Unscripted

♤Chapter 1♤

“You know what?” She looked at the rest, shrugging. “I’m going to leave this one for the intern. I’ll tell her it’s for experience.”

Dhwani threw her hands up exasperatedly, “I have the same problem. I was an architect, an architect.” She looked at the chandelier-adorned ceiling as if reminiscing of her former art. “And now I’m a goddamn CA? I don’t know finance!”

Before Samaira could put her two cents in, Ayansh strangled a chair with his grip, eyes wide with urgency and panic. “Excuse me, we have a bigger problem here!” 

“We’re all living in a story some 13 year old teenager wrote! And now the script’s going off the fucking rails. Who’s next, huh? Who gets betrayed, possessed or poisoned in Chapter 5?”

The silence was deafening, like the silence before a storm, until Samaira set her apple juice down, sighing.

“Dramatic much?” She raised an eyebrow, trying to look indifferent, but she too started to seem a little unsure. Dhwani glanced at Shanaya, who appeared as if she'd rather be anywhere else, before looking back at Ayansh. She spoke carefully, “Look, maybe the script is adapting? Maybe we get to actually choose how the story goes this time?”

Ayansh scoffed, wringing his hands. “Choose? We couldn’t even choose our own professions.” He pointed at Dhwani and Samaira. “You’re an architect turned accountant, Samaira’s a therapist who hates people,” he jabbed a finger at his own chest, “And I, I’m marrying a woman I’ve never even had coffee with!”

His eyes flicked to the entrance to the hall, as if half-expecting Sayantika to walk in right then. He muttered, “What if I just walk away? What if that’s the choice?” The idea started to sound less and less crazy to him.

Before Ayansh could move towards the door, Shanaya’s voice sounded out, consoling. “Ayansh, Sayantika doesn’t like this marriage either. She’s being forced just like-”

Before she could finish, the hall doors creaked open, Shanaya’s husband walking through. His face was stern, cold like stone, as he looked over at her with his raven black eyes “We’re leaving,” he commanded, “right now.” His voice was emotionless as ever, demanding no explanation.

Shanaya faltered for a moment, her eyes lingering on the other three, as if trying to say a thousand unsaid things. But in the end, she obeyed—just like always. The one-sided lover she was for her husband,  who never strayed from the path written for her. She gave one last glance back, and then she was gone. The silence that followed was now heavier than before.

Samaira watched her leave, then huffed, scowling. “Isn’t it irritating that she’s the only one who’s read the whole book? Who knows what’s going to happen next? And then she just leaves, without fucking helping us?” She slammed her palm on the hand rest of her chair, sinking lower into it like a petulant child.

Ayansh had started to slowly calm down by then, collapsing in a chair, as he started picking at the embellishments on his ludicrously expensive kurta. “Everyone has their own pains, I suppose.” He sighed, gesturing to the door Shanaya exited from. “Now she has hers.” His voice was now resigned, as he too sunk lower in his chair, though looking significantly comical than Samaira, perhaps due to the fact that he looked like he had a clinical case of pillow hair.

Dhwani then suddenly jolted, a sinister smirk on her face as she turned to Ayansh, her eyes shining with mischief. “Ayansh,” she drawled, “you’re going to be married today, right? Which means,” she paused dramatically, “Tonight’s your wedding night!”

“Dhwani!” Ayansh hissed, his face turning a shade of crimson, as he sat upright in his chair again as if electrocuted. His ears were practically glowing with mortification as he glared at the women.

Samaira and Dhwani both burst into laughter, teasing him and making ridiculous comments. “Better rehearse your lines,”Samaira grinned, wagging her eyebrows suggestively, “You don’t want to mess up that scene!”

Both the ladies doubled over with laughter, mercilessly poking fun at the embarrassed groom. But the atmosphere suddenly dropped into one of silence.

The reason behind the edge they all carried—the source of their unease—stepped into the room with his usual cold composure. Vivaan Kundra. Samaira’s younger brother. Dhwani’s husband. The one with a smile that never reached his eyes and a presence that always unsettled the air.

“Mother’s orders,” Vivaan said, voice frigid, as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “Naintara Kundra wants us home. Now.” He cast a look to Ayansh - And this I want to continue but don’t know how

No further explanation. Absolutely nothing.

And just like that, the laughter died, and the weight of their damned fates returned. Ayansh stood frozen in place, left alone with the echoes— and the eerie uncertainty of the times ahead.

The others began to leave, their footsteps echoing down the long marble corridor; Ayansh remained still—his heart pounding louder than the silence that followed. He looked around the grand, empty marriage hall devoid of joy, filled only with shadows, whispers and the looming event.

 Just as he turned to finally walk away, something caught his eye— a thin, rolled-up piece of parchment tucked beneath one of the chairs. Curious, he picked it up, unrolling it with trembling fingers. 

It was a page… from the script.

But it wasn’t from the past. It was a scene yet to come— ”Chapter 62:The Reckoning“. And scribbled in the margins, in a handwriting he knew all too well, was a note:

“He doesn’t know he’s the real villain.” 

Ayansh stared at it, breath caught in his throat. His name—his name—was underlined in red. He was someone who was too close to Ayansh, someone he thought he could trust.