The house looked nothing like it usually did.

‎Fairy lights hung from every corner, dancing across the walls like little stars. Fresh jasmine garlands curled around pillars and the scent of roses, incense, and something sugary sweet filled the air. The living room had transformed into a mini banquet hall, shimmering curtains, a flower-adorned stage. It was like stepping into a dream.

‎Too bad I was the main character and had no idea how to feel.

‎Vini burst into my room right when I was trying to fix my dupatta for the nth time.

‎“Uff! Look at you, dulhaniyaa! Ladke waale toh faint hi ho jaayenge” she teased, pulling me into a tight hug.

(Uff! Look at you, bride-to-be! The groom’s side will practically faint when they see you.)

‎I held on to her for a moment longer than necessary. She always knew what I was feeling without a single word. Her presence alone made the day feel... easier.

‎“You okay?” she asked gently, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

‎I nodded. “Not really. But... I want to enjoy this. Just for now. Even if it’s not perfect.”

‎She looked at me for a beat and then smiled. “Then we’ll enjoy it. Together. And if anyone dares ruin it, I’ll throw a gulab jamun at their face.”

‎I laughed, an actual laugh. And somehow, for that second, things felt lighter.

Maa burst into my room and looked at me.

‎“Smile, Mira. At least pretend you’re happy,” my mom hissed.

‎I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.

‎I stood in front of the mirror. My baby pink lehenga had intricate silver embroidery all over. Subtle. Soft. Not too loud, just like I wanted. My hair was slightly curled and left open, a light maang tikka resting on my forehead. Light makeup. Earrings that jingled when I turned my head.

‎“BHABHIIII!” Aarushi barged into the room with a squeal, followed by Darsh and Parth.

‎“You look like a literal Disney princess!” she gushed.

‎“I agree” Darsh added, giving me a thumbs-up.

‎I chuckled softly. “Thanks.”

‎Parth grinned. “Come on, the guests are arriving, and your husband-to-be is already downstairs looking like he walked out of a Vogue shoot.”

‎They dragged me downstairs, one hand in each of mine. I didn’t know what was more terrifying, everyone’s eyes on me or his gaze on me.

‎Because he was staring.

‎The living room had been transformed. Marigold garlands draped over windows, fairy lights wrapped around every pillar. The center stage looked like something out of a movie, floral backdrop, golden cushions, everything warm and glowing.

‎Arsh stood on the stage, dressed in a tailored charcoal-black sherwani with a silver brooch. Light stubble, serious face. His eyes met mine the moment I stepped into the room and this time, there was no smirk, no arrogance.

‎Just stillness.

‎Like he was assessing me all over again.

‎I looked away.

‎My parents guided me to the stage. The camera guy waved his hand dramatically, telling us to “look here, smile please, now hold hands, PERFECT!”

‎Then came the rings.

‎I took a deep breath and slid the ring on his finger. He followed. It was quick. Neat. Perfectly staged.

It felt as though we had been forced to stand there, bound together by circumstances neither of us had chosen. He had already told me how his family wanted him to marry, and how he agreed only for their sake. So we made a silent pact to play the part of a happy couple in front of everyone and remain strangers once the doors of our room closed.

My situation, however, was different. I wasn’t here out of duty, but because someone had blackmailed me. That day, when I received the message instructing me to marry Arsh, my entire world tilted on its axis. And since that message, there had been nothing. No call. No message. Nothing.

I waited.My heart craved answers, why had they person asked me to marry Arsh? Who was he? And how did he know so much about me, secrets I had never shared with anyone?

‎People cheered.

‎Vini whistled obnoxiously and I shot her a glare, which only made her do it again.

‎I was trying. Really.

‎Even though a quiet ache sat under my ribs, I wanted to enjoy this. Not for the marriage, not for Arsh, not even for the guests. But for myself. For the little girl who once dreamt of moments like these. For the woman I was becoming, one messy emotion at a time.

‎And for Vini, who held my hand through it all.

‎The night air was cooler up here, away from the noise, away from the flashing cameras and forced laughter downstairs. I stood at the edge of the terrace, the wind tugging softly at the ends of my dupatta.

‎I needed a break, from the jewelry weighing down my neck, from the eyes watching my every smile.

‎Suddenly, i sensed him. That quiet presence.

‎Arsh.

‎I didn’t turn around.

‎“Running away?” he asked, stepping beside me, his tone light but laced with something unsaid.

‎I exhaled. “Not running. Just breathing.”

‎“Fair” he said, resting his hands on the railing. A pause. “Everyone downstairs is very impressed with how... well-matched we look.”

‎I snorted softly. “Then maybe they need better eyesight.”

‎A small smirk tugged at his lips. “You know, you could at least try to fake being happy.”

‎“I am trying,” I replied flatly. “You have no idea how hard.”

‎Silence settled between them. Not comfortable. Just... there.

‎After a few seconds, I added, “Let’s just get through this week, Mr. Malhotra. I’ll smile, pose for pictures, nod at guests... but don’t expect me to be someone I’m not.”

‎“I wasn’t expecting much” he said casually, then looked at me and added, “Especially not from someone who steps in front of moving cars.”

‎I turned to him sharply. “Still stuck on that?”

‎He shrugged. “Hard to forget when your future wife’s first impression was almost a traffic accident.”

‎I narrowed my eyes. “And you? Still as arrogant as you were that day.”

‎“Consistent” he replied with a wink.

‎I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the view, jaw clenched.

‎

‎WEDDING DAY-

‎

‎The house was buzzing. Like bees, like echoes. Like every wall was breathing in nervous excitement.

‎…I sat quietly.

‎In front of the mirror. Dressed in bridal red. The colour of fate. Of rituals

‎Vini stood behind me, adjusting my dupatta, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

‎“Still can’t believe it,” she said with a soft smile. “Mira Sharma is actually getting married.”

‎I tried to smile. Truly. But something inside me was heavy. Not regret… not fear exactly... just a hollowness.

‎“I don’t feel like the bride” I whispered.

‎“You don’t have to” Vanika replied gently. “You just have to survive today. The rest will make sense later.”

‎I reached for her hand. “Thank you... for everything.”

‎“You can thank me by not letting that Mr. Tall-Cold-and-hottie-Malhotra bully you after marriage” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

‎I let out a soft laugh. “He’s more like Mr. ‘I-talk-less-but-glare-more’.”

‎We both laughed, and it felt good. Real.

‎A knock on the door interrupted the moment. My cousin peeked in, cheeks flushed from running around. “Didi they are calling you downstairs.”

‎The words made my heart stutter.

‎This is it.

‎The end of one story. The beginning of another.

‎I stood up.

‎I was just about to step out when the door burst open, dramatic as always.

‎“Hello bhabhi!” a loud, teasing voice echoed. “Dulhan ko ham especially lene aaye hai”

(We’ve come especially to take the bride with us)

‎I turned to see two sharply dressed boys stroll in like they owned the place.

‎“Pratham” I guessed, narrowing my eyes. Parth told me about his bestfriends who are more like brothers to him.

‎“Hello my beautiful soon-to-be-bhabhi” he said with a wink.

‎“And I’m Samarth” said the other, more composed but clearly biting back a grin. “We’re Arsh’s self-declared brothers. Childhood bestfriends”

‎I couldn’t help but smile. Their presence… eased something in my chest.

‎“Vese bhabhi” Pratham added, walking around me with an exaggerated inspection “Arsh to aaj pakka clean bowled ho jaayega.”

‎(By the way bhabhi, Arsh is definitely going to be clean bowled today)

‎I shook my head, laughing softly.

‎“Ready?” They asked.

‎I nodded.

‎Samarth picked up one corner of the phoolon ki chaadar, the delicately woven floral canopy, fresh with mogra and roses. Pratham took the opposite end, while my brother and cousin held the other two corners.

‎I took one long breath. My heart pounded like dhol beats in my chest, nerves dancing like mehendi on my hands.

‎I wasn't sure if I was happy or numb but I knew one thing, I wanted to remember this moment for myself, even if everything felt like it was moving too fast.

‎“I’m ready” I whispered to myself, blinking back the prick of tears.

‎The music outside shifted, and the guests fell into a hush.

‎I stepped forward.

‎Under the gentle weight of the flower canopy, surrounded by the people who loved me, some real, most of them faking it better than others. I walked slowly towards the mandap.

‎The petals above swayed gently with every step. Cameras flashed, people watched, gasped, smiled.

‎But all I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat… and the faintest murmur in my chest that whispered-

‎Let’s see what destiny has planned next.

‎The soft melody of a song filled the air, weaving through the excited murmurs of the crowd as I stepped forward beneath the delicate canopy of flowers. Every step I took toward the mandap echoed in my ears like a drumbeat from my own chest.

‎And then I saw him.

‎Arsh.

‎Standing there, tall and composed, in his ivory sherwani, but it wasn’t his outfit that caught me. It was his eyes, fixed, unblinking, locked on mine.

‎In that moment, the uneasiness I’d been carrying since morning, the weight of this unwanted, forced marriage, suddenly… eased.

‎I didn’t know why.

‎But something about the way he looked at me felt like gravity had shifted. Like maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be all that terrible.

‎As I reached the stage, he extended his hand.

‎I hesitated for a second, then placed my hand into his. His grip was firm, steady, like someone who knew how to take control when things fell apart. Together, we stepped onto the stage.

‎“Now the bride and groom will exchange the garlands” the priest announced.

‎I lifted the varmala in my hands, trying to tiptoe ever so slightly to reach him but in this ridiculously heavy lehenga, even lifting my arm felt like a mission. There was no way I could get the garland around his neck, he was 6 feet and I was 5.5.

‎And then, he leaned down.

‎No words, just a simple act but it did something to my heart.

‎The simplicity of the gesture, the ease with which he bowed his pride, sent a soft flutter through my chest. I smiled despite myself and slipped the garland over his head.

‎As he raised his hands with the second garland, ready to return the gesture-

‎Pratham and Samarth swooped in like the chaos twins they were and lifted me off the ground.

‎“Not so easy, bhai!” Pratham grinned.

‎And for the first time during this entire wedding... I laughed. Loud, freely, without holding anything back.

‎I glanced at Arsh through the veil of flowers. He was looking right at me. A tiny, almost unnoticeable, smile curved on his lips. His eyes, though, told another story. There was something unspoken swimming in them, curiosity, maybe... or something else neither of us had a name for yet.

‎“Bhaiya, this is cheating!” Darsh chimed in from the sidelines, laughing along.

Arsh somehow slipped the garland around my neck.

‎Eventually, after all the chaos and playful protests, the varmala ritual was complete. The priest then asked us to be ready for the pheras.

‎Vini helped me change into a soft yellow silk saree for pheras, as per our family’s tradition, we have to wear yellow silk saree after vermala. Honestly, after hours in that heavy lehenga, this saree felt like a warm hug. If I had tried to walk seven circles in that lehenga, I would’ve tripped flat on my face and embarrassed myself for life.

‎We began the pheras, one round after another, with sacred fire as our witness and mantras murmuring in the background. I didn’t know what the future held, but I took those steps anyway.

‎As we completed the seventh phera, the priest looked toward Arsh.

‎“Now, fill the bride’s hairline with sindoor.”

‎He picked up a silver coin carrying vermilion and as he leaned close to me, I heard his voice low and careful near my ear.

‎“Shall I…?”

‎My eyes fluttered shut, and I nodded softly.

‎The moment the sindoor touched my hairline, a single tear escaped the corner of my eye. A quiet surrender.

‎Some of the it fell gently onto the bridge of my nose.

‎He moved to wipe it, but the priest stopped him.

‎“Let it be,” he smiled. “If sindoor falls on the bride’s nose, it means the marriage will be filled with love.”

‎We glanced at each other for a second.

‎Then looked away.

‎“Now, tie the mangalsutra” the priest instructed.

‎Arsh hands reached  and clasped the sacred necklace around my neck, one last symbol of the bond we had just formed.

‎“This marriage is now complete,” the priest declared. “From this moment, you are husband and wife.”

‎The chants faded.

‎The fire crackled gently.

‎And all I could do was stare into the flames, wondering what kind of destiny we had just stepped into… together.

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