Sriya's pov

The stage lights still burned in my vision, a dizzying ghost of my performance. I could feel the polite applause of the crowd, but one image was seared into my mind: the Desai family. They were a tableau of intense focus, their collective gaze pinned on me. And in the center of them all, Aryan Desai, a VIP guest, watched with an unnerving stillness. His gaze was singular, relentless, and it followed every fluid twist of my performance, every graceful turn. It wasn't the kind of appreciative look one gives a performer, but something far deeper, far more penetrating. It was unnerving.

After my performance, I rushed off the stage, the heavy silk of my dress feeling like a cage. The polite smiles I offered were a mask, a desperate attempt to hide the flush creeping up my neck. I couldn't bear to meet his eyes, couldn't fathom what that look meant. The intensity of it had sent a shiver down my spine, a feeling of unease and vulnerability I hadn't felt in years. I had long mastered the art of being invisible, of fading into the background, but his eyes had found me, stripped away my shield, and left me exposed.

My dance had left my dress slightly askew, a consequence of the vigorous twirling. The prospect of having to fix it gave me a purpose, a distraction from the unnerving feeling swirling inside me. I hurried toward the washroom, the noise of the party fading behind me, the cold tiles of the corridor a welcome relief.

A few minutes later, as I emerged from the washroom, the relief was short-lived. A group of men loitered in the corridor, their eyes fixed on me, a predatory hunger in their stares. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. This was a different kind of gaze, ugly and unwelcome. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird. I tried to walk faster, to slip past them, but they moved with a synchronized menace, forming a tight circle around me. A dirty smirk twisted one man's lips, and my blood ran cold.

"Hey, where are you going, girl, without having a talk with us, hmm?" he sneered, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist.

I flinched, my every instinct screaming in protest. His grip was a vice, his fingers digging into my skin. I struggled, twisting my wrist, but his strength was overwhelming.

"Don't try so hard, little girl," he said, and the others laughed, a coarse, ugly sound that seemed to echo in the hollow space of the corridor. The laughter felt like a physical blow, a confirmation of my worst fears.

"L-l-l-leave… m-me," I stammered, my voice a broken whisper, a betrayal of my own terror. My speech disorder, an old enemy, chose this moment to rise up and choke my words. I could barely form a coherent sentence, and the thugs' faces contorted with mocking amusement.

They began dragging me toward an empty room. I thrashed and fought, my feet scraping against the floor, but it was useless. I screamed for help, a desperate, guttural cry swallowed by the loud music playing from the hall. My pleas were lost, and a cold wave of despair washed over me.

Inside the empty room, their misbehavior escalated. One of them grabbed the edge of my saree, his grip rough and possessive, attempting to tear the delicate fabric. My hands flew to protect myself, to snatch my saree back, but their superior strength was undeniable.

"Why waste time, guys? Let's taste her. She is beautiful," one of them said, reaching for me. His words were a knife, and the horror of the situation crashed down on me. My screams were relentless, but still broken by my fear-fueled stammer. "Hey, make her quiet, or someone will come because of her shouting," another one said. A hand clamped over my mouth, suffocating my desperate cries.

I was pinned against the wall, my hands held in a brutal grip, tears streaming down my face. My entire body trembled with fear and revulsion. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for a miracle, for someone, anyone, to come.

Author's pov

On the other side of the venue, away from the concealed terror in the back corridors, Aryan was still a world away, lost in the memory of Sriya's dance. The music had ended, the lights had dimmed, but her image remained, a vivid, lingering painting in his mind. He was so captivated that he missed her hurried exit, missed the way she had fled the stage.

"I want to marry her," he said suddenly, the words leaving his lips before he had fully processed them.

Jatin, his brother, sat beside him in stunned silence. He blinked, shook his head, and then slapped his own cheek, as if to wake himself from a dream. "Bro, are you for real?" he asked, a mixture of shock and amusement on his face.

Siya, their sister, grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'm proud of you!" Supriya, their mother, said with a beam of delight. "Now tell me, when are we going to meet her parents?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

Aryan's eyes were still fixed on the place where Sriya had disappeared. "Tomorrow," he replied, his voice firm and unwavering. After a pause, he repeated himself, "We are going tomorrow, and soon, I am going to marry her."

The Desai family erupted in a chorus of joyous congratulations. Jatin settled back in his seat, his shock replaced by a playful smirk. He caught Siya's eye and messaged her something on his phone. A mischievous glint appeared in Siya's eyes as she stood up.

"I'm going to have a little talk with my soon-to-be bhabhi," she announced, her voice filled with glee.

Everyone's heads snapped in her direction. Before Aryan could object, she was gone, her footsteps echoing her excitement. Jatin quickly followed, his smile hinting at a playful conspiracy. Supriya, seeing them go, stood up as well. "I'm going with them," she declared, her maternal instincts kicking in.

Aryan glanced at his uncle, Akhil, who simply shrugged his shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the family's impulsive nature. While Aryan closed his eyes, a feeling of unease settling over him. He knew his family. They were over-excited, over-enthusiastic, and prone to causing chaos.

He offered a silent prayer, a hope that his well-intentioned but chaotic family wouldn't cause too much trouble for Sriya. He had no idea just how much trouble she was already in.

Author's pov

Jatin and Siya's initial excitement to see Sriya had soured into a cold dread. They strode down the corridor where they had last seen her, Supriya trailing behind them, her face a mask of worry. "Where could she have gone?" Supriya murmured, her voice barely a whisper. The vibrant hum of the building seemed to have faded, replaced by an unsettling silence.

They scoured the empty hallway, but there was no trace of Sriya. A chilling wave of panic washed over Supriya. "Jatin, Siya, are you two absolutely certain those girls told you Sriya went to the bathroom?" Her voice trembled as she spoke, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. A primal, gut-wrenching feeling told her something was terribly wrong.

"Yes, Maa, they said they saw her heading for the bathroom," Siya replied, her gaze darting frantically around the deserted hall. "I checked inside, but she wasn't there."

Jatin, his expression grim, spoke with a decisive tone. "Choti Maa, I'll go check if she went home. I'll be back." Without another word, he sprinted away, leaving Supriya and Siya alone with their growing fear.

As they continued their fruitless search, Siya's phone buzzed. "Mamma, Jatin messaged. She didn't leave." Her voice was laced with a new urgency. "I'm going to tell Aryan bhai. Something is seriously wrong."

Supriya nodded, her mind a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities. "Go. I'll keep searching. Maybe we just missed a spot."

But as Siya disappeared, the silence of the corridor felt heavier, more oppressive. Supriya wandered down an unfamiliar, empty hallway. The silence was absolute until a faint sound—a muffled thud—made her freeze. She scanned her surroundings, but saw nothing. "It must be my imagination," she whispered to herself. Just as she was about to leave, another sound, a faint, muffled cry for help, cut through the quiet. Her heart pounded in her chest. She quickly messaged Aryan about the noise and her location, her eyes fixed on a closed classroom door at the end of the corridor.

With each measured step, Supriya's breath hitched, not in fear, but in a tight, coiled anticipation. The hushed, scuffling noises seeping through the flimsy door were no longer a phantom menace, but a concrete certainty. She's in there, her mind screamed, even as she forced her body to move with a deceptive calm. She pressed her ear to the cold, splintering wood, the low murmurs on the other side confirming her worst fears. The hushed noise wasn't a conversation, but a struggle. It was the sound of something being stifled, of freedom being stolen.

A raw, furious instinct took over, and Supriya's blood turned to fire in her veins. She threw her weight against the door, the flimsy latch shattering with a sharp crack. The scene before her was a tableau of violation: a half-dozen boys swarming around Sriya, one hand clamped over her mouth, others pinning her limbs.

For a moment, the world narrowed to a tunnel of pure, incandescent rage. Supriya's voice ripped through the air, a predatory snarl that promised swift and brutal retribution. " Leave her ...she commanded and then spoke, "What the hell are you doing? Leave her alone or you won't see tomorrow's sunrise!"

She lunged forward, a blur of motion fueled by fury, desperate to reach Sriya. But the boys were quicker. The pack, now startled but not intimidated, turned its full attention to her. A pair of them peeled away from Sriya, their faces contorted into ugly smirks. Before she could react, strong hands clamped down on her arms, twisting them behind her back. The cold, hard reality of the situation slapped her in the face. She had come here as a rescuer, but in a single, brutal moment, she had become another captive.

A voice, rough and venomous, sliced through the air. "This old bitch will order us," the young boy spat, his eyes dark with a casual cruelty that made the scene instantly feel feral.

Supriya’s face, usually composed, twisted with fury. Her gaze, sharp and honed by years of authority, glared at them—a final, desperate attempt to impose order on chaos. "Do you even know who I am?" she demanded, her chest heaving with effort and rage. Her internal terror for the girl beside her fueled the bluster. They must fear my son. They must. "If my son got to know, he will remove your existence from the world."

She struggled, twisting and pulling, her movements jerky and frantic, consumed by a fierce need to break free. But one of them was instantly upon her. He twisted her hand until a sharp, blinding pain shot up her arm and then, cruelly, he held her hair harshly. The sharp pull on her scalp made her gasp.

A sickening grin spread across his face, mocking her pain and her status. "Ohhh, so this old woman will tell us what to do or what not to too..." he drawled. She thinks her little threats still matter? he thought, amused.

He laughed, but another boy’s voice, colder and more tactical, interrupted the moment of sadism. "Hey, tie this lady and make her shut up," he commanded. "If someone hears her, there will be a problem. And lock that door from inside." The immediate threat of the outside world took precedence over their sport.

Supriya was roughly bound to a chair, her defiance silenced by a stifling rag stuffed into her mouth. She could only watch, her eyes wide with helpless, escalating horror.

The leader’s voice, thick with anticipation, cut through the quiet. "Let's enjoy our time, guys."

Two sets of predatory eyes fixed on Sriya.

Sriya’s body locked up. A profound, icy shiver of fear racked her frame, the sensation a physical violation. No. This isn't happening. This can't be real. Tears—hot, immediate, and utterly useless—started to fall. She shook her head in a frantic, silent denial, her eyes wide and wet, pleading with them. Stop. Please. Don't touch me.

But those boys were cruel—blinded by their own malicious intent, they were incapable of seeing the profound terror in her eyes. With Supriya bound, the two stepped closer.

One reached out and pulled Sriya's saree pallu. She wiggled, thrashing her body in a desperate, animalistic struggle to break free, but the strength difference was immense. Her efforts were devastatingly in vain. She felt the small snap as her blouse pin broke, and the protective, heavy cloth of the pallu fell away. A piercing scream welled up, but it was instantly muffled by the crushing hand of one of her captors. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of her defeat.

On the other side...

Author's pov

Aryan was mid-sentence when the sight of Siya brought him upright. She burst into the room, her face white, her eyes wide and rimmed with panic. Siya? What is she doing here? His mind instantly raced, connecting the dots: she had gone to meet Sriya. Her panicked state was a chilling answer to the unasked question.

"Wait here, all of you," he instructed his grandfather, grandmother, and uncle, his voice crisp despite the alarm bells ringing in his head. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Siddharth was already moving, his expression grim. Without a word, he fell into step beside Aryan. Siya told about the situation soon they headed straight for the corridor where Sriya had last been seen.between their quick action Suddenly, a flurry of movement heralded the arrival of Jatin. He came tearing around the corner, his chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath.

"Bhai," Jatin gasped, clutching his side. "I asked the security guard. He told me that no one went out through the main gate, but... he did see some boys entering the college through the back door. They told him they were students but..."

Jatin’s voice cracked with urgency. "Bhai, there's something wrong. We should hurry up finding Bhabhi. I've already told all our guards to search the whole college, now."

Hearing the words "no one went out" juxtaposed with "boys entering through the back door," a cold, hard knot of certainty tightened in Aryan's stomach. He didn't need to hear more. A sharp, primal sense of danger flooded his system, cutting through the confusion. They didn't leave. They're still here. They took her.

He wheeled around, his calm demeanor evaporating, replaced by a fierce drive. "Search! Now! Every inch of this corridor!" he commanded, pointing decisively.

They scattered instantly, the urgency in his voice propelling them into motion. Aryan himself was about to join the desperate hunt when his iPhone buzzed with a sudden, sharp vibration. A clue? A witness? Hope, desperate and fragile, flared inside him. He pulled the sleek device from his pocket, his heart hammering against his ribs, only to find a message.

It was from his Choti Ma (a term for his aunt), and as he read the brief text, the blood drained from his face, confirming his worst fears about the situation. The search had just turned into a rescue.

Aryan 's pov

The message on my phone was a cold shock of information, an anchor dropped into the swirling panic. It gave me a location: precise, terrifying, and immediate. I didn't waste a second on disbelief or analysis. I shoved my phone into my pocket and simply ran. Every other concern—my family, the guards, the rules of the college—vanished.

His sole reality was the distance between himself and that door.

His long strides ate up the corridor, fueled by a primal, protective rage that felt electric beneath his skin. If they have touched her... if they have laid a hand on them... The thought was a burning fuse.

When he reached the designated room, the weak sound of a shouting voice—muffled but unmistakable—hit his ears, snapping the last thread of his control. He didn't bother with the handle. With a ferocious snarl, he braced himself, drawing on every ounce of adrenaline-fueled strength, and delivered a strong, shattering push to the door. The ancient wood cracked and splintered around the lock with a resounding CRACK, giving way entirely as it was hurled inward, slamming against the far wall.

He burst into the room.

The sight that greeted him froze his heart in a vice of pure, sickening despair. It was the worst sight a man could ever witness: his loved ones, violated and helpless. Supriya tied and gagged, her eyes begging. Sriya, terrified, defenseless, shrinking from the shadows of those monstrous boys.

For a split second, the world narrowed to a tunnel of blinding, red-hot fury. There was no thought, only instinct. He didn't negotiate, he didn't warn. He moved.

With a roar that was more animal than man, he launched himself forward. The first boy, startled by the sudden violence, received a blow—a hard, bone-jarring punch—that sent him reeling backward into a wall with a grunt of pain. The second, still too close to Sriya, barely had time to turn before My fist connected harshly with his jaw. The force of the impact was absolute; the boy crumpled instantly.

"You will regret this day".

Aryan stood over them, his chest heaving, his entire being a conduit for raw, unleashed vengeance. The air crackled with the violence he had just delivered, but his attention was already fixed on the victims, his heart breaking for Sriya's fear.

The door splintered inward, a thunderous crack that echoed through the quiet corridor. Aryan's world narrowed to a single point of raw, unbridled fury. He saw Siya and Sidharth burst in beside him, but his eyes were locked on the scene of horror unfolding before him. The classroom, a place meant for learning, had become a chamber of cruelty.

Sriya, his Sriya, was on the floor, her sari pallu torn away, her body shaking with a terror that clawed at his soul.The door splintered inwards with a deafening crack, a sound that tore through the tense silence and ripped through the building. For Aryan, the world narrowed to a single, searing point of rage.

His gaze flickered to Supriya, tied to a chair, a cloth stuffed in her mouth. The sight of his mother, helpless and violated, was a final spark that ignited the inferno within him. The six boys, with their leering smiles and cruel hands, suddenly looked like prey.

"You," Aryan's voice was a low growl, barely a whisper, yet it was more terrifying than any scream. He felt the animalistic part of himself take over, his fists clenching into stones. He saw the boys freeze, their smirks replaced by shock and then fear. The two closest to Sriya recoiled, their hands still in the air.

He moved first, a blur of motion. His focus was singular: get to Sriya and make sure these monsters never touched her again. He didn't think; he reacted. The first boy fell with a single, brutal punch that sent him crashing into a desk. The second, a second later. The sound of his knuckles hitting bone was a twisted form of satisfaction. Siya and Sidharth were a whirlwind of their own, taking on the others. Soon jatin also joined the scene, they all started to beat the boys with strong punches and kicks.

Aryan ignored their fight. He reached Sriya, pulling her close and wrapping his own jacket around her. "It's okay, I'm here," he whispered, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back his rage. "No one is going to touch you again." He held her tight, feeling her tremble against him, the relief in her sobs a painful balm. The world outside his embrace was a chaotic symphony of shouts and impacts, but all that mattered was the girl he held, and the promise he made to himself right then, that the boys who dared to harm her would pay dearly for this sunrise.

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Hey 😌 👋🏻

If like this chapter then tell me

Well in this scene there in offence for the reader actually our main lead rescue Sriya, and those what happened to them you'll get know in next chapter so till then , wait and stick to the novel .

Also i didn't wants to write any molestation troupe at first but then i thought to make clear and good image of Aryan and his family , infront of sriya , so that's why I add this scene in the novel .

Bye bye

Your lovely author 😍 🥰