The kohl around Yasmine’s eyes felt heavy, mirroring the weight in her heart. The soiree at Begum Mehr’s kotha had been a whirlwind of veiled barbs and stolen glances. The wealthy Sethji, rumored to have connections that reached the Viceroy himself, had taken a particular interest in Yasmine. His gaze lingered a beat too long, his touch lingered a fraction more.
Back in her own haveli, the music of the sitar felt mocking. Her confidante, Roshni, sensed the turmoil. “What troubles you, Yasmine?”
Yasmine confided in Roshni about Sethji’s advances. A shiver ran down Roshni’s spine. “Begum Mehr wouldn’t send you to him unless there’s a reason. Perhaps information he possesses?”
The next morning, Begum Mehr summoned Yasmine. The air crackled with tension. “Sethji desires a private performance,” the Begum announced, her voice laced with something akin to fear. “Refusal is not an option.”
Yasmine swallowed her apprehension. This wasn’t about a mere performance. It was a test. But of what?
At Sethji’s haveli, opulence choked the air. As he poured her wine, Yasmine noticed a tremor in his hand. He was nervous.
“You remind me of someone,” he slurred, his eyes bloodshot.
Suddenly, a flicker of recognition ignited in Yasmine’s mind. The scar on Sethji’s wrist – a mirror image of the one hidden beneath her dupatta. It was the mark of the rebellion, a secret she had buried deep.
“Who are you?” she breathed, a tremor in her voice.
Sethji chuckled, a harsh, joyless sound. “A ghost of the past, like you. We both carry the scars of that failed uprising.”
The revelation shattered the illusion. Sethji wasn’t a predator, but a fellow survivor. He sought solace, a connection with someone who understood the weight of their shared history.
Yasmine chose a different path that night. Instead of a seductive dance, she sang a mournful ballad, a lament for lost dreams and broken promises. It was a song of their shared past, a raw and intimate connection that transcended wealth and desire. For More Update Please Check APNE TV