SWNOVELXO Chapter 2: No way am I wasting tears on you!
Back in her room at their Golf Links bungalow, she stood before her vanity mirror, each movement deliberate. The diamond earrings caught the soft lamplight as she removed them - the ones Zoya had insisted would "make any fiancée shine." Her fingers traced the intricate design before placing them aside.
Such thoughtful choices - she unclasped the gold bracelet meant to match her future mother-in-law's collection. All those shopping trips, those lunches, those careful plans. The metal felt cold against her fingers now.
"Beta?" Her mother's voice drifted through the door, followed by a gentle knock.
"Come in, Maa," she said, voice steady as she continued her methodical task.
Her mother entered, formal Anarkali still perfect though exhaustion bent her shoulders. She watched from the bed's edge. "Your Didi (elder sister) Nida called from London. She's worried."
"And Nimra?" Each piece of jewelry found its place with mechanical precision, her fingers careful even as her insides trembled.
"Trying to get through from Sydney." Her mother smoothed her Anarkali with trembling hands. "They both want to come home."
"Tell them not to." She unclasped her necklace, fingers steady despite the storm inside. "Their families need them there. Besides..." She met her mother's eyes in the mirror, noting the shadows beneath them. "What's done is done." Her gaze dropped to her mother's gold chain, that symbol of marriage. "How is Pitaji (father)? His hand..."
"Beta—" The word caught.
"Did you know," she continued, her voice eerily light, "that Zoya aunty spent three hours helping me choose these earrings?" Her fingers traced the design again. "She said they would make me look like a true Sivra fiancée." The jewelry box closed with a decisive click, like a final door shutting. "Funny how things work out."
Her mother rose, crossing to stand behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror - the same shade of brown, the same steel beneath the softness. "You're handling this with more grace than they deserve."
A sharp smile crossed her face. "What else can I do, Maa? Fall apart? Give them the satisfaction? I am a Verjani. We don't break."
Her mother's embrace enveloped her, steady and strong. A gentle kiss pressed against her forehead before soft footsteps retreated, leaving her alone with her unbroken pride.
The phone's glow cast harsh shadows as she settled onto her bed, navigating her gallery with methodical swipes. The silence in her room pressed heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the AC. Each deletion dismantled another carefully constructed illusion, but the ache in her chest remained stubborn.
Three months of playing pretend. Her thumb hovered over a saved school website photo—the graduating seniors' group shot, his expression serious even then. Hidden in a folder labeled "References," her pitiful attempt at pretending it was just research about a potential match.
"Pfft." Cold escaped her lips. Research. As if she hadn't traced every line of that photo a hundred times. Rage and heartbreak burned through her, but she clenched her jaw. "No way am I wasting tears on you," she whispered to the empty room.
One last look. That sharp jawline, those intense eyes that had looked everywhere but at her tonight. The delete button met her finger with satisfying finality. The screen dimmed, leaving her staring at her reflection in the black mirror.
A text lit her screen: "Cousin, I just heard! That lacking in integrity man—"
She deleted the message mid-sentence. Anjeer, ever the opportunist. Her cousin's fake sympathy turned her stomach. The phone dropped onto her bed, the mattress catching its weight.
Her screen flashed again—business news about contract negotiations between their families' companies. Her mouth twisted into a hard line. Her father's careful plans meant nothing now. Not while Shayan had orchestrated his secret wedding behind their backs.
Her thumb hovered over his contact. Not to call—never that—but to erase this final trace. The profile picture showed him in his usual stance, every inch the heir apparent. A man who had fooled everyone, including her.
""I hate you Shayan Sivra."" The words carried venom sharp enough to cut through Delhi's summer heat. A bitter laugh escaped her as she stared at their call history—sparse, distant, and always her reaching out to his clipped responses or silence. One quick tap erased him from her phone.
She buried her face in her pillow, shoulders shaking with sobs she refused to voice. Her fingers dug into the sheets, each ragged breath bringing fresh waves of shame. In the darkness beneath her covers, she let herself break, where no one could witness her tears. The phone lay cold beside her, forgotten in the wreckage of her first heartbreak.
***
In the following months, it's said the Verjani princess never cracked. Through whispers in school hallways and snide comments in study groups, she kept her head high, her grades perfect. The mockery died on its own—what fun was there in taunting someone who refused to break?
The newspapers had their feast:
"VERJANI-SIVRA ALLIANCE SHATTERS: Business Empire Dreams Turn to Dust"
"SIVRA HEIR RISKS ALL FOR FORBIDDEN LOVE: Shayan Sivra Chooses Half-Blood Bride"
"RAJATHAR'S ELITE FAMILIES AT WAR: Will the Sivra Legacy Survive?"
"AZAREN ENERGY GROUP SHARES PLUMMET: Investor Confidence Shaken by Heir's Decision"
"VERJAN PETROLEUM WITHDRAWS FROM JOINT VENTURE TALKS After Family Scandal"
"TRADITIONAL MARRIAGE CUSTOMS IN CRISIS: Rajathar Elders Call Emergency Council"
"EXCLUSIVE: Inside the Failed Union of Rajathar's Most Powerful Families"
"CHIEFTAIN BURHAN VERJARI SILENT on Former Allies' Betrayal"
"OPINION: Can Ancient Clan Alliances Survive Modern Choices?"
"TERRITORIAL RIGHTS AT STAKE: Oil Field Negotiations Frozen After Broken Engagement"
Years drifted past. The headlines browned with age. Yet whispers still rippled through elite circles—would the gulf between two fathers, once closest friends, ever close?