Meera steps out of her car, poised, composed—her heels clicking softly as she walks into the glistening lobby of the towering building.
Heads turn, but not with reverence. Just curiosity. She strides to the front desk, where a young executive—perhaps too full of self-importance—barely glances up.
Meera stands at the reception, calm but resolute.
Meera (calmly):
"I need to meet Mr. Abhimanyu Rajput. It's personal."
The receptionist barely looks up. Dismissiveness drips from her tone.
Receptionist (dry):
"Models, influencers, brand wannabes—look, we're not hiring brand ambassadors through the front door. If you want to pitch yourself, send an email."
Meera (firmly):
"I'm not here for that. I'm his wife."
The receptionist blinks. Then scoffs. Loudly. Her laughter is shrill in the silent lobby.
Receptionist (mocking):
"His wife? Oh wow. That's original."
Right then, the elevator doors open.
Abhimanyu Rajput steps out—suit sharp, expression sharper—flanked by his executive council.
His eyes fall on Meera. A long pause. Heavy silence.
Meera straightens slightly. Hope flickers in her eyes.
But Abhimanyu doesn't break stride.
He looks at her. Stone-faced. Blank. And then… simply walks past her.
No reaction. No acknowledgement. Not even a flicker of recognition.
It's cold. Brutal. Deliberate.
The receptionist watches this unfold with narrowed eyes and smug satisfaction. She leans forward on the counter, her voice now full of venom.
Receptionist (biting):
"He didn't even look at you. You done with the drama now?"
(pauses, then sharply)
"Get out. Right now. Or I'll call security. We don't entertain frauds."
Meera doesn't move. Her eyes burn—but not with tears. With restraint.
Her fists clench.
She nods slowly.
And walks out
Meera's chest heaves slightly as she storms out from the lobby desk after that humiliating exchange. The receptionist's laughter still echoes faintly behind her.
Tanvi, Abhimanyu's poised secretary, appears from the private lift corridor, heels clicking briskly.
Tanvi (calmly):
"Mrs. Rajput… Mr. Abhimanyu has instructed me to escort you to his office. The private lift is this way."
Meera stops mid-step. Her jaw clenches as she turns toward Tanvi, eyes gleaming with rage and hurt.
Meera (sharply):
"Oh, now he remembers I'm his wife? When five minutes ago, he passed me like I was invisible? Not even a nod, not a glance—nothing. If he doesn't want to acknowledge me in public, then he shouldn't expect me to have private conversations either."
Tanvi (trying to mediate):
"I understand, but—"
Meera (cutting in):
"No, thank you. Tell your boss that his wife has no interest in visiting an office where she's treated like a stranger."
With a defiant flick of her dupatta, Meera marches to the parking basement. Her pride seethes, and so does her silence. The weight of all her efforts to build this marriage stabs a little deeper.
She gets into her car, slams the door, and starts the engine.
Just as she pulls out of the parking spot—
Her phone rings.
ABHIMANYU RAJPUT – Incoming Call
She hesitates, then picks up on Bluetooth.
Abhimanyu (stern, cold):
"Turn your car around and come to my office. Now."
Meera (dry laugh):
"Why? So you can pretend I don't exist again?"
Abhimanyu (voice rising):
"Meera, don't push me right now."
Meera (bitterly):
"You did that first, Abhimanyu. I was humiliated in your building, and you—"
Abhimanyu (furious now):
"If you don't come back in the next five minutes, wherever you're going—I swear—I will find you, drag you back myself, and make sure you sit in front of me until we're done talking. Don't test my patience, Meera."
A pause. Static hums between them.
Abhimanyu (quieter but deadly serious):
"I am not asking."
Meera, fists gripping the steering wheel, swallows her pride and finally exhales.
She throws the car in reverse. No more games.
The air inside is thick. The glass doors click shut behind Meera as she walks in, refusing to look small. Her black pants, white blouse, and sharp heels match the cold steel in her eyes.
Abhimanyu stands with his back to her, gripping the edge of his desk. As soon as he hears her enter, he turns — rage simmering.
Abhimanyu (curt):
"You really enjoy making a scene, don't you?"
Meera (sarcastic):
"Sorry for walking into my husband's office. Must've been such an embarrassment for you."
He stalks forward.
Abhimanyu:
"What husband, Meera? The one you don't even try to understand?"
Meera (hurt but standing tall):
"I tried. You don't let me in! You treat me like a stranger. Today, you saw me standing at your office like I was dirt beneath your shoe. You didn't even blink."
Abhimanyu (low, furious):
"Because you are his daughter."
That lands like a slap.
Meera:
"What the hell does that mean?"
Abhimanyu (shouting):
"Because of your father, my parents DIED. Do you hear me? DIED!"
He slams a hand on the desk — Meera flinches.
Abhimanyu (broken, voice shaking):
"He signed that deal. He made that call. He started that war. And you carry his blood."
Meera (angrily):
"Then why the hell did you marry me?!"
In a flash of rage, he grabs her arm — not to hurt her, but desperate, pained, spiraling.
Abhimanyu (gritted teeth):
"Because I thought I could separate you from him. I thought I could treat you like you're not his daughter. But every time I look at you… all I see is his face."
Meera (tears in her eyes):
"I'm not him."
Abhimanyu (snaps):
"No, you're worse. Because you pretend to be innocent."
And then — in a surge of raw frustration — he pushes her back, trapping her between himself and the wall.
Her back hits the cold marble. She gasps, stunned.
His hand slams beside her head — not touching her, but close. His breath is ragged. His eyes wild.
Abhimanyu (low, shaking):
"Stop trying to fix this marriage. You think this is some romantic story? Some fairy tale? It's not."
Meera (defiant, voice trembling):
"You think I don't know that? I see the hate in your eyes every damn day. But I won't walk away. Because unlike you, I don't run from pain."
Their eyes lock — fire against fire. For a second, silence.
Then he exhales and backs off.
Abhimanyu (coldly):
"Stay if you want. Just don't expect love. Or forgiveness."
He turns away.
Meera (quietly):
"I didn't ask for forgiveness. I only asked for a chance."
She walks out.
The glass door clicks shut behind her.
Meera walks out, eyes dazed, her breath uneven.
She keeps walking… straight, mechanically… until she's out of sight. Then—
She stumbles to the side of the corridor.
Her back hits the cold wall, the same spot where just minutes ago, she'd been pushed, cornered.
Her hand slowly reaches behind her head. A dull throb lingers where it had banged the wall. Nothing serious. But it's the gesture, not the pain, that breaks her.
She closes her eyes. Her chest rises and falls rapidly.
Meera (softly, to herself):
"He… he actually did that."
Her hands begin to tremble. It wasn't just the push.
It was the look in his eyes. The bitterness. The grief. The disgust.
Meera (a whisper, broken):
"He hates me… not for who I am, but for who my father was."
She slides down the wall slowly, sitting on the cold marble floor.
She hugs her knees to her chest, swallowing the tears back.
But one escapes — a hot tear carving a lonely trail down her cheek.
Footsteps pass by distantly. No one notices her.
She wipes her face, takes a deep breath.
Meera (quietly, to herself):
"No… no, you can't break now. Not here. Not like this."
Her hands still shake, but her spine straightens.
Meera (determined):
"If pain is the only language he understands… then I'll speak it too. But I won't leave. I won't walk away."
She stands, still pale, still hurting — but with fire in her eyes now.
Her walk is slow, silent, but her heart?
It's louder than ever — bruised, but not broken.