The Girl Who Ran Away (Short Story)

 

Title: The Girl Who Ran Away

The sound of shehnai, the shimmer of marigolds, and the heavy scent of roses filled the air. But amidst the festivities, Aditi’s heart pounded not with joy, but terror. Dressed in red and gold, she stood at the edge of the mandap, her eyes darting between the sacred fire and the door.

Aditya Rathore, the man she was to marry—a powerful business tycoon, calm, composed, and deeply in love with her—waited with a smile that could melt stone.

But Aditi ran.

No note. No goodbye.

Just a missing bride and a shattered groom.

Four Years Later

Aditi Sharma walked into Rathore Enterprises as the new senior project manager. She had changed—more confident, sharper, guarded. But nothing prepared her for the man standing at the head of the conference table.

Aditya Rathore.

He didn’t say a word. His eyes locked onto hers. His jaw clenched. He recognized her instantly.

But Aditi didn’t flinch. “Good morning, sir,” she said, pretending she didn’t know him.

The game began.

In the weeks that followed, Aditya made her life a maze. He gave her impossible deadlines. Switched teams. Pulled her into late-night meetings. Everyone saw it as tough love from the boss. But she knew better.

“You don’t recognize me, Miss Sharma?” he finally asked one evening, his voice cold.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“You ran from the mandap wearing a red lehenga and gold jhumkas,” he whispered. “I still remember the sound of your anklets as you fled.”

Her mask almost cracked.

Almost.

But revenge wasn’t sweet for Aditya. It turned bitter when he overheard a phone call late one night in the office.

Aditi was speaking to her doctor.

“Is the treatment working?” she asked. “I’ve been healthy for four years. Maybe… maybe I can try living again.”

His world spun.

Later that night, he opened her personnel file and found what he feared.

Leukemia. Diagnosed at 21. Disappeared two days before the wedding.

She hadn’t run from him.

She ran from death.

The next morning, Aditya called her to his cabin.

He poured two cups of coffee. No orders. No harsh words.

Just silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“For what?” she asked.

“For making you feel like you ever had to run from me.”

Her eyes shimmered, but she didn’t cry.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Aditya. Just… let me be.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. This time, I’m not letting you go.”

Some stories begin at the mandap.
Some only begin after we run away from it.

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