seated. Memories I had been trying to suppress ever since receiving the invitation resurfaced, gnawing at me. I had fought a tough battle with myself to be here tonight.

As I stepped onto the stage, a figure with a radiant smile pulled me into a tight hug. "Badi soni lag rahi hain aap," I whispered into her ear. "Meri shaadi hai, main toh lagungi hi na," she replied with a chuckle. 

The same old Naina.

"Mere saath bhi thoda mil lo," came the groom's voice, a hint of a pout in his tone. 

"Teri attention-seeking aadat nahi gayi, bol Bunny?" I teased, breaking the hug. 

Bunny grinned and embraced me. "8 saal baad bhi tujhe hamari aadatein yaad hain? Strange," he said, a mix of taunt and something else in his voice.

He had every right to be upset.

"8 saal mein change bhi kya huya hai? School mein bhi dono chipke rehte the aur aaj bhi," I replied sheepishly, attempting to keep the conversation light, hoping he wouldn't dig any deeper.

He opened his mouth to say something but then paused, his gaze shifting to something—or someone—behind me. 

My heart sank as I turned around, locking eyes with the one person I had hoped never to see again. His dark brown eyes were staring into mine, as if they could see right through me. Shubman Gill is back in my life.

Why is he here?

I quickly moved aside, allowing him to greet Bunny. "Why is he here? You told me he wouldn't come?" I whispered urgently into Naina's ear.

"We did invite him, but never expected him to come. He's a celebrity, after all," she whispered back, a hint of helplessness in her voice.

This was so not okay. If I had known he would be here, I would have never come. The memories I had been desperately trying to keep at bay came flooding back, leaving me feeling disoriented.

flashback

Papa was standing in the principal's office, his head hung low. I had let him down, and I knew I was to blame for everything. "Mr. Malhotra, as a former student of our school, I would have expected you to be aware of our strict principles. Civilize your daughter," the principal said, her voice cold and unyielding.

She took a deep breath before continuing, "If your daughter is found in such a compromising position with a male student ever again, I will make sure she is expelled and barred from sitting for the board examinations. This is a school, not a brothel."

Tears streamed down my face as I stood there, unable to lift my head, drowning in shame. What had I done to deserve this? Why are women always blamed for everything?

Naina, who had been standing beside me, opened her mouth to say something, but I squeezed her hand, stopping her.

end of flashback

Naina poked me, bringing me back to the present. "Ae tu thik hai?" she asked, concern in her eyes. I simply nodded and hurried down from the stage. I needed to be as far away from him as possible.

As the night wore on, I reconnected with other friends and classmates, all while avoiding him. To my relief, even though we hadn't spoken in years, Naina still remembered the people I liked and the ones I didn't, inviting no one who could potentially taunt me. Well, almost no one.

I was sipping on a mocktail, watching some dance performances, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around slowly, dreading what I already knew. There he was, leaning casually against the bar counter, his presence unsettling me more than I cared to admit.

I wanted to run, to escape, but my legs refused to move. I didn't want him to think I was weak.

"Hello," he said, his voice carrying that familiar Punjabi-English accent, as he extended his hand for a handshake.

I stared at his outstretched hand, my mind racing with everything I wanted to say but couldn't find the courage to.

His hand was warm, too warm, as I reluctantly accepted his handshake. The contact felt like fire, burning away the years of distance I had worked so hard to maintain.

"You look really pretty," he said, his voice dripping with that familiar, insincere charm.

I fought the urge to pull my hand back, to let my discomfort show. Instead, I focused on the anger simmering beneath the surface, the anger that had kept me going all these years.

"I never expected you to be here," I replied, my tone sharp, cutting through the false pleasantries.

He didn't miss a beat, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "I never left, Samaira. You did. I didn't cut ties with everyone. You did."

His words struck like a whip, leaving a sting I couldn't ignore. But I wouldn't let him have the upper hand. Not now, not ever.

"A cheater and a bastard like you wouldn't understand why I had to leave," I shot back, my voice trembling slightly, betraying the rage I felt.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, regret? I didn't care. He deserved whatever pain he felt, just as I had deserved better than the lies and betrayal he'd offered me.

His expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. In a heartbeat, his hand shot out, clutching my jaw in a grip so tight it sent a jolt of pain through my face. He shoved me against the wall, his body pressed against mine, the pressure almost suffocating. My heart pounded, but not from fear. No, not this time

This was too familiar—the hallway, the closeness, the way his breath mixed with mine. It was just like that day in school, when we'd been caught. Back then, I was terrified, shaking like a leaf, wondering what would happen next. If I had been able to defend myself from him, my school life wouldn't have got poisoned. 

But today, I wasn't that scared, confused girl anymore.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. "Don't even dare to call me a cheater," he growled, his grip on my jaw tightening as if he could force me to take back my words.

But I wouldn't. I couldn't. He had taken so much from me, but I wouldn't let him take my voice. Not again.

I looked him dead in the eye, refusing to show the fear that was trying to claw its way to the surface. Instead, I forced a smirk onto my lips. "Mr. Prince of Cricket still has anger issues, I see."

His grip faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just enough for me to see the vulnerability hidden beneath the fury. But he recovered quickly, his anger flaring up again, more intense than before.

"You don't know anything about me, Samaira," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

"Maybe not," I replied, keeping my tone as steady as I could manage. "But I know enough to see that you haven't changed."

The tension between us crackled like electricity, and for a moment, neither of us moved, neither of us willing to back down.

Finally, he let go of my jaw, stepping back, but not before leaning in close enough to whisper, "You're still the same, Samaira. And you're still mine."

I watched him turn and walk away, my heart pounding in my chest, but I stood my ground, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken me.

"You're still mine?", What the hell does he mean?

I hope you liked the first chapter. Their relationship is very very complex and the hate is etched in their hearts. 

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