MEERA POV

Marriage.
Not just a ceremony… but something sacred.
A union blessed by the heavens, held together by trust, respect, and love.

Ever since I was a little girl, I watched brides walk toward the mandap with a glow on their faces.
And something inside me would light up, too.
The sindoor, the mangalsutra, the soft rustle of red silk — it all felt so pure, so meant to be.

I used to sit by my mother’s side during family weddings, watching couples exchange vows under fire and stars.
And in my heart, I’d whisper —
One day, that will be me.
Not for the jewellery.
Not for the photos.
But for the bond… the belonging.

I believed marriage was the most honest kind of companionship.
Not loud, not perfect — but steady.
A promise made in front of gods and family…
A place where you could love, fall apart, and still be held.

For me, marriage was never a cage.
It was a home.
A sacred thread woven with shared mornings, tired evenings, unspoken glances…
And someone to stand beside you — not in front, not behind — but with you.

I’ve seen it.
In the way my parents looked at each other.
In the way my grandmother still waited to eat until Dadu sat down. The way my Bhabhi used to blush everyone whenever bhai teased her with love.
I have seen it in the laughter echoing from kitchens.
In the eyes of brides glowing through veils.

And I wanted it.
So deeply. So quietly.

A partner to grow old with.
A friend to light diyas with.
A love I could belong to.

And today… I’m here.

In a red lehenga, red bangles, flowers woven into my hair —
everything looks exactly like how I had once dreamed.

Beautiful. Perfect. Just the way I had imagined it.

But today…
Today, all of this feels like a nightmare dressed in silk.

The mirror shows a bride.
But inside, I feel like a ghost in my own fairytale.
Everything I once longed for is now nothing more than a cruel reminder —
of how dreams can shatter… even while looking this beautiful.

None of this feels mine anymore.

No happy faces in sight —
only worry, tension, anger, and vulnerability…
hidden under layers of makeup and strained smiles.
Masks — worn carefully for the guests,
for the clicking cameras,
for the dozens of eyes waiting to judge.

Somewhere behind me, the shehnai plays softly,
its notes trembling like the breath in my chest.
The priest’s chants echo in the background — faint, distant —
as if the universe itself is trying to carry out a ritual no one truly believes in.

But inside… I’m screaming.

Why did this happen to me?

The sacred bond I had worshipped all my life now hangs over me like a broken thread.
Mocking. Cold. Empty.
The moment that was meant to be the most beautiful day of my life…
has turned into a cruel performance.
A charade.

This marriage —
this sacred ritual I once adorned with reverence —
was never just about love.
It was about respect.
Two families coming together.
Warmth in the eyes of elders.
Hands joined with laughter and blessings.

That’s the version I grew up seeing.
That’s what I believed in.

But today, it’s none of that.

Today, it feels like a well-decorated cage.

People whisper.
There’s movement all around —
relatives giving instructions, photographers angling for shots,
servants hurrying with trays —
but in my head, there’s only one voice:
mine.

I am no longer sitting here… out of choice,
but out of helplessness.

This wedding is not born from love or hope.
It’s a patch —
rushed, desperate,
to cover shame,
to salvage reputation.

But at what cost?

Me.

I’ve become the symbol of pity —
because the man I was meant to marry simply didn’t show up?

How is that my fault?

How did his betrayal turn into a question about my worth?

How did I become the girl whose dignity was up for debate?

And now… I sit beside a man I barely know.
A stranger in a sherwani.
One I’ve never spoken to, never imagined.
Someone I’d only heard of in passing.

Not the man I had once trusted to hold my hand.
Not the name I had written shyly behind notebooks,
not the face I had dreamt beside.

And yet… here I am.

FLASHBACK

The room buzzed with giggles and chaos. My lehenga skirt was halfway on, Prerna bhabhi was fumbling with the drape of my dupatta, and my college friends were already halfway through teasing me like they had rehearsed it all month.

"Meeraaa… just imagine, kal subah honeymoon coffee on the balcony—in his shirt," one of my friends sang with a wink.

"And night? Ahem just don’t scream too loud. Bade ghar ki deewar patli hoti hai," added another, and the room exploded into scandalous laughter.

I clutched a cushion and threw it at her, my cheeks flaming crimson.
"Shut up, Neha!" I squealed, half-laughing, half-melting in shyness.

“Waise bhabhi, did you give her the special tips?” one of them turned to Prerna bhabhi, who raised an eyebrow with her usual sass.

"Tips? I gave her a full training module. Poor Aarav won’t even know what hit him," she smirked.

"Stop it yaar!" I laughed, hiding my face in my palms as the teasing intensified.

That’s when the door burst open — and my mother walked in, breathless, as if she hadn’t taken a full breath in an hour.

“Aree kya kar rahi ho tum sab! Baraat aa gayi hai! Aur tumlog yahan hasi mazaak mein lagi ho?” she scolded, trying to sound stern — but her voice wavered with nerves and pride.

Her gaze landed on Prerna.
“Prerna beta, tum bhi lag gayi in sab ke saath?”

Prerna turned, grinning mischievously. “Haan maa… but first, see your gudiya.”

With that, the girls gently stepped aside like parting petals, revealing me — Meera — the bride, standing by the mirror in all her stillness.

Clad in deep crimson and gold, my lehenga shimmered like fire under soft lights. The dupatta rested delicately over my head, a veil of dreams and centuries-old traditions. My kohl-lined eyes were wide with joy, nervousness, and a sparkle that only a bride knows. My hands trembled slightly with the weight of henna, bangles, and a thousand unspoken emotions. But I was smiling… glowing.

My mother froze at the sight.

For a moment, there were no words. Just a mother looking at her daughter — no longer a little girl in ponytails, but a woman wrapped in sindoori red, moments away from stepping into a new life.

She walked to me slowly, as if afraid the moment might disappear if she rushed.

Her hand rose, trembling, and rested gently on my head.

“Bhagwan tujhe duniya ki saari khushiyaan de, meri gudiya,” she whispered, voice cracking.

She caressed my cheek, wiping a tear I didn’t know had slipped down, and kissed my forehead with the tenderness only a mother can give.

And for those few seconds, in that room full of noise, laughter, and unshed tears — everything felt right.

Everything felt whole.

And suddenly..

"I’ll kill that bastard!"

A voice thundered down the corridor, sharp and vicious — like a stone shattering stained glass. It cut through the laughter, through the perfume-laced air, through the warmth of the moment like a blade. Everyone’s breath hitched at once. Eyes turned toward the door as if the walls themselves had flinched. The room that had just been echoing with giggles and teasing turned cold, still — held in place by the weight of a single voice that didn’t belong to joy..

My heart thudded against my chest. “Bhai?” I whispered, confused.

He never shouted like that. Never lost control. Especially not today. Especially not now.

Then another voice followed — loud, panicked.

"Rishi! Stop!"
It was Papa.

Chairs scraped. Slippers hurried down marble. One of my friends moved to open the door but froze mid-step.

I stood rooted, my chest was tight. Too tight. My heart had begun to pound in that terrible way it does when it knows something before the mind is ready to accept it.
Why was Papa stopping Bhai? Why was Bhai shouting like that?
He never lost his temper. Not like this.

Something was wrong.
Terribly, irreversibly wrong.

“Stop?” Rishi's voice roared again, louder this time, unhinged with rage. “You’re asking me to stop after all this? I’m going to kill that bastard!”

His voice cracked.
With fury.
With betrayal.

“How dare he do something like this to my sister!”

Me?
Is this… is this about me?

Before I could even make sense of the words, before the question could settle in my brain, Bhai was already there — right in front of me and right behind him… Papa.

And then —
Aarav’s family.
Their faces pale. Almost grey with something that looked like shame, fear, and something else I couldn’t name. They looked like they’d aged years in minutes.

My eyes flicked from one face to another.

No answer.
No one said a word.

Papa stepped forward, his voice shaky, “Beta…”
But I turned my face away from him, back to Bhai.

I want to hear from him.
Only him.
He will not lie to me.
He can’t.

Because whatever it is that made him lose his temper like this — it has to be something big. Something unforgivable.

He loves me the most.
He would never ruin this moment unless...

His sherwani was half open, his hair a disheveled mess, sweat clinging to his forehead. But it wasn’t his appearance that terrified me.

It was his eyes.

Rage. Pure, savage rage. The kind that could burn down an entire city. The kind that wasn’t just anger — it was devastation.

I gulped.
Took a step forward, the weight of my lehenga suddenly too heavy to carry.

“B-Bhai…” I croaked, my voice barely audible. My chest felt tight, my breath stuck halfway.

Nothing is feeling right.

Bhai, what’s… what’s happening?”
I searched his eyes, hoping to find something familiar. Some softness. Some clue.

But all I saw was fury. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched.

"Bhai, please say something," I whispered, trying to breathe past the knot forming in my throat.

Bhai’s chest heaved. His knuckles white around the phone in his hand.
And then, with a broken voice barely holding back the inferno inside him, he said,
“See yourself.”

He handed me the phone.

I blinked, my fingers moving mechanically, taking the phone from his grip. My hands were cold — ice-cold — even though the room felt like it was closing in with heat and breath and tension.

There was a video already open.
I pressed play.

At first, the screen was shaky, grainy. A private room. Loud music thumping in the background.

And when I looked down—
The floor beneath my feet didn’t just shift.
It disappeared.

There he was.
Aarav.
My Aarav.

Or at least, the version of him I thought I knew.

His shirt hung open — his collar loose, hair tousled. His hands, unmistakably his, were wrapped around a girl I had never seen before. Her arms were around his neck, lips brushing his cheek. And then—her mouth crashed onto his. He didn’t pull away.
He didn’t even hesitate.

He kissed her back.

Desperately. Hungrily.
Like a man starved for desire.

The world turned mute.
All I could hear was my pulse — thrumming like a war drum inside my ears.

My breath got stuck somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

In the video, he chuckled, that familiar arrogant smirk twisting his face.

Then I heard it —
His voice. Slurred but clear.

“Getting married to that dull doll Meera just to keep the family happy… God, she bores me to death.”

My heart stopped.

“All old-school, sanskaari, and fragile. Like some museum piece in red. Not my type.”

Not my type.
Dull doll.
Bores me.

Something cracked inside me. Something deep and fragile that had taken years to build.

The video ended.

I stared at the screen, still. Frozen.
The phone slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor with a soft thud.
The sound felt deafening.

I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t cry.
I couldn’t even scream.

I could still hear the words —
“Dull doll… not my type.”
Like shattered glass crunching beneath bare feet, they dug into every inch of me.

I looked down at myself.

The intricate red lehenga that had taken weeks to choose. The golden embroidery that told the story of my love — our story — in silken threads. The bangles on my wrist still jingled softly, unaware that the hands they adorned were shaking.

The mehendi on my palms — his name hidden in its curls.

The sindoor that never got placed.

My lips parted, but no sound came. Only a breath. Shallow. Broken.

I wasn't just heartbroken. I was humiliated.
Violated in a way that had no fingerprints but left bruises all the same.

Boring.

The syllable looped through my skull like a cruel chant.
I was boring to him?

After everything… all the conversations, the promises whispered behind temple bells, the shared glances, the smiles…
All that, and this is what he thought of me?

My throat tightened. My lips trembled.

I pressed a hand to my chest.
It hurt. My heart — it actually hurt.

A sob escaped my throat.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… broken. Like the last string of a veena, snapped and silent.

Everything had collapsed.

Not just the wedding. Not just the mandap or the rituals.
But me.

The Meera I had been shaping for months — the girl in love, the bride-to-be, the dreamer…
She was gone.

Did I talk too much? Laugh too little?
Was my love too soft, my dreams too small?

The shame flooded my chest, heavier than the lehenga still wrapped around me.

I wanted to scream.
Rip the jewellery off.
Scrub the mehendi till his name disappeared.

I sat down with a thump, the weight of the lehenga no match for the weight in my chest.

Everything hurt.

My head. My heart. My trust.
My future.

And then —
A voice. Old. Heavy. Cracking under the weight of disgrace.

“Meera beta…”

Everyone’s heads turned.

Dadu.

His Dadu.

The man who once beamed with pride every time telling me how happy he was that I was coming to his family. The man who once stood tall like a pillar of strength.

Now, that same man stood at the threshold, eyes red with shame, spine bent with guilt. A walking apology.

He looked nothing like the man from the engagement day. The grandeur had faded.

“Main bahut sharminda hoon,” he said, voice trembling. “Meera beta, Jo kiya hai Aarav ne… uske liye koi maafi nahi hai.”

A loud snarl tore through the room.
“MAAFI?”
It was bhai.
“Aap logon ne shadi ka rishta banaya tha ya tamasha?”

“Beta—”

“MAT KAHIYE BETA!” bhai snapped, his hands clenched. “Agar thodi bhi sharam hoti us ladke ko, toh aaj yeh din dikhane ki zarurat nahi padti!”

Voices rose.
Echoed.

Bhai stood. Towered.
Shielding me like a storm.
His arm reached across my chair, his voice growling—

“Just leave.”
His eyes burned into Dadu’s. “Take your family and LEAVE.”

But dadu stepped forward with shaking legs, raising one hand feebly. His other gripped his walking stick like it was the only thing holding him up.

His face — a painting of remorse.

“Beta..” he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else.
His eyes landed on me. And stayed there.

“Humein… humein maaf kar dijiye. Main jaanta hoon… jo hua hai… uska koi bahana nahi. Koi shabd is dard ko mita nahi sakte. Aarav ne... paap kiya hai.”

He folded his hands.

Everyone fell silent.

“Par main yeh bhi kehna chahta hoon… ki mujhe… humein... uski harkaton ka koi andaza nahi tha. Agar zara si bhi jankari hoti… toh main apne pairon pe yeh rishta le kar nahi aata. Aap sab ke saamne aakar yeh apmaan nahi jhelta.”

His eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall — like they were too heavy to be shed.

“Maine hamesha Meera ko… apne ghar ki bahu banakar dekhne ka sapna dekha tha. Itni samajhdaar, itni susanskrit, itni pyari bachhi…”

My lips quivered.

“Aur aaj… aaj usi bachhi ko, usi dulhan ko… is halat mein dekh kar…”
His voice cracked, and finally, a tear escaped down his cheek.
“… meri rooh kaamp gayi hai.”

And then…

He took another step forward.
Straightened his spine.
Held his walking stick tight.

“You were supposed to come into our home with celebration… with flowers and laughter. You were meant to be our pride. But instead…”
He lowered his gaze.
“Today, I cannot even walk out of this house with my head held high. Not in front of the people I’ve shared meals with, prayed beside, lived among for decades. Our name… it is stained.”

My chest tightened.

“This isn't just about a broken alliance,” Dadu continued, “this is about a family’s name… a reputation built over generations, now shattered in a single day.

He took a breath, hands trembling as he folded them together again.

“I beg of you — don’t let the actions of one destroy everything the rest of us still hold sacred. Please… listen to me once.”

The room was quiet. Everyone waiting.

“I don't know if I deserve to speak anymore but still..

“If there is even a shred of trust left… if you still believe there is goodness in our family beyond Aarav’s actions… then I want to say this

He looked back at Papa.

“Let Meera marry my elder grandson.”

Gasps.

Stunned silence.

My breath caught in my throat.

“I know this sounds wrong… untimely… cruel even.”
His voice shook now.

“But believe me — Veer is nothing like Aarav. He is the one who stood by this family when things went beyond wrong. He is the reason our house still runs. He is the son I should have trusted with this alliance in the first place.”

Dadu’s eyes were red. His voice was lower now, pained.

“Please, let this marriage happen. Let our two families still be united — not through betrayal, but through trust. Through someone who will protect your daughter with the dignity she deserves. He’s grounded. He’s honourable. If you give him a chance… I promise, he will never let Meera shed another tear in her life.

Before anyone could speak, bhai voice exploded through the room — raw, thunderous, and filled with rage.

“What the hell are you saying?!”

He stormed forward, his chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. Eyes wide with disbelief.

“Even after everything that just came out… you’re talking about marriage?”
His voice cracked, not from weakness — but fury.

“You think we’ll fix this like that? By handing my sister to another man from the same family? What do you think she is — a compromise? A lamb for slaughter?”

“She’s my sister!” he roared, pointing toward me. “Not a token to trade for your honour!”

I flinched, but my heart swelled at his words. Bhai… always my shield.

The room held its breath. But Dadu didn’t flinch.

He took a shaky breath, lifted his face again — and his voice returned, lower now. Worn. Bitter.

“Rishi beta…” he began, voice trembling but steady, “you’re angry. You should be. But don’t mistake this for another betrayal.”

He looked up, his voice rising — not in volume, but weight.

“You’re young. You think anger is power. But when you’ve lived long enough, you’ll realize — it’s not always the loudest voice that protects a family. Sometimes, it’s the one that chooses the fire — so others don’t have to.”

He turned to papa — not as an elder, not as a superior — but as a man crushed beneath the ruins of his family’s reputation.

“I’m not asking to forget. I’m asking to salvage. Not for Aarav. For Meera. She deserves a place where her worth is protected, not questioned. I failed once. I won’t again.”

“Please… just think about it. Don’t let her carry the punishment of someone else’s shame.”

And with that, he bowed his head — the head that once never bent for anything and left us with the weight of a decision..

I sat frozen. All I could feel was the ache in my chest… and the weight of a thousand expectations pressing down on me.

.

The door closed behind Dadu with a finality that left the air still.

No one spoke for a moment.

Papa stood frozen. Ma slowly sat down beside me, her hands trembling over her lap. The silence around them felt loaded — as if centuries of tradition, fear, shame, and helplessness were all pressing against the walls of this one room.

Papa exhaled shakily and looked at me, not as the man I always saw — strong, grounded, proud — but as a father torn down by what he couldn’t control.

“Meera…”
His voice cracked, like dry paper.

I looked up. His eyes were glassy. The kind that held too many thoughts and no good answers.

“We never imagined… something like this would happen to you. To our daughter.”

Ma’s hand reached out to hold mine. Her grip was warm, desperate.

“Beta… we always taught you to be brave. To stand for what’s right,” she whispered. “But the world outside this house… it doesn’t care what’s right. It only knows how to talk.”

Papa sat across from me now, his hands folded, his head bowed.

“I know it’s unfair. I know it shouldn’t matter.” He paused. “But you and I both know how cruel people can be to a girl left at the altar.”

He looked away, ashamed at the truth.

“It doesn’t matter if you were innocent. They will make stories. They’ll ask questions — hushed or loud. They will reduce your name to a whisper behind closed doors. And I… I won’t be able to stop them all.”

I saw Ma blink rapidly, holding back tears.

“We don’t want you to go into another fire,” she said softly. “But maybe… just maybe, this is a way to step out of the ashes.”

I looked back at him. Words were lodged in my throat. I didn’t know what to feel anymore — betrayed, hollow, unsure, or simply exhausted.

Before I could respond, bhai stood up — fast, furious, and burning.

“No, Papa. Stop.”
Everyone looked at him.

He took two steps forward, fists clenched at his sides. His voice didn’t tremble. It roared — not in anger, but in certainty.

“You’re asking her to make a decision right now? After all that’s happened?”
He shook his head.
“Yes, and I know I failed. I failed to see who Aarav truly was. And I will carry that guilt till the day I die.”

“But I will not let Meera walk into another fire — unless I know it is not a fire.”

Then came the words that silenced the room:

“And I know Veer.”

He took a deep breath, swallowing back the tears that threatened his composure.

“I may have been wrong about Aarav. But Veer — Veer is nothing like him.”
“He’s quiet, steady, respectful. I've seen how he handles storms without shouting. How he treats people who can do nothing for him.”

“I’ve watched him stand behind his family like a wall, and never once let his pride rise above his principles. He doesn’t talk big. He acts with grace. And above all —”
His voice softened now, looking at me.
“He would never break Meera. Not in silence. Not in anger. Not even by mistake.”

Papa exhaled deeply, as if the weight of a thousand doubts had shifted slightly.

“I’m still furious about what happened. I won’t forget what Aarav did. But if there’s one person in who deserves a chance — it’s Veer, it's Meera.”

Silence.

And with that… the weight of the room shifted to me.

“We’ll never force you. But… maybe, just maybe… this is one way to take back what he tried to steal — your dignity.”

And then Papa said — with all the weight of his shattered ego and terrified heart,

“Don’t trust the world, beta. Trust us. Trust this one time… that maybe not all men are like him.”

Tears spilled from my eyes.

Because I didn’t know what hurt more — what had happened to me…
Or how much my parents were forced to accept just to protect me from what came next.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.
My heart was beating, but it didn’t feel like panic anymore. It felt like clarity — cold and unflinching.

This is not just only about me now. It is about my family reputation too. How can it let it be tainted.

I stood up slowly.

“I’m ready.”

The room went still.

Bhai’s voice broke through instantly, sharp and instinctive.
“No, baccha! Don’t say that! You’re hurt, you’re vulnerable — this is not the time to make a decision like that.”

I looked at him… the brother who would set fire to the earth just to keep me safe.

I gently placed my hand over his.

And then… I spoke.

“Bhai… you’ve always fought for me. Let me fight for you now. For all of us.”

He blinked, stunned.

I turned to Papa and Maa, my voice trembling — but clear.

“I can live with a broken heart, Bhai. But not with the thought that people are pointing fingers at Mummy-Papa because of me. I can’t let them carry shame for something I didn’t even do.”

Maa covered her mouth with her hand, tears falling freely.

“If marrying Veer means no one will dare to question their upbringing… if it means saving their respect in this world—”
My voice broke, but I continued.
“Then I am ready.”

Bhai stood frozen. Angry. Shattered.

I took his hand in mine.

“Please let me do this with my head held high. Not because I’m helpless — but because I choose to protect what matters to me the most. My family.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Bhai pulled me into his arms and whispered hoarsely—

“ you’ll always be my pride. No matter what the world says.”

FLASHBACK ENDS

.

.

“Ab var vadhu ke maang mein sindoor bharein.”

The priest’s voice, calm and steady, sliced through the dull hum in my ears.
It pulled me out of my daze like a sudden gust of wind opening a locked window.

I blinked as if waking from a trance.

My breath caught. My fingers trembled.

The words echoed in my ears like a final verdict.
Final. Irrevocable. Holy.

And then I felt it —
a gentle touch on my shoulder, warm, familiar.

My bhabhi.

Her hand moved behind me, lifting my veil slowly —
like unveiling a bride to the man meant to love her for life.
But all I felt was exposed.
Naked in front of strangers, in front of fate.

A moment passed, or maybe more.

Then I sensed him.

A hand near my head —
steady, careful… fingers holding vermillion.
A pinch of red that should’ve been sacred, but felt like surrender.

My breath caught.

And as the grains of sindoor touched my parted hairline…
I finally looked up.

At him.

There was no emotion in his eyes.
No anger, no affection, no hesitation.
Just stillness —
like a man fulfilling a duty he didn’t ask for.

And that… that scared me.

For a brief moment, his gaze locked into mine.
Unflinching.
Unapologetic.
Almost as if he was trying to read me —
to see the fear I was hiding,
the tremble behind my silence,
the truth I was too shattered to say aloud.

I couldn’t hold it.
I closed my eyes.

And in that silence,
I felt it —
the warm weight of sindoor touch my parted hairline.
The sound of my breath…
the faint chants of the priest…
the soft rustle of people moving around us…
and that sudden, strange stillness within me.

The pinch of red —
now marked my name with his.

A few grains slipped… fell down softly…
and landed on the bridge of my nose.

And suddenly —
a voice echoed in my mind.
My bhabhi, laughing days ago as she adjusted my bridal dupatta and teased me—

“Pata hai Meera, agar sindoor naak pe gir jaye na… samajh jaaiyega, aapke hone wale pati aapse bahut pyaar karenge.”

And a tear escaped, tracing the side of my cheek.

I had smiled that day, hiding my blush.
Dreaming of love.
Of a man who’d look at me like I was his world.

And today —
today I sat beside a stranger.
A man I barely knew.
How can I expect love… from a marriage born out of helplessness?

How do I believe in warmth,
when the fire beside me only reminds me of everything that was taken?

.

.

The applause began around us.
The elders smiled.
Photographers captured the moment like it meant something beautiful.

But inside me…
nothing stirred.

Because this wasn’t a beginning.
It was a burial.

The girl who once believed in happy marriages…
Who dreamed of a love she could wear like a second skin…
Is now stepping into a marriage built on convenience.
Not love. Not choice.
Just silence.
Just helplessness.

A ceremony arranged not by hearts, but by crisis.
A wedding that no longer feels like a celebration — but a cover-up.

The priest’s voice, steady and holy, rose above the fading crackle of the sacred fire—

“Yeh vivaah sampann hua…

Aaj se aap dono pati-patni huye.

The voice rang clear. Firm. Final.

The words should have made my heart flutter.
Should have wrapped around me like the beginning of something beautiful.

But instead…
They struck me like a blow —
sharp, hollow, irreversible.

There was no music in my chest.
No shy smile tugging at my lips.
No trembling joy of new beginnings.

Only a strange stillness.

Like something inside me had gone completely quiet.

I sat there, draped in red and silence, the air around me thick with smoke, prayers, and expectations. I was surrounded by family, by customs, by everything that was supposed to make this moment sacred.

But I couldn’t feel any of it.

It didn’t feel divine.
It felt like a brand — pressed onto my skin without warning,
marking me, sealing me.

I am… married.

Not to the one I had dreamed of.
Not to the man I once smiled at under fairy lights and imagined a life with.
Not to Aarav.

But to his elder brother.
To Veer.

A man I barely knew.

A name that was never meant to be spoken beside mine.
And yet — here we were.

My eyes met no one’s. My lips didn’t move. I simply sat, breathing through the storm inside me, while outside, the world continued to smile and bless what they believed was fate.

But fate —
fate felt like a cruel joke tonight.

I was supposed to become his wife.
And now, I am married…
to his brother.

The silence inside me was louder than any vow spoken.
And as the vermillion dusted my parting, sealing a bond I hadn’t chosen,
one truth settled into my bones like winter:

MEERA VEER PRATAP SINGH.

A name I never imagined.
A fate I never asked for.
But now—mine.

AUTHOR NOTE

So… here comes the Chapter One.

Tell me — did it grip your heart? Did it make you pause and wonder what now?

This is just the beginning. There’s ache, healing, and something unexpectedly beautiful waiting ahead.

And I’m nervously waiting to hear what you felt.

❤️