Chapter 4: The Sangeet and the Storm

A few months later,

I met Rohan again at a sangeet before my wedding.

It was a lavish affair—strings of marigold draped everywhere, the dholak’s rhythm echoing off the marble floors, while aunties gossiped in clusters near the samosa counter. The air was thick with perfume, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I stood quietly in a corner, watching him enter, surrounded by admirers like stars around the moon.

He was even more accomplished than in the previous life.

Dressed in a cream-coloured silk kurta, tall and slender, with bright eyes and elegant brows—

His looks were somewhere between youth and manhood, yet his demeanour was already deep and reserved, the contradiction and mystery making many young women blush.

Every time he smiled politely at a joke or nodded at a compliment, I could see girls whispering behind their palms. The glow of the shamiana lights made his features seem sharper, almost cinematic. For a brief moment, my heart fluttered, remembering a thousand yesterdays.

My heart skipped a beat.

Unconsciously, I took two steps towards him.

Rohan seemed to sense something and looked up at me.

The next moment, a girl in a pink lehenga rushed to his side, breaking his gaze.

“Rohan bhaiya, you’re wearing the friendship band I made for you today!”

I instantly sobered up.

The Chief Minister’s youngest daughter, Priya, clung to Rohan’s sleeve, quietly declaring her claim.

The always-cold Rohan actually allowed her to stay close, showing no displeasure at all.

For a moment, I saw him look down at her with a softness I’d never witnessed. Something inside me twisted—the public way she flaunted her right over him, the ease with which she inserted herself into his life, it was all so clear to everyone present.

After several rounds of the party,

A maid came to find me, saying Priya wished to discuss painting with me.

With the Chief Minister’s daughter’s summons, I had no choice but to go.

My hands grew cold as I followed her, the bangles on my wrist jangling louder than my heartbeat. In our world, you never refuse such a call—what would people say? I smoothed my dupatta, bracing myself for whatever would come next.

I followed the maid through winding corridors to a rockery by the pool.

No sooner had I stopped than I was slapped across the face.

The sound rang out, sharp and shocking, echoing against the marble. My cheek stung, and my mind reeled—such things happened in daily soaps, not real life. But this was real. This was power and jealousy, naked and unafraid.

Before I could react, two maids forced me to touch my own feet, a gesture meant to humble and humiliate. My anklets jingled as I bent, shame flooding my cheeks. Priya looked down at me and said, "Ananya, you’re truly a frog eyeing the moon—how dare you covet Rohan bhaiya!"

Her voice was sharp, dripping with the entitlement of someone who’d never been told no. I could feel the rough stones digging into my knees as the maids pressed harder. The coldness in the air made my skin prickle.

I protested, "You’re mistaken, I am already engaged—"

Before I could finish, Priya interrupted:

"You’re as disgusting as a street rat, always spying on Rohan bhaiya and even sneaking him a rakhi."

A torn rakhi was thrown before me.

The gulmohar embroidery was now barely visible.

That was the rakhi I’d used years ago to send Rohan money. How did it end up in Priya’s hands?

Priya answered my unspoken question:

"Rohan bhaiya said you’re obsessed with him, refusing all other suitors for his sake, and that you’ve caused him endless trouble."

"He’s too kind to reject you directly, so he asked me to handle it."

I felt as if struck by lightning, staring in disbelief at the shredded rakhi.

I couldn’t understand.

Even if we had no fate in this life, could the decades of mutual support in our previous life have meant nothing?

If Rohan had told me earlier, I would never have sought him out again.

Why did he accept my money, yet try every way to be rid of me?

Priya savoured my pale expression.

Until a maid announced that Rohan had arrived.

Her eyes flashed, as if she’d thought of something clever. She said to me:

"Today, I’ll make you give up completely, so you’ll never haunt him again."

The familiar sound of footsteps approached behind me.

Priya called out loudly, "Rohan bhaiya, save me!"

As she spoke, she jumped into the pool, dragging me in with her.

I was instantly submerged, my mind going blank.

Chlorinated water filled my chest, squeezing my insides.

Suddenly, I remembered the year my mother died, when a bullying maid pushed me into a river.

The bone-chilling cold gnawed at my will.

In despair, I saw Rohan dive in.

He knew I couldn’t swim, knew I was afraid of water.

A spark of hope flared in my heart, but I watched as he swam straight for Priya, without hesitation.

Priya flailed, pretending I had pushed her. Her maids watched from the side, not the least bit worried.

Such a clumsy act—Rohan, who had lived two lives, how could he possibly believe it?

But he did.

His panicked expression did not seem feigned.

Suddenly, I remembered my previous life.

The third year after Rohan and I married, Priya publicly declared her love for him.

The Chief Minister, unable to refuse his youngest daughter, hinted that Rohan should divorce his wife and remarry.

At that time, Rohan flatly refused, even willing to resign from service.

The Chief Minister had no choice but to relent.

Rohan avoided Priya as much as possible.

I once teased him, "Do you truly not like Priya? She’s beautiful and charming."

Rohan laughed: "I can’t afford to serve such a little princess."

The following year, Priya was sent away in a political marriage.

A few years later, she died tragically, her body covered in marks of abuse.

Once, Rohan murmured in his sleep:

"If I had married you, you wouldn’t have had to go for the alliance marriage. It’s all my fault, I let you down…"

After waking, he never mentioned it again.

I thought it was just guilt, a nightmare.

Now I see, it was more than that.

My body kept sinking.

I saw Rohan carefully cradle Priya and bring her ashore.

From start to finish, he never once looked at me.

A dull ache settled in my chest, heavy as an unspoken prayer. My limbs grew heavy, my will to live slipping away…

At that moment, a dark shadow—swift as a falling star—leapt into the water.

A strong arm grasped my wrist, hauling me up just before the darkness claimed me. For a second, I smelled sandalwood and pan masala—the scent of a city old as time—before my vision went black.

But as the gulmohar petals drifted down, I wondered—would I ever escape the shadow of my past?