A Short Holi Love Story: Some knots are meant to be broken. Others tighten with every struggle.
A Short Holi Love Story
“Gargi, there’s no age to play Holi.” Mom’s voice was gentle yet firm as she placed a small packet of bright-colored powders on the table. “Sweetie, call your friends and meet them. See, I even bought colors for you.”
I sighed, rolling the edge of my sleeve between my fingers. “Then you go, Mom.”
She let out a small chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How can I play Holi?” Her voice softened, turning wistful. “Your dad used to love Holi. Remember how he’d start planning weeks in advance? He’d find some Holi party to crash, and if nothing worked out, he’d book us into a resort just so we wouldn’t miss out.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. “Yeah, I remember.” I could still picture him, covered head to toe in colors, laughing like a child, his energy contagious.
Mom sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her tea cup. “Playing Holi without him feels… empty. Like the festival is there, but the fun is gone. Festivals are meant to be celebrated with loved ones, right?”
I nodded. “Right, Mom.”
“But…” She hesitated, then looked at me with a quiet determination. “I want you to go. I want you to enjoy. Your dad is watching from above, and while he understands me, he would want you to have fun.”
“He would want you to have fun too.”
A shadow passed over her face. “When your dad was… when the cancer was taking him, we had this talk. I told him I wouldn’t celebrate festivals without him. It would hurt too much.”
I swallowed, my chest tightening. “What did he say?”
She placed the newspaper aside and met my gaze, her lips curving into a bittersweet smile. “He said, ‘If you celebrate any festival, you will get more hurt, and I don’t want that. So, I give you permission to be miserable on every festival.’”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “That sounds exactly like him.”
She laughed too, a real laugh this time, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.
Love birds. My parents were hopeless love birds.
“For me, will you come?” I asked, nudging her knee playfully. “Shama called. She’s invited us.”
She waved a hand. “Gargi, you go.”
I hesitated before reaching for her hand. “Come with me? I know without your darling Abhishek, you don’t feel like playing Holi, but… maybe, for once, you could try. For me.”
Her fingers tensed slightly in mine at the mention of Dad’s name. I didn’t push. Instead, I let her sit with the silence, finishing my tea before heading to the kitchen. When I returned, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Five years.
Five years since my father left us.
Five years since Mom had touched even a pinch of Holi color.
I knelt in front of her, my thumb brushing away the silent tears that traced down her cheeks. She sniffled, her lips pressed together as if she was trying to hold in the weight of it all. I didn’t rush her. Didn’t tell her to stop. Some grief wasn’t meant to be silenced.
Because crying for someone you love isn’t sadness—it’s love.
She exhaled shakily, then cupped my face with warm, familiar hands. “Thank you, Gargi, for being here.”
I leaned into her touch, holding her hand against my cheek. “Always.”
A small smile flickered on her lips, but it was laced with something deeper—something that understood the years of missing someone and still moving forward.
“We’re best friends, Mom,” I said softly. “And I’ll always be there for you. That’s what we do, right? You were there for me when I needed you, I was there for you, and we’ll always be there for each other. Always.”
Her fingers curled slightly against my skin, a silent acknowledgment.
“I miss Dad too,” I admitted. “But I’m not sad that he died. By the end, the pain was unbearable. I’m just… relieved he doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”
Mom nodded, something unreadable passing through her expression before she stood. I followed, watching as she squared her shoulders, as if making a quiet decision within herself.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Chandra has been asking me to come every year. She messaged me this morning.”
Chandra Aunty. Shama and Aaditya’s mother.
Aaditya.
His name rattled through my head like an unwanted ghost, sending a shudder down my spine. I blocked him out. I blocked him out every day. And yet, somehow, he always found a way back in.
I shoved the thought aside.
We changed into old clothes, but when Mom pulled out a worn saree, I stopped her.
“No,” I said, handing her a fresh yellow one.
She frowned. “Why? It’ll be ruined.”
“Dad would never let you wear an old saree. He’s probably up there shaking his head right now.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You say ‘up there’ like he’s just in the upper bedroom.”
I smirked. “The sky isn’t that far, Mom.”
Her eyes shimmered with something unspoken, but she took the yellow saree from me and changed without protest. Once we had oiled our hair and slathered sunscreen over our arms, we headed out.
As I reversed the car, Mom fumbled with the music system, finally settling on the radio. Seconds later, the unmistakable beats of classic Holi songs filled the space, crackling slightly through the speakers.
The moment the song started, something in Mom shifted.
She tapped her fingers against her knee, then started humming. A verse later, she was singing, her voice light, carefree. I glanced at her, catching the way her face had softened, how the tension that had clung to her like a second skin was peeling away, little by little.
And I knew.
She was picturing Dad right now.
I could almost see it too—the way she would sing like this when he drove, how he’d sigh every few minutes, shaking his head as if her singing was just too much. But his sigh had never been out of exasperation. It had been out of love.
Too much love.
∞
Shama was already outside, bouncing on her toes as we pulled up. She had been waiting. I had messaged her earlier, letting her know that Mom was coming this time.
The moment Mom stepped out of the car, Chandra Aunty appeared, her eyes instantly locking onto her best friend. For a second, neither of them moved. Then, as if some invisible thread pulled them together, they wrapped their arms around each other.
Neither of them cried, but their eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Shama grinned and threw her arms around me in a warm, tight hug—then, just as quickly, she pulled back, grabbed a thali overflowing with green color, and upturned the entire thing over my head.
A gasp left my lips. Then came the groan. “Shama!”
But I was already shaking my head furiously, sending a cloud of green flying right back at her. She shrieked, laughing, swatting at her face as color rained down on both of us.
Yeah. That was how we celebrated Holi.
Uncle—Shama’s dad—walked over, smiling warmly as I bent down to touch his feet.
“My sweetest Gargi, happy Holi,” he said, his voice full of affection. He dipped his fingers into red powder and gently pressed a tilak onto my forehead.
“Papa,” I whispered, the familiar word settling in my chest like comfort, like home. I took a little color from the plate and lightly smeared it across his cheeks.
His eyes crinkled with warmth. “How’s work going?”
“Good. Don’t worry, all is good.”
I said it smoothly, but the words felt hollow for a second—like there was something just under the surface that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. But before the feeling could settle, I caught movement from the corner of my eye.
Prerna. I gulped but forced my lips into a smile.
She walked up, her usual soft, knowing smile in place, and gently brushed some color over my cheek. I returned the gesture, taking a pinch of pink from her plate and pressing it onto her skin.
We stepped inside together, laughter and music filling the air as we made our way through the house toward the back garden.
My eyes darted around instinctively, scanning the familiar space.
No sign of him.
Aaditya wasn’t here.
Relief bloomed in my chest. No stolen glances. No temptation. No past clawing its way back to the surface.
Thank God.
For the next hour, Holi unfolded in a whirlwind of laughter, flying colors, and unrestrained chaos. The backyard pulsed with life—water splashing from the rain dance, music thundering through hidden speakers, streaks of bright powders turning everyone into living canvases. In the corner, a hot pool steamed invitingly, because, of course, Papa never did anything without a touch of extravagance.
And there, in the middle of it all, was Mom.
Drenched in color, her hair streaked with reds and blues, her laughter spilling out freely, unguarded. She threw a handful of pink straight at Chandra Aunty, who shrieked and dodged—only to be ambushed by Shama from behind.
I watched them, warmth spreading through me.
For the first time in five years, she wasn’t just watching Holi. She was celebrating it.
Finally, feeling the exhaustion settle in, I slipped away from the chaos, heading inside for a break. I tried the common bathroom first but it was occupied, the door locked and rattling from someone’s struggle to scrub off stubborn colors.. Sighing, I went to Shama’s room but her bathroom was also locked. She called from inside.
“Babes, I’ll take time,” she called from inside before I could even knock. “Use the upstairs one.”
I stiffened. “No. How much time are we talking?”
“Sweetie, Danish used some unholy, permanent color on me. I have to get it out unless I wanna show up to work looking like a smurf all week.”
I groaned.
“Just go upstairs,” she insisted.
With a sigh, I turned, trudging up the stairs. There were only two bedrooms—one belonged to Shama’s parents, always locked, and the other…
Aaditya’s.
I hesitated at the door, my fingers hovering over the handle. Then I reminded myself—he wasn’t home. I had checked.
Still, I cracked the door open and peered inside.
Empty.
Good.
Relief trickled down my spine as I stepped in, shutting the door behind me. My head felt light, a lazy warmth curling through my body thanks to the two glasses of bhang I had earlier. It wasn’t strong enough to mess me up completely, but just enough to loosen my edges, to make me care a little less.
I walked straight to his cupboard, yanking it open without a second thought. Pulling out a loose t-shirt and shorts, I tossed them onto the bed before heading to the bathroom.
For the next thirty minutes, I let the hot water wash away the colors, the festival, the past few hours. Silver pigment clung stubbornly to my skin, refusing to let go, but I scrubbed at it until my arms ached. Finally, when I stepped out, steam curling around me, I looked almost normal again—except for a faint tint of red on my cheeks. But that was fine.
Wrapping the towel tightly around me, I pushed open the bathroom door.
And froze.
Aaditya.
Sprawled on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, his gaze locked onto mine the second I stepped out.
My stomach plummeted.
I thought he wasn’t home.
Oh God.
Panic surged through me, but I ignored it, darting forward to grab the t-shirt and shorts from the bed. Before I could reach them, his foot nudged them away, sending them tumbling to the floor.
My breath hitched. “Aaditya—”
He moved faster than I expected, sitting up in one swift motion and catching my wrist. His grip was firm, his touch scorching against my damp skin.
“Leave my hand,” I whispered, but there was no weight behind my words. No real resistance.
His fingers only tightened, a silent refusal.
Before I could process what was happening, before I could summon logic or restraint—he kissed me.
Oh, fuck.
My brain short-circuited.
Years. It had been years.
The last time this happened—two years ago—I had sworn it would be the last. I had walked away. I had promised myself.
Never again.
And yet—
Here I was.
My body betrayed me the second his lips brushed against mine, the heat of his mouth reigniting something I thought I had buried. My lips parted before I could stop them, welcoming him in, and the moment his tongue tangled with mine, an explosion of heat unraveled inside me. Every nerve ignited. My breath hitched. My fingers curled into fists, as if holding on for dear life, but my resolve was already slipping.
A deep moan escaped me.
And then—
A sharp tug.
Cold air rushed over my skin.
I ripped away, gasping, reality slamming into me like a punch to the gut.
The towel.
Not on me.
In his hands.
I stood there, completely, utterly exposed.
“Give me the towel!” My voice cracked, my arms crossing over my chest, hands scrambling to cover myself.
His gaze darkened. “Remove my tee, Gargi.”
I froze.
No.
No, I knew where this was going. I knew exactly what he wanted.
“No.”
His expression didn’t shift. “Then leave.”
I spun, making a beeline for the bathroom. I’d wear my old, ruined clothes. Another shower could wait. This—this moment—could not happen. I reached for the door, but before I could twist the handle, his body was suddenly there, blocking me, his presence swallowing every inch of space between us.
“Leave,” he repeated, voice cold.
I glared up at him. “Are you insane? How the hell am I supposed to leave like this? Let me put on my damn clothes, then I’ll go.”
His jaw clenched. “You thought you could just waltz in and wear my tee and shorts?”
I exhaled sharply. “Did you see me wearing them? No. I pulled them from the cupboard, but fine. I’ll wear my own damn clothes.”
I reached for the door again. His hand shot out, gripping the knob, keeping it shut.
My pulse pounded. “What the fuck is your problem?”
His eyes locked onto mine, unwavering. “You don’t come into my room unless…” He trailed off.
And then it hit me.
My stomach twisted.
His rule.
After he married Prerna five years ago, I never stepped into this room. Not unless…
I swallowed hard.
The few times I had crossed that invisible line, I knew exactly what had happened. And yet, I had come here again. Stupid. Reckless. I could have waited, could have dealt with the stains on my skin until I got home. But no.
I had walked straight into the lion’s den.
“I thought you weren’t here,” I whispered, barely able to breathe.
His smirk was slow, deliberate, cutting through me like a blade. “Yeah, but I was.”
My heart pounded against my ribs.
“I was on the balcony,” he continued, his voice low, taunting. “Watching you from upstairs.”
A chill ran down my spine.
He took a step forward.
I took one back.
The air between us thickened, every molecule charged with something dark, something inevitable.
“Now, you came,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto mine, heavy with finality. “So you pay.”
His fingers brushed the hem of his t-shirt.
“Come,” he said, voice calm, composed, but laced with an order. “Take it off.”
“Please…” My voice cracked.
He exhaled sharply. “Then leave.”
I didn’t move.
He knew I wouldn’t.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Aaditya always got what he wanted. Always.
And I—standing here, naked, vulnerable—was exactly where he wanted me.
I forced my feet forward, closing the space between us. His hands landed on my hips, firm, possessive, tugging me in until I was pressed against him.
A strangled sound caught in my throat as my fingers trembled around the hem of his t-shirt. But I pulled it up anyway, dragging it over his head.
His bare skin burned against mine.
“Now, my jeans,” he said.
“No,” I choked out. “Don’t. Please…”
He tilted his head, watching me. “Gargi. Either you leave or you do as I say.”
“This is wrong,” I whispered, shaking my head. “So wrong.”
His expression darkened. His jaw clenched.
“Wrong?” he echoed, his voice laced with something sharp, something bitter. “Wrong was when you decided that taking care of your mother was more important than getting married to me.”
My breath caught.
“Wrong was you breaking my fucking heart,” he went on, voice cold, calculated. “Wrong was forcing me to marry someone else.”
I flinched.
His fingers curled around my wrist, his grip unrelenting. “That was wrong, Gargi.” His voice dropped lower, sending shivers across my skin. “This?” He dragged his gaze over me, unapologetically, deliberately. “This isn’t. This is mine. You are mine.”
My vision blurred. My lungs fought for air.
“Now, get going,” he ordered.
“Or?” I challenged, even though I already knew.
His smirk returned—sharp, cruel, inevitable.
“Or I’ll divorce Prerna.” He let the words settle, watching me, gauging my reaction. Then, almost casually, he added, “She’s pregnant, by the way.”
My stomach twisted violently.
“You’re sick,” I whispered, shaking my head, horror tightening around my throat. “Your wife is pregnant.”
He grinned, but there was no warmth in it. No humor. Only something dark. Twisted. Unforgiving.
“Yeah, I am sick.” He leaned in, his breath ghosting over my skin. His fingers curled around my wrist, firm, possessive. “Don’t worry. I’ll happily go to hell.” His grip tightened.
“But let me tell you—” His voice dropped lower, a whisper laced with finality.
“You’re coming with me.”
His next words shattered whatever was left between us.
“Double seats, remember?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my mind spinning. My body, however, already knew what came next.
I crouched in front of him, my hands trembling as I reached for his belt. The metal buckle clinked, loud in the silence. I pulled the zipper down, my fingers grazing against the rough fabric, dragging his jeans lower.
“You know what to do,” he murmured from above.
My eyes shut tight as I pulled his boxers down along with the jeans. A single tear slipped free.
He always made me do this—to surrender first, to prepare my mind, to remind me who held control.
Aaditya was too sharp for his own good. Too calculated. An IITian who could dismantle both logic and emotions with the same ruthless precision. He had studied me, learned me, owned me.
And yet—deep down, I had always let him.
Even now.
Even when I hadn’t come into this room with that intention.
I had been innocent today. But I felt filthy.
He lifted one foot, then the other, kicking away his jeans and boxers. And then, just like me, he stood bare.
Exposed. Completely naked.
His hands found my waist, his grip firm but not rough. Lifting me effortlessly, his thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away the evidence of my breaking resolve. His smile itself could shatter me and I sucked in a breath as his lips spread, the sweetest smile that he only reserved for me.
“Stop crying,” he said softly.
I nodded, forcing air into my lungs, forcing my hands to stop trembling.
He was careful now, deliberate in his movements as he set me down on the bed. His body hovered over mine, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. His breath fanned over my lips, teasing, waiting.
And then, his eyes met mine. Dark. Burning. Hungry. But there was something else buried in their depths—love, longing, that dangerous, reckless need that never faded, no matter how much time passed. The life we once had. The life I had ripped away from us.
When Dad died, everything shattered. My mother crumbled, and I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t abandon her. So I stayed. And in my absence, in my refusal, Aaditya—furious, betrayed—married someone else. The morning of his wedding, he called me.
“Are you coming?”
That selfish. That desperate. But I couldn’t. My mother needed me more. So I told him to marry Prerna. And he did. But I hadn’t realized… to him, that didn’t mean we were over. Not even close.
At first, I was weak. I let him pull me back in, let him kiss me, let him remind me of everything I had lost. Being near him was unavoidable. Shama was my best friend. Our families were practically intertwined. I had every reason to be there. Every excuse. And Aaditya? He never wasted an opportunity.
But then, I stopped. I forced distance between us.
He buried himself in work, and I tried to move on. Once. Just once. I went on a date. A single, fleeting attempt at something normal.
He found out.
That night, he came to my house, to my room. His voice was eerily calm when he said it.
“I’ll kill her.”
Prerna. His wife.
I had never been more afraid in my life. I knew Aaditya was intense, possessive, unhinged in a way only I understood. But this? This was something else entirely. And I knew—if I didn’t handle him carefully, if I didn’t control this—he would burn everything to the ground.
Even me. Even his wife. Even himself.
He never coerced me to come to his place. Never blackmailed me for sex. No. That wasn’t his way. But if I stepped into his room, I could only leave with his permission.
I shouldn’t have come today. I shouldn’t have. And yet, here I was.
His fingers curled around my wrist, his grip possessive but not forceful. His lips hovered over mine, a silent demand, a challenge I already knew I would lose. My breath hitched as I parted my lips, and that was all the invitation he needed.
His mouth crashed against mine, his tongue pushing inside, claiming me without hesitation. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me in, deepening the kiss until I had no air left to think, no space left to fight it. He groaned into my mouth, a sound so familiar, so devastatingly him.
I melted. I always did.
He kissed me like he was starved. And I kissed him back like I had been waiting for this moment all along.
Because maybe, I had.
His hands moved lower, fingertips grazing my skin, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When they found my breasts, his grip tightened just slightly, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that made my breath hitch. He kneaded them, as if mapping me out all over again, like he hadn’t touched me a thousand times before, like he was relearning every inch of me.
“You have the best boobs,” he murmured against my lips, his voice dark, knowing. One of the rare compliments he ever gave. And I believed him.
Aaditya never gave compliments easily. You had to earn them.
And when we were together, I made sure I earned them.
He was my first crush. My first love. The one I could never shake, no matter how hard I tried. Five years older, always stronger, always in control. Physically, mentally, emotionally—he had ruled me from the very beginning.
“My sweetest Gargi,” he whispered, his voice like a warm caress, and I moaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of him. Of us. Of everything.
Then he pushed a finger inside me. A sharp gasp left my lips, and he chuckled, low and knowing.
“Always wet, always ready.”
Heat rushed to my face, but there was no point in pretending. I was his. In ways I could never explain, in ways I wished I wasn’t. He knew it. I knew it.
His body shifted over mine, his hands gripping my thighs as he positioned himself. My heart pounded. I knew what was coming. I also knew what I had to say.
“Condom, Aaditya.”
His jaw tightened. “No.”
Panic surged in my chest. “You want to ruin me forever?”
His eyes darkened, something dangerous flickering behind them. “You already are.”
I forced myself to breathe. My hands trembled as I reached for the side drawer, pulling out the small foil packet. He sighed, watching me as I tore it open and slid it on him, making sure it was in place. There was something almost vulnerable in his gaze as I did it, as if this moment, this tiny barrier between us, was a reminder of the distance I had tried so hard to put between us.
Then—he made love to me. And I let him.
I shouldn’t have. I knew that. But in that moment, none of it mattered. Not Prerna. Not the years. Not the guilt that would come later.
When I was close, I screamed his name. “Aadi…”
His grip on my hips tightened, his breath ragged. “Come, Shona. Come.”
And I did.
Seconds later, his body shuddered against mine, a long, shaky sigh leaving his lips as he followed me over the edge. For a few moments, neither of us moved. He stayed inside me, as if he could keep me here forever. As if he didn’t have a wife waiting downstairs.
Then, finally, he pulled out, tied off the condom, and tossed it aside before sinking onto the bed. My body ached, my mind a mess of emotions I couldn’t name. I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the heat still clinging to my skin. I needed to leave. I needed to get out of this room before reality caught up to me.
But before I could move, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me back down, pulling me against his chest. I should have fought it. Should have pulled away. Instead, I stayed there, my body betraying my conscience, melting into the warmth of him.
His heartbeat was steady beneath my cheek, a cruel contradiction to the storm raging inside me.
“This is the worst,” I muttered, my voice hoarse.
He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. We both knew the truth.
This part was always the worst. The post-sex guilt. The way he would hold me after, as if none of it was wrong. As if this was exactly where I was meant to be. As if his wife didn’t exist.
Then, without warning, he reached for something on the nightstand. I frowned as he popped open a small antique container, his fingers dipping inside. He pinched a bit of sindoor between his thumb and index finger, then pressed it against my hairline.
“Happy Holi, Shona.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
My fingers shot up, smearing the red as I stared at him, horrified. “What the fuck are you doing? That’s your wife’s sindoor.”
He smirked, unbothered. “It’s red color. Nothing else. Happy Holi.”
I shook my head, my chest tightening with something ugly. “And you don’t apply it on my forehead. I am not your wife.”
His smirk faded. His eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. “Not legally, no. But if there’s such a thing as a soul marriage, then we were married five years ago.”
A lump formed in my throat.
Damn him.
Damn him for saying the sweetest thing when I was already drowning in guilt.
God would never forgive me.
Yet, I stayed.
I laid there with my head on his chest, my fingers still stained red, my heart still aching.
And then, like every time before, the dream shattered.
A sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through me.
I shot up. “See? This is the problem.”
Aaditya didn’t even flinch. “Calm down. Go to the bathroom.”
“I hate this,” I hissed, my voice shaking.
He stretched his arms behind his head, completely unbothered. “Yeah, well, I hate a lot of things. But shit happens. That’s life.”
I clenched my fists. “You make me feel pathetic about myself.”
His eyes flicked open then, something unreadable in them. “Every day when I look at Prerna, I feel pathetic. Now, go into the bathroom before everyone figures out what we were doing.”
I stood there for a second, breathing hard, before turning and grabbing the tee and shorts he handed me. My fingers brushed his, and for the briefest second, his grip lingered. I yanked the clothes from his hands and stormed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
The second the water hit my skin, reality came crashing down.
Oh, fuck. This was bad.
I didn’t know how long I stayed in there, letting the hot water scald away my regret, but by the time I emerged, the room was empty. He was gone.
I forced myself downstairs, smoothing my hair, fixing my expression, preparing to play my part like I always did.
The dining table was already set, plates filled with steaming food, the scent of spices curling into the air as conversations flowed around me. Laughter, clinking cutlery, the comfortable hum of a family meal—it should have felt normal. It should have felt warm. But as I stepped forward, slipping into the background, unnoticed for now, my eyes landed on the one thing that made my stomach twist into knots.
The vacant seat beside Aaditya.
Chandra aunty hesitated, her gaze flickering between me and the empty chair. It was just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable to anyone else, but I caught it. She knew. She had always known. Even after I shattered her son’s heart, even after everything that had happened, she never hated me. She understood why I had made the decision I did, why I had chosen my mother over him. And yet, we all kept this from Prerna. We let her live in her perfect little world, unaware of the war that raged just beneath the surface.
“Oh, no problem, Gargi,” Chandra aunty said, her voice overly cheerful, too forced. “I’ll sit beside my son.”
Before I could react, before I could even breathe, Aaditya’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “Why? Do I have some disease that Gargi can’t sit beside me?”
The casualness of his tone was infuriating. So smooth. So unconcerned. So Aaditya.
Prerna laughed, shaking her head, completely oblivious to the weight of his words. My stomach lurched. It wasn’t just nausea—it was deeper, something that clawed at my insides and refused to let go.
Shama, always the peacemaker, always the one who saw what others didn’t, stood without a word. Sliding into the seat beside her brother, she leaned in and wrinkled her nose dramatically. “Oh, you stink. Maybe that’s why Gargi didn’t want to sit beside you.” Then she turned to me with a wink. “Good call.”
I forced out a breath, trying to steady my hands as I sat down, sliding into the seat beside my mother.
The moment I picked up my fork, Aaditya’s voice rang out again. “Gargi, get me some water.”
I froze. My grip on the fork tightened.
Prerna started to push her chair back, but Aaditya’s hand caught hers. “You’ve already started eating,” he told her, his voice almost gentle. “She’ll get it. Don’t worry, she can use the exercise.”
The words stung. Not because of what he said, but because of what he meant. Because of the control he still held over me, the way he could make me obey with just a few careless words.
Prerna shook her head, amused, but my body had already moved before I could think better of it. I stood, grabbed the glass, and filled it with water, setting it down in front of him.
I barely had a second to breathe before his voice came again. Another request. Another reason to make me stand. Then again. And again.
By the fourth time, his mother’s patience had worn thin, her sharp gaze burning into him, but none of us said a word. We never did. This was just how it was.
I finally sat back down, my pulse racing, my hands shaking slightly as I reached for my food. Beside me, my mother was watching, her brows drawn together, her eyes filled with something I didn’t want to name. She was trying to piece something together, trying to understand the invisible strings Aaditya still had wrapped around me. I refused to meet her gaze.
“Mom, did you have fun?” I asked instead, keeping my voice light as I scooped up a bite of roti and vegetables, pretending my world wasn’t tilting beneath me.
“Oh, dear, so much fun,” she said, warmth in her voice. “Thanks, Chandra, for this. I really missed spending time with you.”
Chandra Aunty beamed as she reached for my mother’s hand, her excitement contagious. “I’m booking us a spa day next week. My son will sponsor.”
Aaditya, still chewing, smirked as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Only if you take Prerna too.”
Prerna’s cheeks flushed, a soft pink, her eyes lowering in shyness. She looked so… content. So unbothered.
Something in me twisted. The jealousy was sharp, sudden—an unexpected slap to the face. It coiled in my stomach, an ugly, suffocating weight I hadn’t braced for. I wasn’t supposed to feel this. Not anymore.
I choked on my food.
Shama, ever perceptive, slid a glass of water toward me before anyone else could notice. I took it, my hands trembling slightly as I sipped, trying to steady myself.
“If you’re going in the weekend, take Shama and Gargi as well. Book it overnight, I’ll sponsor everything.” Aaditya’s voice was smooth, unaffected, like none of this meant anything to him.
“I can’t, but Mom can go,” I muttered, keeping my gaze on my plate, the food suddenly tasteless in my mouth.
A beat of silence stretched before he responded, his voice clipped. “As you wish.”
That tone. That fucking tone.
My stomach clenched. He knew. He knew how much it hurt me when he spoke like this. I could take his anger—it was raw, emotional, real. But this careless indifference? That was unbearable.
“I’ll go,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
“Settled then.” Aaditya leaned back, his arm casually draped over his chair. “Tell me which spa, and I’ll make the arrangements.”
Chandra Aunty laughed, shaking her head. “Wow, son. I was just joking, you know.”
“My husband is the best husband in the world,” Prerna announced proudly, flashing him a smile that was nothing but love.
Tears burned my eyes.
I let my spoon down, unable to eat. The best guy. My only love. And now, he was being awarded the title of ‘best husband.’
“You should date,” Shama said quietly beside me.
But Aaditya heard.
Our eyes met, and his answer was swift—a firm headshake. A silent, definitive No.
Then his gaze flickered toward Prerna, the warning unmistakable.
So, now I was responsible for his wife’s happiness too.
“I don’t have time,” I lied. “Work keeps me too busy.”
Shama sighed but let it go.
For the next hour, I kept my head down, pushing food around my plate, listening to conversations that blurred into background noise. Prerna’s laughter, Aaditya’s voice, the easy way they spoke. I couldn’t do this anymore.
But I had something he didn’t know. A way out.
A project. A chance to leave. A contract that would take me far, far away from this suffocating cycle. Dubai. Two years. A clean break.
I didn’t want to leave my mother behind, but this was necessary. We both needed to move on, and Aaditya… he wouldn’t let me unless I was completely out of his life.
Men didn’t understand right or wrong. They only understood what they wanted. But I did.
And I was leaving.
Shama’s gaze lingered on me as I pushed my chair back. Without a word, she followed me out.
“Are you okay?” she asked once we were alone.
I exhaled, the decision settling over me. “I think I’ll take the Dubai offer.”
She nodded. “Do it. Did you tell him?”
“No. And he doesn’t need to know.”
Her expression darkened. “Because of him, we’re going to grow apart.”
“But Shama,” I whispered, voice breaking, “that’s better than this. The lie he’s forcing both of us to live.”
She was quiet for a moment before sighing. “Hmm. Go. It’ll get better. And don’t worry about Aunty—I’ll visit her. Every week.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for understanding me.”
Her arms wrapped around me in a tight hug. “You could never stand up to him. Not ten years ago, not today. And he fucking loves that—he uses it against you. But this separation? This will help.”
I nodded, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
Goodbye, Aaditya.
Goodbye forever.
Thank you for reading the short Holi love story.
Do check out my other articles on Twin Flames.
Author Payal Dedhia independently publishes books on Amazon Kindle. You can check her collection by clicking here.
If you like Dark Romance Fiction, do read my Sctintilla Series. Click here to read.
Aayansh Ahluwalia isn’t just a billionaire business tycoon—he’s the kind of man who haunts people’s nightmares. The world may recognize Scintilla Corporations as a legitimate empire, but Aayansh isn’t confined to the light. In the shadows, he commands an empire of fear, power, and blood. He rules over the underdogs, the darkness that terrifies everyone else.
Ruthless and untouchable, they call him a devil for a reason—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink when it comes to taking lives.
His existence is fearless. His power, unmatched. Yet beneath the wealth and carnage lies a void—a darkness so complete it consumes him. There’s no light, no hope. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, leaving him hollow.
Then, one night, everything changed.
He saw her—a woman so radiant, so full of life, she made his chaos stand still. She erupted into his world like a dream, settling in his heart and claiming it as her own.
Tisha Chopra.
Aayansh hadn’t been searching for her, hadn’t asked for her. But the moment he saw her, he knew—she would be his.
She didn’t belong in his world, and that only made him want her more. Her laughter, her light—it wasn’t meant to survive the darkness he thrived in, yet it pulled him in, unrelenting. Like a predator to prey, he followed. He didn’t want her to save him. No. He wanted to ruin her, piece by piece, until she belonged to him completely. He would drag her down, crown her queen in his Devil’s Paradise, and make her sit beside him on the devil’s throne while he ruled the world.What unfolds is a story steeped in obsession, control, and desire—a dangerous game where love is a battlefield, and submission comes at the cost of a soul.
Scintilla isn’t just the name of Aayansh’s empire; it’s the pulse of this saga—a place where power thrives and morality dies.
The series is divided into four phases:
🔥 The Chase – Where the predator finds his prey. Click here to read.
- The Beginning – A collision of worlds. A spark ignited.
- Unveiling Paradise – Her light tempts the darkness.
- The Masked Guy – Secrets wear masks. So do devils.
- Unleashing the Demons – Once awakened, there’s no turning back.
- The Winner – Victory tastes sweeter when claimed by force.
🔥 The Possession – Where obsession takes root. Click here to read.
- New Beginning – The chase ends. The real game begins.
- The Rules – Boundaries are set, only to be broken.
- Gilded Cage – Possession doesn’t feel like freedom.
- Unleashed Fury – When control falters, chaos reigns.
- Ensnared Hearts – Hearts trapped, souls scarred.
🔥 The Submission – Where surrender is demanded, not given. Click here to read.
- Her Resistance – Light fights back. Darkness pushes harder.
- Her Confession – Truths whispered in the dark.
- The Good Times – A fleeting calm before the storm.
- The Devil Struck – The predator strikes. The angel shatters.
- Angel’s Judgement – When love turns to reckoning.
🔥 The Reward – Where love and darkness collide, leaving nothing unscarred. Click here to read.
- The Storm – Chaos erupts, tearing apart the fragile ties of love and power.
- The Punishment – Sins are judged, debts are paid, and vengeance claims its due.
The Arranged Marriage series is a collection of 5 books.
Book 1 – The First Meet (Read now)
Book 2: The Life Together (Read now)
Book 3 – The Surprises in Store (Read now)
Book 4 – The Everchanging Times (Read now)
Book 5: The Story of Us (Coming Soon)
The Unscripted Love Series is a collection of 10 books
Book 1 – Arjun’s Jenny (click to read)
Book 2 – Priti’s Rendezvous with Somesh (click to read)
Book 3 – Rana’s Vivacious Girlfriend (click to read)
Book 4 – Claire’s Dashing Raj (click to read)
Book 5 – My Rebirth (click to read)
Book 6 – My Family (click to read)
Book 7 – My Sister’s Wedding (click to read)
Book 8 – My Secret Love (click to read)
Book 9 – My Silent Romeo (click to read)
Book 10 – The Brunch (click to read)
