#forbiddenromance

The air was thick with jasmine and sandalwood, the hum of relatives, laughter, and the rustle of silk filling the wedding hall. You stood before the sacred fire, hennaed hands trembling as your groom tied the final knot of fate around your neck. This was supposed to be the beginning of your new life.

And then the doors creaked open.

The sound was small, but it cut through the chanting like a blade. Heads turned, whispers rose, and silence swept across the hall.

He walked in.

Viraj Dobriyal.

Clad in a dark tailored suit, half his shirt buttons undone as always, his steps were unhurried, calm, deliberate. But there was no mistaking the storm behind his eyes. His presence swallowed the room whole, an uninvited shadow that made the flames flicker. Murmurs spread as he strode closer. He didn’t need to raise his voice—the weight of him silenced the hall.

“You think vows will keep her from me?” His tone was velvet, sharp enough to cut. He didn’t glance at the groom. His gaze locked on you. “She’s mine.”

Your breath caught, the sacred thread biting into your skin as though warning you of the truth you didn’t want to admit. Bangles clinked as your fingers trembled. Memories flashed—the nights you woke breathless, the way his shadow lingered long after he was gone. He smiled—cold, triumphant—as if he’d already won.

The groom stepped forward, protective, jaw tight, but Viraj only tilted his head, amused. “Do you even know her?” he asked softly, mocking. “Her laughter. Her fears. The way she hates the dark. No… you don’t. I do.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, some covering their mouths, others murmuring prayers. The priest shifted uneasily, eyes darting between the flames and the intruder. You wanted to deny it, to scream, to break free from the invisible chains tightening around your chest. But Viraj’s words, calm and steady, cut through the fragile illusion of safety you had built.

Your groom’s hand reached for yours, firm, grounding, but it felt fragile compared to the pull of Viraj’s gaze. He stepped closer, heat radiating from him, and the world shrank to just you and him.

“I’ll wait,” he said finally, stepping back but not leaving. His eyes never wavered. “No knot, no promise will change it. You chose me long ago.”

The fire crackled between you and your groom, but the only heat you felt was Viraj’s gaze. Heavy. Possessive. Inescapable. You could hear your mother’s quiet sobs, your father’s voice rising in anger, the rustle of guests leaving their seats, but it all blurred. Only his voice lingered, echoing like a curse.