The scent of roses and sandalwood clung to the air like a memory refusing to fade. Kiara blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim glow of golden fairy lights cascading down maroon and gold drapes. A soft rustle of silk, the faint clinking of bangles, and the weight—oh, the weight—of something heavy on her head and around her neck.
What the…?
She pushed herself up on the bed and froze.
This wasn't her small rented room in the city. This wasn't her thin mattress on the wooden cot, or the distant hum of ceiling fans in the library. The bedding was thick, luxurious, and floral-scented. The room was decorated with care—pillows arranged just so, mirrors trimmed with gold foil, a large dressing table full of cosmetics and wedding bangles.
And her reflection.
She stood slowly, nearly staggering under the heavy red lehenga. The bridal dupatta slipped slightly, and her gaze locked on the mirror. The girl staring back had Arina's face — the elder sister of the female lead, Advika, from the novel she was reading just last night.
She took a deep breath.
"I'm inside the novel." Her voice was quiet, calm. Not panic — awe.
Memories flooded her. Not hers, but Arina's. Gentle moments with her mother, quiet mornings making tea, the nervous wedding preparations. And Reyansh. The powerful, brooding man who was supposed to marry Advika but had ended up marrying Arina by misunderstanding.
In the original story, Reyansh had eventually discovered the truth after two month of marriage— that Arina wasn't the girl who had helped him when he was at his lowest. He had proposed a divorce . Arina, ever the quiet, noble girl, had let him go. Kiara had hated it. Arina hadn't even fought. And Reyansh — cold, obsessive Reyansh — had melted for Advika like some lost puppy.
Not this time.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Arina?" The voice was low, deep, measured. Reyansh.
Her heart didn't flutter. It thrilled. Her smile sharpened.
"I'm inside Arina's body, on the wedding night," she whispered, stepping to the door. "Let the game begin."
The door opened, and Reyansh stepped in, dressed in a muted sherwani, his posture perfect, his face as unreadable as stone. His eyes flicked to her briefly — then quickly away, respectful, distant. Just like the novel described.
"I'll take the sofa," he said. "If you're uncomfortable."
She tilted her head, letting her bangles chime softly. "I'm not," she said simply, her voice gentle but sure. "I know this is… sudden for both of us. But I want to understand you."
That was not something the real Arina had ever said.
Reyansh paused, his gaze finally resting on her face — searching. "You're tired. It's been a long day. You should rest."
She gave a small, shy smile. "Will you help me first?"
His brow furrowed. "Help?"
She turned slightly, revealing the string of her blouse. "The knot's tight."
He hesitated. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her back — cold, careful — then slowly tugged the knot free. The blouse loosened just enough to breathe.
"You should change," he said, stepping back. "I'll… wait outside."
"No," she said gently, not missing the way his jaw tightened. "It's alright. I'll change in the bathroom."
He nodded once, silently, and turned his back.
Inside the bathroom, she smirked at the mirror. Her eyes sparkled with something not so innocent.
"You were never in love with Advika," she murmured to herself. "It was never love. Just obsession. You just didn't know it yet."
She unpinned the bridal dupatta, peeled off the heavy blouse and underskirt, slipping into a light cotton saree in pale cream. The contrast to the bridal red was almost symbolic. Her wrists only had some red bangles . Her ears free. Only her mangalsutra remained — a slender gold chain hanging at her throat like a delicate claim.
When she stepped back into the room, Reyansh stood by the window, hands in his pockets, the moonlight carving sharp angles on his face.
She moved past him silently, drawing back the blanket and settling into bed.
He turned. "I'll sleep on the—"
"Bed," she said, pulling the covers to her waist. "It's wide enough. I trust you."
Another moment of hesitation. Then he walked slowly to the other side and sat down.
Silence stretched. She turned slightly, her hair still undone, brushing her back.
He noticed.
She looked at him, expression soft, innocent. "Can you… help with my hair too? The pins are tight."
He didn't speak. Just reached out, slowly removing the clips one by one. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders.
She closed her eyes at the feeling, not of tenderness — but control. Slowly. Gently. She was winning.
When he paused, hands still, she said, "Thank you."
They lay down. Not touching. But not distant either.
The real Arina had stayed silent.
But Kiara whispered into the silence, "I'm glad it was you."
Reyansh didn't answer.
But he didn't sleep either.