Aradhana: His only worship

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Tujhe dekhe bina chain

kabhi bhi nahi aata

Haar roj teri yaadon ki barsat sata ta

Ek samay main to tera dil se je raha tha

Mere dil ki dhadkan mein bas tu hi basa tha!
✨

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AUTHOR'S POV

In the bustling capital city, where life never pauses, the same vibrancy extended to the Magistrates Court, a hub for legal proceedings and divorces.

There, a woman prayed for liberation from her monstrous spouse.

"The evidence against Mr. Shekhar Vyas is overwhelming. Thus, the judiciary grants Mrs. Aradhana Vyas's divorce petition and sentences Mr. Vyas to seven years in prison for domestic violence, abuse, and causing physical and mental harm to his wife. The parties may now proceed to sign the divorce papers; the court is adjourned," declared the judge.

While a collective sigh of relief was palpable among some, the family of the imprisoned man erupted in protests, pleading with the judge to retract his decision.

"Can't you feel any shame at all? Look at her," said Naina Vyas, Shekhar Vyas's mother and her mother-in-law, who always supported her son. She began to cry.

"Kyu bhai sab, you said your daughter was very sensible and cultured. Now see for yourself, she has put her own husband in jail," she said to Rakesh Nair, father of Aradhana Vyas. Upon hearing this, he looked at his daughter, who was about to sign the divorce papers. Anger surged within him, and the fear of societal judgment clouded his thoughts. He clenched his jaw and took furious steps towards his daughter.

"Think again; divorcing him will lead you nowhere."

He spoke to her in an angry tone, gripping her wrist tightly, preventing her from signing the papers.

Shock, betrayal, and disbelief were all she could feel at that moment. The man she called father was saying these words to her, all for the sake of his image in society! What about her feelings? It seemed he never cared for them.

There she stood before him, with a cast on her hand, a bandage on her forehead, and bruises on her face, yet all he could think about was society. She shook her head in refusal, pulled her hand from his grasp, and stood her ground.

it will, it will take me out of that hell of a house she wanted to say this out loud but chose not to,

"Where do I have to sign?" she asked, her soft voice now hoarse, looking at the advocate. He directed her where to sign. As she was signing, her husband approached, shackles around his wrists, flanked by a police officer.

Once she finished, she stepped back to allow him to sign. He glanced at her; anger, hate, and fury filled his eyes, but there was no sign of guilt.

"Bahar aane ke baad, agar tumhari zindagi go narak se bhi batter na bana diya na, to mere naam bi Shekhar Vyas nahi"

He whispered in her ears, casting a final glance before signing the papers. The police escorted him away as she watched his receding figure, then turned to face her father, her stepmother, and her in-laws.

Every gaze in the room bore anger, irritation, and unmistakable disgust. Tears streamed down her face; with everything concluded, she left the room, determined to distance herself from those who she once believed were her family.

But they were not.

On the other side, a black AUDI Q5 was parked opposite the court. Inside, a man sat in the back seat, clad in a black Armani tuxedo that seemed tailor-made for him. He worked on his laptop, his face a mask of concentration, when a sudden knock on the window broke his focus. He looked up to see his secretary, Laksh.

"Sir, they said it will take about 15-20 minutes."

"Make it faster."

He spoke in a cold, commanding tone, his anger teetering on the edge as he faced the prospect of being late for his meeting due to his secretary's failure to retrieve the legal documents from the court, which were crucial for the deal.

"If I make any more mistakes, my entire existence will be erased," Laksh thought, nodding affirmatively and swallowing hard.

Inside the car, the man continued to ignore Laksh, about to return his attention to his laptop. However, his gaze paused for a moment, and his icy blue eyes shifted out the window, fixating on a specific figure.

A women

As he concentrated on her, the image became clearer: her right hand was in a cast, a bandage adorned her left eyebrow, and she clutched the pleats of her saree in her free hand while descending the courthouse stairs. Draped in a maroon saree, her hair was tied in a messy bun, with no intention of drawing attention.

Yet, she captured his.

As she drew nearer, the sound in his ears grew louder, resembling the noise of something being struck or hammered with force. The clamor intensified when she crossed the street and paused in front of his car, allowing him a clear view of her. As the din swelled, his hand instinctively reached for his heart.

He muttered a curse, realizing the noise was none other than his own heartbeat, accelerated by the sight of the woman. Despite her petite stature of just 5'6", her bruised and slender frame made an impression on him.

She seemed to gaze aimlessly, possibly awaiting someone. He attempted to shift his focus away from her, but his quickened pulse made concentration elusive, and his gaze was drawn back to her once more.

She had brown eyes.

Her eyes appeared swollen and tired, with traces of dried tears on her face. As he was about to take a closer look,

A convoy of five cars approached from behind, and the central vehicle stopped right in front of her. A man in his mid-twenties, dressed in a white kurta and pajama, stepped out.

He walked up to her, and without a moment's hesitation, scooped her up in a bridal carry, entered his car, and the convoy swiftly departed.

The man seated in the car watched the scene unfold with a frown, his fist clenched tightly. He felt as though something precious had been taken from him.

It was meant to be his, and his alone.

Anger surged through his veins, and his icy blue eyes darkened to the shade of a cold, starless night.

He could no longer hear his own heartbeat, and the only thing that fueled his rage further was the emblem on the car that took her away from him,

LS

An abbreviation for Lakshya Sinha, the Chief Minister of Madhya Pradesh, notably the youngest in the nation, and the head of the ruling Aamvyakti Janta Party (AJP).

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So, here is the first chapter of my new book its my first book please support as English is not my first language so, please bear with grammatical mistake's.

it's all my imagination nothing given above or further should be considered true information provided above for court is also not true its just me who have written it 

it's a fictional story. 

updated 

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