Chapter Eight: A Decision She Never Made

The puja celebration slowly came to an end, the sacred fire dimming, conversations fading into polite goodbyes.

Under the soft evening lights of , Veeresh Rathore stood for a moment, watching the crowd disperse. His mind, however, wasn’t on the project anymore.

It was on her.

Poornima turned to leave, her steps calm, unaffected—just like always.

“Ms. Mewar.”

His voice stopped her.

She turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

For a brief second, neither of them spoke. The air between them carried something unspoken now—not just rivalry… but recognition.

Veeresh’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile.

“I must say,” he began, his tone smooth, measured, “I’m fond of your Saffron Ember Laal Maas.”

It wasn’t a compliment he gave easily.

Poornima noticed that.

“Thank you, Mr. Rathore,” she replied simply.

No pride.
No attempt to extend the conversation.

Just acknowledgment.

And then—

They walked away.

In opposite directions.

As if nothing had changed.

That night, Poornima returned to the Mewar palace.

Dinner was served as usual. Formal. Quiet. Controlled.

She ate without speaking much, her mind strangely distant. Not disturbed… but not entirely at peace either.

Something about the way he had said those words lingered.

Not because it mattered.

But because it was… unexpected.

She pushed the thought away.

It didn’t mean anything.

Nothing ever did.

Soon after, she retreated to her room, closing the door behind her, wrapping herself once again in the silence she had learned to live with.

The next morning arrived with an unfamiliar tension.

The Mewar palace was unusually active—staff moving around with urgency, arrangements being made with precision.

Guests were arriving.

Important ones.

Poornima stepped out of her room, confusion flickering briefly in her eyes before she masked it.

And then she saw them.

The Rathores.

Veeresh Rathore.
His parents.

Standing in her home.

Her breath stilled for a fraction of a second.

“What is happening?” she asked quietly, her voice directed at no one in particular.

But the answer revealed itself quickly.

In the center of the hall, preparations were set. The purohit sat with sacred texts, charts spread before him.

And beside him—

Priyanka Singh Mewar.

Dressed elegantly. Waiting.

Understanding struck.

This was a match.

An alliance.

Poornima felt something tighten in her chest—but she stayed still, her expression unreadable as she watched from a distance.

The rituals began.

Kundalis were compared. Calculations made. Silence filled with anticipation.

Minutes passed.

Then—

The purohit frowned slightly.

“This match…” he said slowly, “is not aligning well.”

A pause.

“The kundalis do not match.”

Murmurs spread. Disappointment flickered across faces.

Poornima exhaled softly, almost imperceptibly.

It wasn’t relief.

It was… something else.

Before anyone could respond—

Veeresh’s father’s gaze shifted.

And landed on her.

Poornima.

Standing quietly at the edge, as if she didn’t belong in the very place she was born into.

Something in his expression changed. Thoughtful. Calculating.

He looked at the purohit.

“What about her?” he asked, gesturing toward Poornima.

The room stilled.

Poornima’s heart skipped.

“What?”

All eyes turned to her.

She stepped back instinctively, confusion flashing across her face.

“This is unnecessary—” she began, her voice controlled but firm.

But the purohit was already being instructed.

“Bring her kundali.”

Her father hesitated for a moment… then signaled the staff.

And just like that—

She was pulled into something she never agreed to.

Poornima stood there, her hands cold, her mind racing as the charts were placed before the purohit.

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be.

And then—

She felt it.

A gaze.

She looked up.

Veeresh.

Watching her.

A slow, knowing smirk forming on his lips.

As if he had already made a decision.

Before she could process it—

He moved.

Step by step.

Toward her.

The room blurred around her as he stopped right in front of her, close enough to make her breath hitch.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice low, shaken for the first time.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he reached into his pocket.

And before she could react—

He took her hand.

Firm. Certain.

And slid a ring onto her finger.

The world froze.

“I will marry her.”

His voice cut through the silence.

Not a question.
Not a suggestion.

A decision.

Gasps echoed around the hall.

Poornima’s eyes widened, shock crashing over her like a wave.

“This is not—”

But her words failed.

Because the purohit spoke again, his tone suddenly certain.

“The kundalis… match perfectly.”

Perfectly.

As if fate had rewritten itself in a single moment.

Poornima pulled her hand back slightly, staring at the ring as if it didn’t belong there.

Because it didn’t.

None of this did.

Without another word, she turned and walked away—faster this time, her composure cracking with every step until she reached her room.

The door shut behind her.

And the tears came instantly.

“This can’t be happening…” she whispered, her voice breaking as she clutched her hand, the ring feeling heavier than anything she had ever worn.

She sank onto the floor, her breaths uneven, her thoughts spiraling.

Marriage?

To him?

Without her consent… without even asking her?

It felt like her entire life was being decided again—just like it always had been.

Without her.

Back in the hall, the atmosphere had shifted completely.

Discussions had already begun.

Dates. Arrangements. Formalities.

As if everything was settled.

Veeresh stood there, unaffected, his expression calm.

“Fix the date,” he said to his parents. “I’ll talk to her.”

His tone was steady. Certain.

As if this was just another decision.

Another deal closed.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

Because in his world—

Once a decision was made…

There was no going back.