🦋AUTHOR'S POV🦋

The palace glittered in golden lights, every corner drenched in laughter and music. After all, it was no ordinary wedding-this was the union of King of Rajasthan, Veer Pratap, and business tycoon Vikram Rathore's daughter, Shanaya. A wedding fit for royalty, yet hidden from the world-private, guarded, and grand. The bride's name was still a secret outside these walls, but inside, celebrations roared with unmatched glory.

In one courtyard, Shanaya's haldi was in full swing. Relatives and friends smeared the golden turmeric across her glowing skin, her laughter echoing through the palace like a melody. Joy, blessings, and festivities surrounded her.

But not everyone shared that joy.

Behind the silence of an upstairs window, a girl sat alone in a dimly lit room. Her eyes followed the celebration below, though her heart refused to join in. Her hands clenched the cold window frame as she watched her sister Shanaya's happiness, the sound of drums piercing through her loneliness.

Her stepmother's harsh words rang in her ears:

"Stay in your room. Don't step out unless I call you. You don't belong in these celebrations."

She wasn't new to such cruelty. Life had always been unkind to her. Forgotten in her own home, she had learned to hide her pain behind silence. But tonight, watching the family rejoice without her, the ache felt sharper. The glow of the haldi below only deepened the shadows around her.

Meanwhile, down the hall, venom brewed in hidden corners.

Veer's aunt, Roshini, stood with a stiff smile, her sharp eyes locked on Shanaya. Beside her, her daughter Kritika simmered in barely-contained rage. Roshini had long dreamt of Veer marrying Kritika, a union that would bring them power, wealth, and the throne's influence. But all her efforts had been shattered the moment Vikram Rathore proposed this marriage.

Kritika's jealousy boiled over. She whispered bitterly to her mother, her voice trembling with anger:
"Maa, you promised me Veer was mine-only mine! Then why is this marriage happening? Look at her! That useless girl, smiling in my place, wearing my happiness."

Roshini's jaw tightened, her irritation clear. She leaned closer, her tone laced with poison:
"Kriti, I gave you my word-and I will keep it. Veer will marry you. I will make sure of it."

Kritika's eyes filled with tears of frustration.
"But how, Maa? In just a few hours, he will be tied to her forever. Once he marries her, how will I live? How will I survive watching him belong to someone else?"

Roshini smirked, her voice lowering into a calculated whisper:
"They are not married yet, my child. And what if... the bride herself runs away?"

Kritika blinked, confused, clinging to her mother's words.
"Runs away? Shanaya? Maa, can't you see how excited she is for this wedding? Do you really think she would leave?"

Roshini's eyes gleamed with a sinister spark.
"Then what if she doesn't leave by choice... what if she is kidnapped? We can make it look like she ran away. And tell me, Kriti, if that happens-whose reputation will crumble? The Chauhans, of course. But in that chaos, who will step in like an angel? You, my Kriti. You will marry Veer, because family honor will matter more than anything else."

Kritika's lips curved into a smile, her earlier tears replaced by a dangerous hope. For the first time that evening, she felt her mother's plan could turn her pain into victory.

And as the haldi celebration continued with songs and laughter, evil shadows stretched silently in the corners of the palace... waiting for the right moment to strike.

............

The evening sky of Rajasthan glowed in shades of crimson and gold, while the palace shimmered like a jewel under thousands of lights. Guests filled the halls, laughter and music spilling across the courtyards. Inside, Vikram Rathore and his wife Kavya moved through the crowd, making last-minute checks. Every detail had to be perfect-after all, it was the wedding of the year, a union that would secure business and power for generations.

"Vikram ji," one of the decorators called nervously, "should we add more roses on the mandap pillars?"

Vikram scanned the setup with sharp eyes. "Replace them. I want freshness. Nothing less."

Kavya touched his arm softly. "Please... everything looks perfect. Stop worrying."

But before he could answer, a familiar voice called out:
"Vikram beta!"

It was Rajendra uncle, smiling warmly as he approached with his wife, who held a small velvet box tied in gold ribbon.
"We brought a special blessing for the bride," Rajendra said proudly. "This necklace belonged to her grandmother. We wish to give it directly to Shanaya, with our blessings, before the wedding begins."

Vikram's smile was polite but tight. "Of course, Uncle. Kavya, bring Shanaya."

Kavya nodded quickly and hurried down the grand hallway toward Shanaya's chamber. Her anklets jingled softly as she walked, but an odd heaviness pulled at her chest. Perhaps it was nerves. Perhaps excitement.

She opened the door with a gentle smile. "Shanu, your uncle and aunt are waiting-"

Her words froze.

The room was empty.

The heavy bridal lehenga lay on the bed, untouched. Jewelry boxes sat neatly on the dresser. The mirror reflected only silence.
Kavya's brows furrowed. "Shanaya?" she called, searching the balcony, the washroom, even the wardrobes. Nothing.

Her heart began to pound. "Shanu... enough of this. Come out, child," she said, her voice trembling. Still no answer.
Panic clawed at her chest. She rushed back toward the hall, her face pale.

Vikram saw her immediately. His smile for the guests faltered as he pulled her aside. "What happened?" he demanded.

"She's... she's not there," Kavya whispered, her voice shaking. "Shanaya is missing."

His eyes darkened. "What do you mean missing? Did you search properly?"

"I checked everywhere! The balcony, the washroom-everything. She's gone!"

Vikram's breath stilled, his jaw clenching. Without another word, he strode quickly toward the chamber, Kavya at his heels.
They tore through the room-checking corners, opening drawers, scanning every inch. And then, on the dresser, half-hidden beneath a jewelry case, Vikram's eyes caught a folded sheet of paper.

He snatched it up, his heart pounding, and unfolded it. The handwriting was Shanaya's, hurried and shaky.

The words cut like a blade:

"Maa, Paa,
I am sorry. You both have done so much for me, more than I can ever repay. But this marriage... this marriage is something I do not want. Please forgive me. I cannot go ahead with it. By the time you read this, I will be gone. Don't try to find me. I just want to be free.
Your daughter,
Shanaya."

The letter trembled in Vikram's grip as the palace outside echoed with music and laughter-unaware that its bride had vanished.

🌼ARANYA'S POV🌼

It should have been one of the happiest days of my life. The palace glittered like the stars had fallen into its courtyards, laughter rang through the decorated halls, and every corner smelled of roses and marigold. It was the first wedding in our family, and everyone else was celebrating like it was the greatest festival.

But for me... life never gave me simple joys. It had always been heavy. Haunted.

I sat on the edge of my bed, clutching my dupatta, staring at the fading mehndi on my hands. They said mehndi carried joy, love, and blessings. Mine only looked like stains of sorrow.

I should have been dancing downstairs with cousins, eating sweets, running about the palace with excitement. But instead, I sat here, alone. Because life had always been different for me.
I wasn't truly wanted. Not by my father, not by my stepmother, not even by the family that called me their own. The only one who had ever cared for me, who had ever stood for me... was Dadu, my grandfather. My anchor. My only real support.

And yet, he wasn't here.

I whispered a silent prayer that maybe he would arrive tonight. Maybe he would walk into my room and tell me, in his firm yet gentle voice, that everything would be alright.

Tears blurred my vision. I quickly wiped them, ashamed of being weak.

Then came a knock on the door.

My heart leapt. A smile tugged at my lips. It must be Dadu. Maybe he had finally come. Maybe he would hold my hand and take me away from this loneliness.

I rushed to the door and opened it-

Only to freeze.

It wasn't Dadu.

It was Papa and Kavya maa.

Their eyes burned red with anger, bloodshot, filled with something that made my stomach twist in fear.
"Papa? All okay? Why are your eyes like this?" I asked, my voice unsteady.

Before Papa could speak, Kavya maa's hand cracked across my cheek.

The slap was so sharp my head jerked to the side. Fire burned across my skin. I pressed my palm to my cheek, trembling.

"You ungrateful brat!" she spat, her face contorted with rage. "Where is my daughter? Where are you hiding Shanaya?"

My mind spun. "W-what? What happened? Where is she?"

"Don't you dare act innocent!" Kavya maa shoved a crumpled letter at me. Her hand shook with fury. "Read it!"
I unfolded it, my eyes darting across the words in Shanaya's hurried handwriting.

Maa, Paa... I'm sorry. You both did a lot for me, but this marriage is something I don't want. So I am leaving.

The letter slipped slightly from my fingers. My breath caught in my throat. "No..." I whispered.
"This is your doing!" Kavya maa shouted, her voice echoing like a curse. "You've always been jealous of Shanaya! You couldn't bear to see her happy, to see her chosen, loved, and celebrated. You poisoned her! You pushed her into this!"

Tears flooded my eyes. I shook my head violently. "No! I swear, I didn't do anything! I-I didn't even know about this until you told me now!"

Kavya maa raised her hand again, but Papa's voice cut through.
"Kavya! Enough!"

For a moment, I thought he might protect me. But the look in his eyes wasn't protection. It was calculation. Cold. Ruthless.
"We don't have time," Papa said, his jaw tight. "The Chauhans will be here in half an hour."

Kavya maa's chest heaved. "Then what do we tell them? That the bride vanished? We can postpone-"

"No!" Papa's roar silenced her. "Do you know what that would mean? Our name will be dragged through the mud. The media will shred us. Our company's value will plummet. This alliance with the Chauhans-this marriage-is our golden ticket. We cannot lose it."
His words made my stomach churn. He wasn't speaking like a father. He was speaking like a businessman clinging to profit.
Then his gaze shifted to me. Cold. Determined.

"If not Shanaya... then Aranya will take her place."
The ground slipped beneath my feet.

"What?" Kavya maa's voice cracked. "Vikram ji, have you lost your mind? How can you even suggest that? This unwanted girl in my daughter's place? Never!"

Papa's tone sharpened like a blade. "Then where is Shanaya, tell me? She was eager, she was happy, she wanted this marriage. Then why did she run away? I don't care where she is. The wedding will happen tonight, with or without her. If not Shanaya... then Aranya."

"No... no, Papa, please!" I dropped to my knees, clutching his legs. Tears streamed down my face. "I don't want to get married. I want to study, to work, to live my own life. Please, Papa, don't do this to me!"

"Shut your mouth!" Kavya maa hissed, her palm striking my left cheek this time. My face burned on both sides, stinging under my tears.
"You've ruined everything!" she snarled.

I shook my head, sobbing, but Papa knelt down to my level. His eyes were cold enough to freeze my soul.
"You have two choices, Aranya," he said quietly, his voice dangerous. "Agree to this marriage... or I will sell your mother's property."

The world stopped.

My heart thudded painfully. My mother's property. The only thing she had left behind for me before she vanished from my life.
The inheritance was mine by blood-because in my mother's family, property always passed down to the daughters. But since I was not yet twenty-five, Papa held control over it. Legally, I would inherit it once I reached the age. Until then, he managed it.
It was my mother's last gift. My only connection to her. And now he threatened to snatch it away.

I stared at him, my whole body trembling. "No... you wouldn't..."
"I would," he said flatly. "And I will. By tomorrow morning, I'll sell it all. Unless you sit in that mandap tonight."

A broken sob tore from my chest. I couldn't lose it. I couldn't lose the last piece of my mother.
"I... I'll do it." The words fell from my lips like poison, each syllable shattering a part of me.

Papa rose, satisfied. Kavya maa glared at me with disgust, her lips curling as though the sight of me in her daughter's place was filth.
They left me there, my body crumbling into silence.

Minutes later, the servants entered, carrying trays of jewelry, fabrics, and makeup.
I sat like a doll as they worked. They draped Shanaya's bridal lehenga over me-the red and gold masterpiece that shimmered like fire but weighed like chains. The dupatta pinned over my head pressed me down, suffocating. Heavy necklaces, earrings, bangles-all glittering, all binding me tighter.

Brushes painted over my bruises, layers of foundation hiding the red slap marks Kavya maa had left. Kohl lined my eyes, rouge touched my cheeks, my lips turned a bright bridal red.
In the mirror, a bride stared back. But it wasn't me.
It was a stranger.

And when Kavya maa entered to look at me, her eyes darkened. Hatred glimmered there. Not pride, not satisfaction.
Because to her, I was sitting in a place that only Shanaya deserved.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You may look like a bride, but you will never be my daughter."

Her words pierced deeper than the pins holding my dupatta.
The palace outside glowed with music and laughter, unaware that the wrong daughter sat in the bridal chamber-numb, broken, and betrayed.

🦋AUTHOR'S POV🦋

In the midst of that festive chaos, a small storm was brewing silently. Aranya, draped in Shanaya’s bridal lehenga, sat with her face fully hidden under the crimson veil. The veil was not light and graceful as it looked from afar — it was heavy, suffocating, pressing down on her shoulders like chains. Every step, every breath, reminded her she was in someone else’s place, carrying someone else’s fate.

Yet, to the eyes of the crowd, she was simply the bride. Shanaya. The girl of the hour.

Kavya, her stepmother, walked closely by her side, almost gripping her arm too tightly, as if afraid the girl under the veil might vanish if she loosened her hold. She had brought Aranya forward reluctantly, her lips curved in a practiced smile that fooled the relatives but never reached her eyes. If not for Vikram’s stern insistence, she would never have allowed this swap. To her, this wasn’t Aranya’s moment — it was her Shanaya’s, her own daughter’s. But circumstances had twisted, and Kavya had no choice but to drag her stepdaughter into the storm.

“Bring the bride, bring the bride!” one of the aunts called out cheerfully. “It’s time for blessings before the Chauhans arrive.”

Kavya forced her smile wider and nudged Aranya to step forward. The girl obeyed, though her hands trembled under the folds of her dupatta.

One by one, relatives surrounded the veiled bride. Each of them placed their palms on her head, showered her with blessings, and tucked velvet pouches of shagun or envelopes into her lap.

“Stay happy always, beti,” one of the older uncles said warmly.

“You are stepping into a new life, may you bring light and prosperity wherever you go.”

Another aunt clasped her hennaed hands and added, “Shanaya, you’ve always been so chirpy, so full of laughter. Don’t lose that glow after marriage, haan? Chauhan family will adore you.”
Underneath the veil, Aranya’s lips quivered. The irony of those words cut through her like a blade. Chirpy, glowing — none of those belonged to her. She wasn’t Shanaya, never had been. All she could do was nod faintly, as if agreeing, as if she were the daughter they all adored.

Kavya kept answering for her, chuckling lightly, “Of course, of course, she knows. Our Shanaya is ready for her new life.” Every time a relative leaned too close, every time someone expected the bride to respond, Kavya’s grip on Aranya’s wrist tightened like a warning. Don’t speak. Don’t slip. Don’t let them see.

And then the hall fell into a hush.

A tall, broad figure walked in, his presence commanding the space without effort. It was Grandpa — Vikram’s father, the patriarch of the family. His silver hair gleamed under the chandelier, his sharp eyes missing nothing as they scanned the hall. He was dressed in a cream sherwani with a golden stole, dignity etched in every line of his face.

Everyone rushed to greet him. “Papaji! You’re here at last.”
Grandpa’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he accepted the respectful bows and folded hands. But his gaze, steady and discerning, landed on the bride seated under the veil. For a moment, the steel in his eyes softened.

“My Shanaya,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Finally, I see one of my girls stepping into her new life.”
He approached slowly, his hand trembling slightly as he reached forward to bless her. Aranya kept her head bowed low, heart racing. She could feel the warmth of his palm over her veil, and it almost broke her. Grandpa was the only person in this family who had ever shown her kindness, who had seen her beyond the shadow of being “just Kavya’s stepdaughter.” But now, she sat before him in deception.

Grandpa smiled, but something tugged at his heart. Something felt… off.
“This child isn’t speaking?” he asked lightly, his brow furrowing just a little. “My Shanaya has never been the quiet one. Always chattering, always questioning. And today she sits like a silent doll?”

Kavya’s laugh came too quickly, too sharp. “Papaji, you know brides. They all get nervous on their big day. Shanaya is emotional, that’s all. She’ll be back to her chirpy self once the pheras start.”

Grandpa looked at her carefully, suspicion flickering in his eyes. The girl under the veil shifted uneasily but remained silent. Still, he said nothing further. He placed a blessing hand again and whispered, “May you stay blessed, child.”

He turned then to Kavya. “And Aarav?  Should he not be with his sister today?”
Kavya clasped her hands together. “Oh, Aarav is busy with the decorators. You know him, Papaji, always restless. He’s making sure everything is perfect before the Chauhans arrive. He’ll be here soon, don’t worry.”

Grandpa nodded slowly, though the crease on his forehead deepened. He didn’t believe every word, but this was neither the time nor place to argue.
Just then, one of the aunts piped up cheerfully, “Speaking of Aarav, where is Aranya? I haven’t seen her all day. After all, it’s her sister’s wedding, she must be busy?”

“Yes, yes,” another relative added. “Aranya is a bit quiet, but today she should be glowing with joy. Where is she hiding?”

At the mention of her name, the girl under the veil stiffened. Kavya’s nails dug sharply into her arm through the fabric — a silent command to stay still.
Kavya chuckled smoothly, tilting her head. “Oh, Aranya? She must be with her friends. You know how she is — shy but dutiful. Probably running around making sure all the tiny details are in place.”

The relatives nodded, satisfied with the lie. Only Grandpa’s eyes lingered a second longer, his jaw tightening. He understood far more than he let on. He had noticed how Kavya never truly included Aranya in her words, how the girl under the veil hadn’t spoken a single word yet. But he stayed silent. For now.

Meanwhile, Aranya sat frozen. Every blessing that touched her head burned like guilt, every lie Kavya spun tied her tighter in this trap. Her silence was beginning to attract attention, but she couldn’t risk opening her mouth. One wrong word, and everything would collapse.

Around her, the festive energy only grew louder. The hall buzzed with laughter, relatives clinking glasses of juice, children tugging at their parents’ sleeves. From outside, the blare of horns and the rhythmic beats of the dhol grew stronger.

The Chauhans had arrived.

And Aranya, trapped under layers of silk and deception, realized there was no turning back now.

The hum of chatter in the palace hall suddenly shifted into a roar of excitement. Outside, firecrackers burst against the night sky, streak. of gold and red raining sparks over the entrance. The sound of dhols grew louder, beating in perfect rhythm with the thundering steps of the baraatis.

[Mast kalandar ]

The familiar qawwali beats echoed through the marble corridors, the deep thump of the drums shaking the very floor. Guests rushed toward the entrance, eager to witness the grand arrival of the Chauhans, one of the most powerful business families in the country.

The chandeliers swayed ever so slightly as the music vibrated in the air. It wasn’t just a wedding anymore—it was a spectacle.
Vikram straightened his sherwani, masking the storm raging inside him with a proud smile. Beside him, Kavya maa tugged at her dupatta nervously, her eyes flickering toward the corridor where Aranya sat hidden beneath layers of veil and jewelry. No one else knew the truth, and she intended to keep it that way.

“Keep smiling,” Vikram whispered between his teeth, his lips frozen into a practiced grin.

Kavya maa did, though the anger in her eyes simmered.
The Chauhans arrived in full glory. Men dressed in ivory sherwanis embroidered with golden zari danced to the beats, while women in lehengas of emerald, maroon, and royal blue clapped and sang. At the center of the crowd, the groom—Veer Chauhan—walked with regal poise, surrounded by cousins and friends lifting him on their shoulders in playful cheer.

Flower petals rained from silver trays as the dholis raised the tempo. The qawwali reached its crescendo, the chorus of  song  echoing so loudly it almost drowned the whispers of intrigue spreading among the guests.

“Look at the Chauhans’ entry, so royal!”
“They’ve spared no expense, as always.”
“Our girl is truly lucky.”

The comments buzzed through the air, heavy with envy and admiration.

Vikram and Kavya maa stepped forward, greeting the family with folded hands and warm smiles. The elders exchanged embraces, while Veer was welcomed with an aarti, the flame circling in front of his face, tilak applied on his forehead. His lips curved into a polite smile as his cousins teased him, blocking his way until Vikram slipped thick envelopes into their hands. Laughter erupted, and the way cleared.

Inside, the palace had been transformed into a vision of grandeur.
The mandap rose at the center of the hall, draped in cascading strings of marigolds and white jasmine. Roses scattered across the floor gave the air a heady perfume. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, while diyas flickered at every corner, their flames trembling in the draft. The sacred fire had been arranged already, logs stacked neatly, ready for the priest’s chants to ignite.

Guests filled the hall, women adjusting their heavy dupattas, men sipping sherbet, children darting between tables stacked with sweets. Excitement crackled in the air.

And then came the moment everyone had been waiting for.
“The bride,” someone whispered. “Bring the bride.”
Every head turned toward the staircase draped with silk, where the sound of anklets began to chime. But behind that veil of shimmer, Aranya’s heart thudded painfully against her chest.

Her brother—who had no idea of the truth—held her arm proudly, guiding her step by step. On her other side, Vikram walked with solemn dignity, masking his desperation behind a composed expression.

The music shifted. The dhols softened, replaced by a melody that wrapped around the hall like a sigh.

[Ranjha]

The haunting notes filled the silence, low and aching. Each beat of the song mirrored the weight pressing on Aranya’s chest.

"I don’t want this… I don’t want to walk this path."

The veil was heavy, pressing against her lashes, blurring her view. Her lehenga, though stunning—deep crimson with golden embroidery, the kind brides dreamed of—felt like chains binding her to the ground. Each step scraped her heart raw.

Her brother whispered cheerfully, “You look beautiful. Everyone is watching.”

But she couldn’t respond. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together until they stilled.

The guests gasped softly as she descended the stairs.
“So graceful.”
“Look at her poise.”
“The Chauhans will be so pleased.”

Blessings whispered through the crowd, smiles and folded hands greeting her as she walked past. They saw a glowing bride. Only she knew she was nothing more than a prisoner under crimson silk.

Kavya maa’s nails dug into her palm as she followed from behind. The sight of Aranya wearing her daughter’s bridal attire filled her with fury she couldn’t show. This should have been Shanaya. My Shanaya.

Aranya lowered her gaze, hiding her tears as best as she could.
Stay still. Stay silent. Don’t let them see you break.
When she reached the mandap, her knees almost buckled, but Vikram’s firm grip on her elbow steadied her. He leaned close, his whisper sharp as a blade.

“Sit properly. Don’t you dare create a scene.”

Aranya’s throat burned. She sat opposite Veer, the groom, whose face was calm, unreadable, hidden beneath the sehra of golden threads.

The priest’s voice rose, chanting mantras, summoning the blessings of the gods. The sacred fire flickered to life, its warmth reaching her skin. Guests clapped softly, the Chauhans smiling with pride.

Aranya kept her hands folded in her lap, fingers cold, nails pressing into her skin beneath the bangles.

Is this my fate, Maa?
Is this what you left me for?

The sound of music still lingered in her ears, as if mocking her heartache.
And so the rituals began.

The priest’s voice rose above the soft hum of the hall, carrying the weight of sacred mantras that echoed through the marble corridors. The flickering flames of the sacred fire reflected off the gilded decorations, throwing dancing shadows across the mandap. Every guest’s attention was fixed on the bride and groom, seated with meticulous composure, the sacred fire between them glowing like molten gold.

Dadaji, sitting in the front row, leaned slightly forward, his hands resting over his walking stick. His eyes, sharp as ever, scanned the bride beneath the heavy veil. Something about her stillness unsettled him. Shanaya had never been this quiet, never this impassive. He noticed how her hands, folded on her lap, didn’t tremble nervously with excitement as a bride’s would; how her posture was rigid yet hesitant, as though she were trying to shrink into the layers of silk and gold.

Beside him, Kavya maa maintained a polite smile, speaking softly to relatives. “Shaadi ka din hai, Papaji. Ladkiyan sharmati hain, you know how it is.”

Dadaji nodded slowly, though suspicion tightened in his chest. The stillness, the silence—it was unnatural.

The priest gestured, and the first ritual began: the garlands. Veer’s hands, steady and composed, lifted the floral garland, lowering it gracefully over the bride. The crowd applauded, flowers rustling in their hands as they cheered. The bride lifted her garland, placing it over his neck with precise care, as the priest chanted softly. Every motion was fluid, perfect—yet devoid of any warmth.

Next came the saat pheras, the seven rounds around the sacred fire. Each step was accompanied by the priest’s mantras, each circle representing a promise, a vow, a lifelong bond. The couple rose slowly, moving with measured grace, their feet tracing the patterns in the sand laid before the fire. Flowers fell from the strings above them, petals brushing the edge of their garments.

The priest’s voice grew louder, more rhythmic, guiding them:
“With each step, may you find unity in love, strength in trust, and prosperity in life together.”

Veer’s hand occasionally brushed the bride’s, gentle and controlled. She did not react. Every eye in the hall followed her, yet she sat or moved as if she were part of the ritual, not a participant in the celebration.

When the final round of the pheras ended, the priest motioned toward the sindoor ceremony. Veer lifted the small silver box, the vermilion glinting in the light. As he gently applied it along the hairline, a few grains slipped, dusting the bride’s nose. A soft murmur of admiration went through the hall:

“Blessing from Devi herself!”
“Auspicious, so beautiful!”

The bride remained still, her hands tightly clasped on her lap. She did not wipe the grains; she did not flinch.

With the main rituals completed, the priest called for the blessings from elders. One by one, family members approached, pressing their hands gently over the bride’s head, whispering prayers, showering her with petals and rose water. Each blessing was carefully observed by Dadaji, who noticed the way she lowered her head with a strange stillness, her veil hiding a face that should have been beaming with joy.

Kavya maa circulated through the crowd, receiving gifts, accepting congratulations with exaggerated warmth. She ensured every step reinforced the illusion, yet her eyes constantly flicked toward the bride, her expression dark and possessive.

The guests clapped, the air thick with fragrance and laughter. Yet beneath the veils and jewelry, the bride’s stillness remained unnerving.

After the rituals, the couple was escorted to a private room, away from the crowded mandap. Gold-plated trays with sweets, fresh fruits, and fragrant drinks were placed before them. Guests followed, offering gifts, envelopes, and blessings, praising the bride’s attire, her poise, and the grandeur of the ceremony.

The Chauhans, in particular, were insistent. “We must see the bride,” they said repeatedly, their voices polite but commanding. “It’s tradition—before the evening concludes, we must greet her properly, see her face, and give our personal blessings.”

Vikram stood by, guiding the situation carefully, while Kavya maa maintained a composed smile, gently adjusting the bride’s veil to ensure no one glimpsed beneath it. She spoke softly to the relatives, “She might be tired… let’s not disturb her too much.” But her fingers clutched the fabric possessively, as if it were a shield keeping what belonged to her daughter under wraps.

Dadaji, seated with folded hands, observed quietly. His suspicions had grown steadily throughout the rituals. He noted how the bride did not respond naturally to greetings, how she accepted gifts mechanically, how her gestures were precise but void of personality.

Yet no one else seemed to notice; everyone was caught up in the euphoria of the ceremony, the grandeur of the room, the abundance of flowers and silk, and the sparkling jewels.

Finally, the moment came. The Chauhans, unable to contain themselves, gently insisted, “Please… let us see the bride’s face now.”

Kavya maa’s hands tightened around the veil. “Of course… just a moment,” she replied, her voice calm but edged with tension. She slowly began to lift the heavy fabric, revealing the bride’s face inch by inch to the eager eyes around her.

And just as the veil lifted, the air seemed to freeze. Every guest leaned forward instinctively, their gasps filling the room.
The expressions of the Chauhans, the relatives, and even Dadaji were mirrored in one single stunned silence.

The veil revealed… something no one expected.

-------◉‿◉-------

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