Anaya, a kind-hearted and intelligent woman from a respected family, is forced into an arranged marriage with Veer, the aloof heir of a powerful business empire. Despite the coldness of the arrangement, Anaya genuinely tries to make the marriage work. She falls in love with Veer—not just with the man, but with the hope that one day he might return her feelings.

But Veer remains emotionally distant. He’s still in love with his long-time girlfriend, Meera, a glamorous and ambitious woman working in a rival industry. Veer keeps their relationship a secret from the world, but Anaya knows. She sees the signs, the texts, the cold silences..

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Anaya

Veer

(credits goes to.he real owners of this pictures)

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Title: When Hearts Remember

Chapter 1: The Contract

Anaya sat perfectly still as the priest chanted the final mantras. Her parents, beaming with pride, barely noticed the stiffness in her movements. Her hands trembled beneath layers of gold bangles, the weight of tradition pressing down on her wrists like shackles. She could barely bring herself to look at Veer.

He sat across from her, poised and expressionless, wearing a cream sherwani too elegant for someone so emotionally detached. His face was unreadable, like a marble statue—flawless, but cold. His gaze never lingered on her; instead, it remained fixed slightly above the priest’s head, as if he were watching a scene unfold from outside his own body. It wasn’t the wedding she had dreamed of, but it was the one her family had chosen.

The deal had been struck like a business contract. Her father, owner of a struggling pharmaceutical firm, and Veer’s father, head of a billion-dollar conglomerate, had found mutual benefit in the union. A merger of legacies, a reinforcement of power. Anaya was the price.

She remembered the day her father had told her, gently but firmly, that this marriage was the best path forward for everyone. “He’s a good man,” he had said. “He’ll take care of you.”

But what her father hadn’t said was that love, affection, and choice were not part of the bargain.

When the ceremony ended, the newlyweds stood to receive blessings and congratulations. Veer nodded politely, hand resting loosely on Anaya’s back as they posed for pictures. The clicking cameras captured smiles that never reached their eyes.

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(credits goes to the real owners of this pictures)

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To everyone else, they looked like a perfect couple. But the space between them felt miles wide.

The reception that followed was a blur. Guests laughed, danced, drank, and gossiped under chandeliers and floral canopies. Anaya felt like a guest at her own wedding. She smiled mechanically, offered pleasantries, and endured the sly compliments of distant relatives who praised her "luck" for marrying such a successful man.

Later that night, Anaya stood alone in the bedroom of Veer’s sleek Mumbai penthouse. The room looked like a luxury hotel—beautiful, minimalist, but impersonal. No pictures, no books, no hint of a life lived there. A maid had neatly placed her suitcase in a corner, the silence in the room only broken by the faint hum of the city outside the glass windows.

She changed out of her bridal attire slowly, carefully folding the red silk lehenga as though the delicate fabric could tear under the weight of her thoughts. Her makeup smudged slightly at the corners from tears she hadn’t realized had fallen.

The door creaked open. Veer entered, loosening his collar, eyes tired, lips pressed in a line.

“I’ll take the guest room,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.

Anaya looked at him for a long moment. “Okay.”

He nodded and turned, walking out with the same indifference he had worn all day.

She sat on the edge of the bed, heart heavy, fingers brushing the embroidery of her veil still resting on the mattress. She had promised herself she would try. Even if he didn’t love her—yet—maybe someday he would. She didn’t expect miracles, just small moments: a shared laugh, a thoughtful question, a spark.

But somewhere deep inside, she feared he had already given his heart to someone else. And she was only a placeholder in the life he had been forced to reshape.

As she lay down on one side of the enormous bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, Anaya made a quiet vow—not to lose herself while trying to earn the love of a man who hadn’t even looked at her properly.

Not yet.

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The next morning, Anaya woke up to a silent house. No sound of footsteps, no murmured voices, not even the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen. The city buzzed faintly beyond the tall windows, but within the penthouse, there was only stillness.

She sat up slowly, still wrapped in the weight of the previous day. Her red bridal bangles glinted in the sunlight. They were beautiful, but they felt like cuffs—reminders of a bond sealed without affection.

After a quick shower, she stepped out wearing a simple pastel kurti and leggings. Her long hair was still damp, left open to dry naturally. She made her way to the dining area, where a neatly laid breakfast for one awaited her. Veer was gone. A note beside the plate read:

“Had an early meeting. Don’t wait for me. —Veer.”

Anaya stared at the handwriting. Clean, sharp strokes. Impersonal. Efficient. Just like him.

She sighed and sat down, nibbling at the toast without appetite. Was this what married life with him would look like? Empty chairs and half-hearted notes?

The next few days passed in routine monotony. Veer remained distant, leaving early and returning late. Their conversations were polite but sparse.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Every word exchanged felt transactional, like two strangers sharing the same air but not the same world.

One afternoon, Anaya found herself exploring the penthouse. It was large and tastefully decorated but lacked warmth. The walls were bare except for a few expensive abstract paintings. In the study, she found a shelf of books—mostly business and finance. No novels, no poetry, no music.

But what caught her eye was a small, locked drawer in the desk. She hesitated, then turned away. She had no right. Not yet.

That evening, as she walked into the living room, she noticed a photo frame peeking from behind a stack of files on the coffee table. Curious, she picked it up.

It was a picture of Veer and a woman. Tall, elegant, and stunningly confident. They stood close, smiling genuinely. Unlike any expression Anaya had seen on Veer’s face so far.

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(credits goes to the real owners of this picture)

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She didn’t need to ask who the woman was. Meera.

Anaya felt the air go still. So the rumors were true. Meera wasn’t just a name whispered by relatives at the wedding. She was real. She was unforgettable. And Veer had loved her.

Her heart tightened, but she placed the frame back exactly where she found it. It wasn’t jealousy that stung—it was the confirmation of what she had feared all along: she wasn’t his choice.

That night, Veer returned later than usual. He looked exhausted, but paused when he saw her sitting quietly on the balcony.

“You’re still up?” he asked.

She nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He hesitated, then stepped out beside her. The silence stretched between them again.

“Was she the one you wanted to marry?” Anaya asked, her voice calm.

Veer blinked, startled. “What?”

“Meera.”

He looked away. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does to me,” she said, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Because I’m not a contract. I’m a person. And I deserve to know if I’m living with a ghost.”

He didn’t answer.

She stood up slowly. “You don’t have to love me, Veer. But you can’t keep pretending I’m invisible.”

And with that, she walked back inside, leaving him alone with the weight of his silence—and the realization that perhaps, just perhaps, he had never really seen her until now.

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The following weeks passed like the ticking of a cold clock. Mornings were filled with silence, and nights ended with doors quietly closing between separate rooms. Veer and Anaya lived under the same roof like co-tenants—cordial, detached, and observably uncomfortable.

Anaya busied herself with household routines and tried exploring her new world. She signed up for online business management classes to distract her mind, knowing how much her father had admired Veer’s corporate acumen. She hoped that if Veer wouldn’t open up to her heart, perhaps he would, at the very least, see her as an equal in intellect.

Still, her heart ached in silence. She had married a man whose world didn’t seem to have space for her. There were nights she stood by the balcony, the wind brushing her cheeks, and wished he would call her by name—not out of duty, but desire.

One evening, while organizing the guestroom closet to store some of her books, she found an envelope tucked behind a stack of files. It was addressed to Veer, in Meera’s handwriting. The paper was slightly worn, as if it had been opened and reread many times. Anaya’s fingers trembled, but she didn’t read the contents. She placed it back exactly where it had been and closed the closet door, her throat tight.

Later that night, over dinner, she finally asked, “Why do you keep her letter?”

Veer froze. His spoon hovered mid-air before he set it down. “You went through my things?”

“I was organizing,” she said, voice even. “It was not intentional.”

He looked away. “That’s personal.”

“So am I,” she replied softly. “I live with a man who doesn’t speak to me, who avoids even looking at me. I’ve stayed respectful. But I’m not invisible.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Meera was a big part of my life. I didn’t just stop loving her because we got married.”

The words stung more than she expected, but Anaya nodded. “I’m not asking you to forget her. But you can’t hold onto her while pretending I don’t exist.”

He said nothing.

“I won’t compete with a memory, Veer,” she added, her voice breaking slightly. “I never asked for this marriage. But I accepted it. I hoped maybe you would too.”

She stood and walked away, leaving her untouched meal behind. That night, she slept on the balcony chaise lounge, staring up at the stars, silently asking the universe why hearts had to be so stubborn.

The next morning, Veer found her there, her arms curled around herself. A blanket had slipped halfway off. He quietly covered her again and paused for a moment, watching her features softened by sleep. Something shifted within him.

She wasn’t just a business deal. She wasn’t just his wife on paper. She was enduring him, and that realization twisted something in his chest.

Later that day, Veer came home earlier than usual. Anaya was preparing tea in the kitchen when he walked in. She looked surprised.

“You’re home early,” she said.

“I took the afternoon off.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Actually, I wanted to ask if you’d like to go out.”

She blinked. “Go out?”

“Yes. There’s a new art exhibit at the museum. Thought we could check it out together.”

Anaya smiled faintly. “That sounds... nice.”

They went that evening, walking slowly through the halls of vibrant canvases and sculptures. Veer listened as Anaya spoke about her favorite artists, her voice animated and full of quiet passion. For the first time, he noticed how expressive her eyes were, how they sparkled when she spoke of things she loved.

He found himself smiling genuinely beside her, and when their hands brushed accidentally, he didn’t pull away.

That night, he didn’t retreat to the guest room. He stayed on the balcony with her, sharing silence not as strangers—but as two people slowly peeling away their layers.

The glass had cracked. But through the fracture, something warm had begun to shine through.

And for the first time, hope stirred in both their hearts.

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