Our Love was a Lie

The rain didn’t care that it was ruining a ₹40 lakh wedding reception.

Aanya Mehra stood under the crystal chandelier of the Oberoi banquet hall, champagne in hand, watching distant relatives pretend they knew her. She’d perfected this looking present while being a thousand miles away inside her own head.

“Smile, beta. People are watching.”

Her mother’s voice. Soft. Practiced. A command dressed as concern.

Aanya’s lips curved. Not a smile. Just muscle memory.

“Better,” her mother whispered, gliding away in silk and diamonds.

Aanya took another sip. The champagne was expensive. Everything here was. The flowers. The guests. The laughter. All of it bought, arranged, and displayed like pieces in a showroom.

She used to love weddings.

Used to cry at the vows, dance until her feet hurt, believe in forever.

That girl was dead.

“Aanya Mehta, is that you?” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn.

Because she knew that voice.

Five years of silence, and her body still recognized it before her brain could catch up. Her fingers tightened around the glass. Her heartbeat spiked. Then dropped.

She took a slow breath. Let the coldness settle back into her bones like old armor.

Then, and only then, did she turn.

Vihaan Singhania stood three feet away.

Older. Taller than she remembered, though that didn’t make sense people didn’t grow after twenty-five. Sharper jawline. Expensive suit that fit him like it was stitched onto his skin. Same dark eyes.

But no smile. The boy who used to grin like life was a private joke only he understood gone.

In his place stood a man who looked like he’d forgotten how.

“Vihaan,” she said. Flat. Like his name meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.

“You look... different,” he said quietly.

“People change.” Her voice could’ve frosted glass. “Especially when someone teaches them how cruel the world really is.”

Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe. Regret.

She didn’t care. Couldn’t afford to. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said.

A laugh escaped her sharp, humorless. “Funny. This is my cousin’s wedding. Where exactly did you think I’d be?”

His jaw tightened. “I meant ”

“I know what you meant.” She cut him off smoothly, years of dealing with boardrooms and hostile takeovers making her words surgical. “You were hoping to avoid me. Unfortunately for both of us, Mumbai’s elite circle is suffocatingly small.”

“Aanya”

“Don’t.” The word came out like a whip crack. “You lost the right to say my name the day you walked away like I was nothing.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

A waiter passed by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. The music shifted to something slower, romantic. Someone laughed too loudly near the bar.

Normal sounds. A normal night. Except nothing about this was normal.

“I should go,” Vihaan said finally, his voice rough. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have”

“Vihaan! There you are!” They both turned.

A woman in a stunning red saree glided toward them, all grace and expensive perfume. She was beautiful the kind of beautiful that came from good genes and better stylists. Mid-twenties, delicate features, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She slipped her arm through Vihaan’s with the casual intimacy of someone who’d done it a thousand times before.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, then noticed Aanya. “Oh, hello! I’m Kiara. Kiara Kapoor.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand. “And you are?”

Aanya’s brain short-circuited.

She stared at the woman’s hand. At her arm looped through Vihaan’s. At the diamond ring glinting on her finger not an engagement ring, but close enough to signaltaken.

“Aanya,” she heard herself say. “Aanya Mehra.”

Recognition flashed across Kiara’s face. “Mehra? As in Mehra Industries?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Our families will be working closely together soon. The merger, you know.” Kiara’s smile widened. “Vihaan’s been handling most of the details from our side. Haven’t you, darling?”

Darling. The word hit Aanya like a physical blow.

She looked at Vihaan. He was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read panic, maybe? Guilt?

“Merger?” Aanya’s voice came out steadier than she felt.

“The Singhania-Mehra collaboration,” Kiara explained, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “Our companies are partnering for that new tech hub development in Bangalore. It’s been in the works for months. Didn’t your father tell you?"

No, he hadn’t.

Because Aanya had spent the last three years deliberately distancing herself from the family business, focusing instead on her own tech startup. She attended obligatory events, smiled for photos, but the day-to-day operations? She’d left that to her father and older brother.

A mistake, apparently.

“Must have slipped his mind,” Aanya said smoothly. “You know how it is. So many deals, so little time.”

“Well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of us soon,” Kiara said brightly. “Vihaan and I are moving back to Mumbai permanently next month. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Thrilling,” Aanya said flatly.

An awkward silence descended.

Kiara looked between them, finally sensing something off. “Do you two... know each other?”

“We went to the same college,” Vihaan said before Aanya could respond. His voice was carefully neutral. “A long time ago.”

As if five years could erase what they’d been. What they’d had.

As if he could reduce her to a footnote in his history.

“How nice!” Kiara squeezed his arm. “Small world.”

“The smallest,” Aanya agreed. She set her champagne glass down on a nearby table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my mother. Lovely meeting you, Kiara.”

“You too! We should have lunch sometime. Girl talk, you know?”

“Absolutely.” Aanya’s smile was pure poison wrapped in politeness. “I’ll have my assistant call yours.”

She walked away without looking at Vihaan.

Not because she didn’t want to.

But because she was afraid of what he’d see in her eyes if she did.

The ladies’ room was empty, thank god.

Aanya locked herself in a stall and pressed her forehead against the cool metal door.

Breathe. Just breathe.

He’s moved on. Of course he’s moved on. Five years is a long time. You moved on too. You’re fine. You’re

The door to the bathroom opened.

“I know you’re in here.” Aanya’s eyes snapped open.

That voice didn’t belong to her mother. Or her cousin. Or any of the aunties who’d been circling her all night with questions about marriage and grandchildren.

She unlocked the stall and stepped out.

A woman stood by the sinks. Late fifties, elegant in a navy blue Anarkali, diamonds at her throat and wrists. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate bun, and her eyes sharp, calculating were fixed on Aanya.

Mrs. Singhania. Vihaan’s mother.

“Mrs. Singhania,” Aanya said carefully. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I arrived late. Traffic.” She studied Aanya like a scientist examining a specimen under a microscope. “You’ve changed.”

“People do.” “Yes. Though not always for the better.” Mrs. Singhania moved closer. “I saw you talking to my son.”

“Briefly.”

“And his fiancée.” The word landed like a grenade.

Fiancée. Not girlfriend. Not partner.

Fiancée.

“How lovely for them,” Aanya said, proud that her voice didn’t shake.

“Is it?” Mrs. Singhania tilted her head. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Should I be? It’s been five years. People move on. Get engaged. Live their lives.” Aanya met the older woman’s gaze steadily. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“When you were younger, you wore every emotion on your face. Joy. Sadness. Love.” Mrs. Singhania’s expression softened, just slightly. “That girl would have cried just now. Screamed, maybe. Thrown something. But this version of you?” She gestured at Aanya. “This cold, controlled mask? It’s impressive. And heartbreaking.”

Aanya’s throat tightened. “What do you want, Mrs. Singhania?”

“To give you some advice.”

“I didn’t ask for any.”

“No. But you need it anyway.” The older woman moved to the mirror, adjusting an earring. “My son made choices five years ago. Choices that hurt you both. And now he’s making different choices. Ones that involve a future with someone else.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you also aware that the merger between our families means you’ll be working together? Closely. For at least the next year.”

Aanya’s stomach dropped.

No.

No, that couldn’t be

“Your brother requested you specifically,” Mrs. Singhania continued. “Said something about your expertise in software development being crucial for the tech hub project. Vihaan will be the lead architect. You’ll be the tech consultant.”

This was a nightmare.

“I’ll decline,” Aanya said immediately.

“Will you?” Mrs. Singhania raised an eyebrow. “And tell your family why? Explain that you can’t work with Vihaan because you used to date him? That seeing him with his fiancée is too painful?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

“No. But walking away will make them ask questions. And you’ve spent five years building this image the strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone. Breaking that image now, over a man?” She shook her head. “People will talk. They always do.”

Aanya’s hands clenched into fists.

She was trapped.

“This is cruel,” she whispered.

“This is business,” Mrs. Singhania corrected. “And life. Sometimes they’re the same thing.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “For what it’s worth, I always liked you. Thought you were good for him. But that was a long time ago. Now?” She gave Aanya one last, searching look. “Now I think you’re better off without him. I hope you believe that too.”

Then she was gone.

Aanya stared at her reflection in the mirror.

The woman staring back was a stranger. Perfectly styled hair. Flawless makeup. Designer dress. Cold eyes.

When had she become this person?

She knew the answer.

Five years ago. In a hospital parking lot. Watching the boy she loved drive away.

She’d died that day.

And this frozen, controlled, untouchable version was what had crawled out of the ashes.

Her phone buzzed.

A text from her brother:Dad wants to see you. His office. Tomorrow 10 AM. Important.

She knew what that meant.

The merger. The project. Vihaan.

There was no escape.

Aanya took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and walked back out into the reception.

The music was still playing. People were still dancing. The world kept turning, oblivious to the fact that hers had just shattered all over again.

Across the room, she caught Vihaan’s eye.

He looked like he wanted to say something. Do something.

But Kiara was there, laughing at something a guest said, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

And Aanya realized something.

The worst part about seeing him again wasn’t the pain.

It was the fact that despite everything despite the years, the anger, the walls she’d built

Some traitorous part of her heart still recognized him as home.