Hone Laga Tumse Pyar!💞💞🌟🌟 ✓

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A young girl, around 13 years old, stood in the dimly lit kitchen, her tear-streaked face reflecting a mix of fear and desperation. 

Her mother, a stern woman with a permanent scowl, stood before her, gripping a pair of scissors tightly. 

The girl's long, dark hair fell in messy waves down her back, and she clutched a handful of it protectively.

"Mumma, please..." she sobbed, her voice trembling. "Please don't cut my hair..."

Her mother's eyes blazed with anger as she grabbed a fistful of the girl's hair, pulling her closer. 

"You little brat," she hissed. "I had to leave my important work because of you. Just because you wanted me to braid your hair like some pampered child."

The girl winced, her tears falling faster. "I just wanted to look nice, Mumma, like the other girls..."

Her mother scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Nonsense. Today, I'll cut your hair so you'll learn your lesson." With a swift, brutal motion, she began hacking away at the girl's hair, ignoring her cries and pleas.

"Mumma, no! Please, Mumma, please!" The girl's sobs filled the room, but her mother showed no mercy, her face set in grim determination.

The last strands of the girl's hair fell to the floor in uneven, jagged pieces. 

The mother stepped back, examining her work with a cold, satisfied smile. 

The girl, her hair now a choppy mess, crumpled to the floor, her sobs echoing in the kitchen.

Then, with a sudden, sharp movement, the mother slapped the girl across the face. 

The sting of the slap was sharp, and the girl's hand flew to her cheek, more out of shock than pain. Her eyes widened in disbelief and hurt.

"Don't call me Mumma," her mother spat. "I feel irritated hearing that word from your mouth." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving her daughter alone in the kitchen, crying on the cold, tiled floor.

The girl sat there for a long time, her small body shaking with sobs. 

She reached up to touch her uneven hair, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. 

The pain in her cheek throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the empty room.

.

.

.

.

Trishna jolted awake, her heart pounding and her breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps. 

She sat up in bed, her body drenched in sweat, and tried to shake off the remnants of yet another nightmare. 

The painful memories were like stubborn shadows that refused to be banished, no matter how hard she tried.

Across the room, Aryan woke up at the sound of her sudden cry. 

He quickly got off the couch, his heart clenching at the sight of her distress. 

Without a second thought, he rushed to her side and enveloped her in his arms, rubbing her back gently to calm her racing heart.

Trishna was momentarily stunned by his sudden embrace, but the warmth and comfort she felt in his arms were undeniable. 

Despite her refusal to consider him as her husband, the word "husband" carried a strange, foreign weight and sent tingling sensations through her.