Chapter 1: Promises from the Past

I was with Arjun Malhotra for seven years, cajoling him into spending a fortune on me—enough to make even my friends tease, “Yaar, Priya, tu unki dulhan hai ya portfolio?” He showered me with designer sarees, Udaipur trips, and even a Bandra flat. Sometimes, I wondered if I was his muse or just another secret, but I never let those doubts show. Back then, all I really knew was the softness of five-star bedsheets and the thrill of tiptoeing into Arjun’s world—a world always just out of reach for a girl like me.

Later, just before his engagement, Arjun forced me to choose: take his money and leave, or become his rakhail, his kept woman.

There was no filmi drama—just a quiet evening on his sprawling Delhi terrace, city lights lost behind a haze of smog. He laid out my options with the coldness of a property deal. My heart twisted as I watched the aarti smoke drift up from the nearby temple, as if even Bhagwan was holding his breath.

I chose neither. I walked away, clean and proud, refusing even that fat breakup cheque. All I wanted was a promise from him:

I remember that moment even now—the moonlight making his jaw look even sharper, his teeth clenched. “Just give me your word, Arjun. No matter what, if I ever come to you… bas, madad kar dena. That’s all.” I didn’t look back. Not even once.

No matter what trouble came, if I landed at his door, he had to help. That was our deal.

I never meant to use that promise. But kismat has a twisted sense of humour.