Soul Swap: Trapped Forever

A dreamless, heavy sleep cocooned Tripti in its embrace, the kind that made her limbs feel like lead and her mind drift into oblivion. That was, until a frantic voice shattered the peace.

A faint voice whispered her name, soft yet urgent, breaking through the layers of her deep slumber.

"Tripti… wake up! Please, get up quickly! We're in trouble. Everyone is waiting for you!"

The voice was filled with desperation, but Tripti barely stirred. A muffled groan escaped her lips as she turned onto her side, blindly pulling the thick blanket over her head. Whoever it was could wait. She was exhausted. The warmth of the quilt wrapped around her like a cocoon, lulling her back into the depths of sleep. And her sleep was far too precious to be interrupted.

But the voices didn't stop. More and more people were calling her name now, their tones anxious, almost pleading.

"Tripti, wake up!"

"Get up, please! This is serious!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Ugh! Just five more minutes!" she mumbled, curling deeper into the blanket, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge their urgency.

But her wish went unheard.

A sharp tug yanked the blanket away from her body, and before she could protest, something ice-cold splashed against her face.

"WHAT THE—?!" Tripti shot up with a gasp, her skin erupting in goosebumps. Water dripped down her forehead, soaking into her clothes as she sputtered, blinking furiously. Her irritation flared instantly, her sleep-deprived brain already forming the sharpest insults she could muster.

But the words died on her tongue.

A group of well-dressed strangers surrounded her, their faces a mix of concern, relief, and—was that fear?

A middle-aged woman with a regal air pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled in relief. "Oh, thank God! I was terrified!"

Tripti wiped her face, her confusion intensifying. "What the hell is going on?" Her voice was hoarse with sleep. "Who are you people? And—" She glanced around, her stomach twisting. "Where am I?"

The woman gasped, horror flashing across her face. "Oh no! She doesn't even recognize us!" She turned to the others in alarm. "Did that wretched girl drug her? Is this some side effect?"

A tall, well-built man beside the woman stepped forward, his brows furrowed. "Tripti… you really don't remember us?"

Tripti shook her head, panic slowly creeping in. "No! I don't know any of you!"

The woman clutched her hands tightly. "Sweetheart, I'm your mother, Manorama Sharma."

She gestured toward the man standing next to her. "And this is your father, Rahul Sharma."

Tripti's throat tightened.

The woman—Manorama—continued, pointing at the others one by one. Her voice trembled with worry as she pointed at the others. "That's your elder sister, Pooja Mehra, and her husband, Akash Mehra. And behind them… Akash's parents, Mamta Mehra and Akhilesh Mehra."

Tripti's heart stopped.

These names… this situation… this entire scene—she knew it all too well.

Because this was the exact opening scene of the novel she had been reading before falling asleep.

Her mind reeled, her heartbeat accelerating. What the hell is going on?!

Her gaze darted around the grand, ornately decorated room. The rich silk curtains, the extravagant chandelier overhead, the enormous antique mirror reflecting the concerned expressions of the people around her—everything was identical to how it had been described in the book.

But why was she here?

Was this a dream? A hallucination? Some kind of elaborate prank? Or… had she somehow been transported into the story which she read before bedtime.

Manorama studied her anxiously. "Tripti, beta, think carefully. Do you remember anything now?"

Tripti pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a dull, persistent ache. "I… I remember," she murmured. "But what exactly happened to me? My head hurts. And where's Manisha? Didn't she leave for the salon without me?"

Mamta hesitated before speaking. "No, sweetheart… she never went to the salon." She glanced at Rahul before looking back at Tripti with sorrow in her eyes. "I hate to say this, but… Manisha drugged you and ran away. She left behind a letter saying she's chasing her dreams and won't be coming back."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Tripti sat frozen, her mind spinning.

Word for word, this is exactly how the story played out.

And she knew what was coming next.

These people—her so-called 'family'—would guilt-trip her, emotionally manipulate her, and then, pressure her into taking Manisha's place in the wedding.

First, there would be emotional blackmail. Then, when that didn't work, pressure tactics. And finally, when she had no choice left, they would force her to marry Shashank—the man originally meant for Manisha.

Her breath came faster.

No, no, no! If she was really inside this story, then she knew how it ended.

The bride—meaning her—was murdered within days of the wedding.

A sharp chill crawled up her spine.

No! I refuse to die like this!

She needed to think—and fast.

She shot up from the bed. "Can I… use the washroom?" she asked suddenly, her voice shaky.

Manorama blinked. "What?"

Tripti swallowed hard. "I just… I need a moment. Please."

Manorama frowned but nodded. "Of course, beta."

Without waiting another second, Tripti rushed inside, locking the door behind her. She leaned against it, inhaling deeply to steady herself.

Her mind raced. Okay, okay. Let's think logically.

She pinched herself hard. "Ouch!"

Damn it. Not a dream.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the sink. If this was real—if she was truly trapped in the story—then she had to change the plot to survive.

"Tripti, you've read this novel," she whispered to herself. "You know what happens next."

Her brain scrambled for a solution. She needed someone powerful. Someone who could protect her from this twisted fate.

Then, suddenly, a name echoed in her mind.

Servagya.

Her heart pounded.

The novel's mysterious, dangerously intelligent, and irresistible male lead.

If she was here, then he had to be here too.

And if she had any chance of making it out of this alive, she needed to make damn sure she ended up married to him instead.

Straightening, she wiped her hands over her face and forced a calm expression.

It was time to take control of the narrative.

Steeling herself, she stepped out of the washroom, pasting an innocent, wide-eyed look onto her face.

"You're all standing here… but shouldn't we be looking for Manisha?" she asked sweetly.

Rahul exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "Actually, we need to talk to you first. Please listen carefully and don't argue."

Tripti tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Rahul hesitated, exchanging a glance with the others. Then, his voice turned grave.

"This is about our family's reputation. Manisha was supposed to marry Shashank, but now she's gone. His family is demanding that the wedding continue today—no matter what." He sighed. "We need a replacement for the bride."

Tripti Arched a brow. "Let me guess—you want me to be that replacement?"

Pooja grabbed her hands. "Please, Tripti. Don't say no. Only two hours are left before the wedding. The guests are already here, and the media is covering this event. Our family's honor is at stake!"

Tripti Crossed her arms. "So let me get this straight. Just because Manisha ran away, I'm expected to take her place?"

Akhilesh stepped forward, his voice pleading. "Please, child. I beg you. If you refuse, we will be ruined!"

Tripti Sighed dramatically. "Uncle, you're making me feel guilty! But let's be honest—there must be a reason why Manisha ran away. Maybe she saw something in Shashank that scared her?"

Manorama frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

Tripti smiled. "I'm saying… let's switch the groom as well!"

A stunned silence filled the room.

Rahul blinked. "What do you mean? Shashank is right here. How can we replace him?"

Before Tripti could answer, Akash smirked. "Actually… I have an idea."

Rahul turned to him. "What kind of idea?"

Akash leaned forward. "Servagya Agnihotri. He's Shashank's stepbrother and a respected member of the Agnihotri family. He just returned from abroad and is here at the wedding. If we can convince his family to agree… we can swap the groom."

Mamta looked doubtful. "Will they accept this proposal?"

As the family began to discuss the logistics of this radical change, the atmosphere shifted from despair to cautious optimism. Akash, with a renewed sense of purpose, told everybody

"I will contact Servagya immediately. I'm confident he will understand the gravity of the situation—and the opportunity it presents."

Akhilesh nodded. "Fine. While we arrange the wedding attire, we'll speak to Shashank's father. Hopefully, Servagya will say yes."

Tripti smiled to herself. Oh, he will. He has to.

Her mind flashed back to the pages of the book she had read—a tale of doomed love and tragic endings. But now, with the power to alter every line of that narrative, Tripti vowed to create a different path. A path where she wouldn't be sacrificed for the sake of appearances or family honor, but where she would claim her own happiness and rewrite the course of her life.

"I will make this wedding my own." She whispered to herself, the determination clear in every syllable. "I will rewrite this story so that it ends with love, not tragedy."

This time, she would rewrite their story—and make damn sure it ended her way.