The Sound of airport announcement echoed faintly through the cold, tiled walls of the woman's washroom. Smiksha stood frozen, her back pressed against the sink, fists clenched, eyes filled with tears that refused to fall quietly.
She had just over Heard it.
" Her marriage is already fixed. We will announce it soon."
Her world didn't just pause --- it's cracked. A girl who only ever dreamed of melodies, microphones, and the magic of music....
Was now being caged in the name of marriage.
She looked into the mirror --- not at her face, but at her freedom.
And then she whispered to herself, " if no one will choose me...... I will choose myself."
And just like that, she wiped her tears,
Picked up her luggage....
....and walked out to board a flight that would change her destiny.
Smiksha had never flown alone before.
But today, she wasn't just escaping a city --- she was escaping a life written without her permission.
As the flight attendant guided her to her, she found herself placed beside a sharply dressed man with cold eyes and a steel wristwatch --- seat 14A.
She didn't care. Not about his presence,
Not about her destination.
She just placed her headphones on and leaned against the window, letting the playlist of her numb Chaos her chest.
Until the turbulence hit --- and so did the conversation.
" You always cry while running away from arranged marriages?" The stranger asked flatly, his voice calm but annoyingly curious.
Smiksha snapped her head towards him, stunned.
" Excuse me? "
He smirked. " You are a singer, aren't you?" I heard you humming in the washroom.
" You're talented..... But reckless."
Who does he think he is?
" Do you always judge strangers this fast, or is it just a talent?" She fired back adjusting her seatbelt tighter.
" No," he said, turning away, " just a habit when I see potential being wasted."
Smiksha clenched her jaw.
She didn't know whether to feel insulted or intrigued.
And that was her first meeting with Ali Burnwal --- the man who would unknowingly hold the key to her future.
" Welcome to Dragon corporation,"
The receptionist smiled, handing her a badge.
Smiksha adjusted her backpack, nerves twisting inside her like tangled wires.
Intership --- her first official step towards the dream she' d been protecting like a wounded bird.
The lobby was all glass, gold, and sharp edges.
Big screens played global hits released by the company.
She stood still, watching one of the videos
---
A girl age her, singing on a massive stage, crowd cheering.
One day, that will be me.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cold, familiar voice:
" You?"
She turned.
And there he was.
Ali Burnwal.
In three piece suit. Holding a coffee. Looking like he walked straight out of a Forbes magazine cover.
" You work here?" She blurted, comfused.
" I own this place," he said, not even looking at her properly.
Oh god.
" You're the.... president?" She asked, part shocked, part annoyed.
" I don't usually remember interns," he muttered, " But you.... are hard to forget."
Smiksha stood her ground " good. Because I don't plan on being forgotten."
A pause, a smirk. And Ali walked away.
But what Smiksha didn't know was ---
Someone else had been watching this conversation.
Isha, Ali's assistant.
And her eyes didn't just hold jealousy.
They held plans.
" She's trying to seduce the Boss."
" Typical.... Small- town girl, big dreams, cheap tricks."
The whispered spread faster than wildfire through the office.
And at the center of it stood Smiksha ---
Unaware, innocent, but slowly burning inside.
Isha standing near the copy machine
With a fake smile and a louder voice, let the latest lie slip.
" You know, I saw her texting boss at midnight.... Desperate much?"
Smiksha overhead it all.
And this time, she didn't cry. She frozen.
She knew what this was --- sabotage, someone was afraid of her rising.
Later that day, she entered the Studio to record her demo.
But instead of music, she found stares, silence, and awkwardness.
Ali entered behind her. The room went even colder.
" Can I speak to you?" He asked for her, tone unreadable .
She followed him to his office, her heart thumping like a drumline.
" You've been the talk of this company," he said, staring out the glass window.
" I know," she replied, voice calm but sharp.
" And it's not because of my music, is it?"
He turned to face her --- for once, no smirk, no sarcasm.
" Do you want to explain?" He asked.
" Why should I?" She shot back. " You didn't ask them for proof."
Silence.
And then he said something unexpected.
" You don't have to prove anything. I already it's a lie."
Smiksha's breath caught. "Then why didn't you say something earlier? "
" Because I wanted to see how long you'd fight before breaking."
She stared Him --- confused, furious, but somewhere.... Understood.
And that was the moment something shifted between them.
Not love. Not yet.
But respect.
The kind that only comes when two storms recognize each other.
After the drama, came silence.
And then.... Came the call.
" You are opening for the international artist next month." Ali announced in a meeting.
The whole room turned to smiksha.
Shock. envy. curiousity.
And Isha forced smile that could slice through steel.
" I haven't even released a full track." Smiksha whispered to Ali later.
" Exactly." He replied. " The time to show them what your voice is really made of."
For the next 30 days, Smiksha poured everything into her performance --- pain, pride, love, rebellion.
Her lyrics weren't just rhymes; they were scars with rhythm.
And the day arrived.
As She walked onstage, blinded by lights, frozen by fear, she looked into the crowd.... And saw him.
Her father.
Smiksha’s voice cracked as the music started.
The past came rushing back — the marriage she ran from, the cage of expectation, the look of shame on her family's face.
But she remembered something Ali had once said:
“Don’t sing to prove them wrong. Sing to remind yourself why you ran.”
And so she sang.
And the world listened.
Standing ovation. Viral headlines.
“The runaway girl with the voice of fire.”
But with success came danger.
That night, Smiksha was kidnapped by her own family — dragged into a black car, taken back to the place she had once escaped.
Ali searched for her for days.
When he finally found her… she was locked in her old room — stripped of her voice, her phone, her future.
“You think we didn’t know?” her father hissed. “That boy… Ali Burnwal… is the man we chose for you to marry.”
Silence.
Smiksha’s heart stopped.
Ali? Her arranged husband?
But she had already fallen in love with him — not through a name, but through his soul.
And so had he.
Ali stood at her door — blood on his knuckles, rain pouring, breath heavy.
“I didn’t come to rescue you,” he said, “I came to stand beside you.”
Smiksha walked past her father, past her past, and into Ali’s arms.
Months later, their wedding wasn’t royal, but revolutionary.
Not arranged — but chosen.
And her next world tour? Named after the song she had never dared to sing before:
“The Voice That Ran Away.”
But she didn’t run anymore.
She rose.
.....THE END.....
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