Chapter 1: Between the Lines

When I found myself living inside the book, the story had already ended. The second male lead had left for a quiet town, while the main hero and heroine ruled the world together.

The weight of that final page hung over everything, like the last note of an old song fading as I blinked my way into this strange new life. Somewhere, a distant temple bell chimed, pulling me further from the world I’d left behind. Even the way the news travelled—through gossiping aunties in the lane and crackling radios—carried the scent of an ending.

I was just a side character, one whose days were supposedly numbered—yet it was I who ended up marrying the second male lead.

Who would have thought? Me, Ananya, lost in the margins of someone else's story. Sometimes, at dusk, I’d catch my own reflection—so ordinary, so easily forgotten—and wonder if my marriage was the story’s joke or its leftover miracle.

I always knew his heart belonged to the heroine, and that my fate was sealed. But after three years of marriage, he cared for me in every possible way, even promising me a long life.

There was a gentle affection in the way Kabir adjusted the blanket over me, the way he remembered my favourite elaichi in chai, the way his hands hesitated at my forehead. At night, his voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words, as if every syllable was a prayer for my tomorrow.

Just when I thought he might truly love me, the heroine was poisoned.

It was like a scene from a saas-bahu serial—sudden, melodramatic, and all-consuming. The message arrived with the urgency of breaking news, the air in our haveli suddenly thick with panic.

He rushed to Delhi in a panic, forgetting entirely that it was the day of my illness.

The clock on the wall ticked on, stubbornly marking each minute he wasn’t by my side. The smell of sandalwood agarbatti wafted through the room, but offered no comfort.