A dull heaviness throbbed in my head as my eyes fluttered open. air felt still, yet a faint golden light was peeking in through the tiny holes in the storeroom’s wooden walls. The sun’s morning rays trickled inside like shy intruders, scattering little specks of dust that danced lazily in the beam. It wasn’t pitch black anymore… and somehow, that made the place feel less suffocating than last night.
I inhaled slowly, letting the smell of damp wood fill my lungs — it was still unpleasant, but my chest didn’t ache with panic the way it did in the darkness. My fingers rubbed against the rough floor, grounding myself, willing my mind to stay calm.
The creak of the door snapped my body rigid. My breath hitched.
Trouble.
My aunt’s figure filled the doorway, blocking the sunlight for a moment. Instinctively, my eyes darted to her face — always searching for the warning signs. She stepped closer, and my muscles tensed. I quickly brought my hands up to cover my face, bracing for the slap that usually followed.
But it didn’t come. what? How?
Instead, a hand patted the top of my head. My brows narrowed in confusion.
“Jaldi se taiyaar ho jao, bade log aa rahe hain, beta. Thik hai? Aur haan… tum meri vo nayi wali gulabi saree pehnna. Bohot sundar lagogi,” she said in an unusually soft tone.
Yet underneath that softness… there was something else. Something sharp.
My voice barely escaped my lips. “Ji.”
I rose slowly from the floor, my legs stiff from sitting curled all night, and followed her out, silent as always.
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Author’s POV
In her small room, Devi stood before the mirror, draping herself in the soft folds of the pink saree. The color clung to her like the blush of dawn — gentle, pure, and mesmerizing. Her long, dark-brown hair flowed freely, reaching her hips like a silken waterfall.
A tiny pink bindi between her brows, a touch of lipstick, and the faintest blush on her cheeks — that was all. No heavy makeup, no glittering jewelry. Just her simplicity, and it was enough to make her look like a goddess descended from the heavens.
Devi’s POV
But my hands hesitated over the pleats of the saree. Why did she talk to me like that?
“Bade log?” I murmured to myself. Who could they be… the ones who could make her voice sweet instead of sharp.
Footsteps padded quickly to my door. Maya, my aunt’s daughter, appeared with a cold face. “Chalo, neeche aa jao. Tray leke. Sab wait kar rahe hain tumhara.”
I took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
The moment I stepped into the hallway, the sound of hushed whispers and muffled laughter floated up from the hall. My heartbeat quickened.
I took the tray from the kitchen, gripping its edges tightly to stop my fingers from trembling, and stepped into the room where they were gathered. My eyes stayed lowered, fixed on the silver cups and the steaming tea they held.
Too many people, but why are they here?
The murmurs continued, but some voices stopped mid-sentence. I could feel eyes on me — weighing me, judging me. My aunt’s lessons echoed in my head: Smile softly, speak little, touch elders’ feet.
I obeyed, bending down respectfully, serving each person one by one.
Then, as I reached the next person — a man in a black suit — the air around me seemed to thicken.
I could feel this was the strongest gaze among all . My hands tightened around the tray. Gathering courage, I let my eyes flick up for just a second… and my breath caught, eyes widened.
Him?
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yesterday evening
The temple was bathed in the soft orange glow of sunset. I sat cross-legged before the deity, my eyes closed, whispering prayers for some peace — a peace I’d been chasing for years.
And then… I felt it. A gaze. Heavy. Unwavering.
My eyes opened, and there he was — standing a few steps away. A man in a crisp white kurta, elegant like some forgotten prince from an old tale. His eyes were fixed on me, not with lust, but with a kind of feeling I couldn’t understand.
My dupatta slipped from my head, and heat flushed my face. I quickly looked away, pulling it back into place, and rose to my feet. But even as I touched Pandit ji’s feet for blessings, I could still feel his gaze like a warm weight on my skin.
I moved towards the wall where dozens of prayer threads fluttered in the breeze. Picking mine, I began to tie it — a silent wish woven into its knot. My eyes, almost against my will, lifted to one of the tiny holes in the wall… and through it, I saw his eyes.
It was impossible to hold that gaze. Something about it made my heartbeat unsteady, my stomach flutter. I looked away quickly… leaving the thread loosely hanging without even realizing.
I walked — no, almost ran — out of the temple. But halfway down the steps, I turned once more.
He was still looking at me.
And for the first time in years, my cheeks burned not from shame or fear… but something else entirely.
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“And this is Shiv Singh Rathore,” a voice interrupted my memory, “tumhare hone wale pati.”
The tray in my hands suddenly felt heavier.
Wait… what? Husband?
From the corner of my eye, I saw the faintest curve of his lips, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
But I quickly averted my gaze, placing the cup before him, and straightened up, staring hard at the floor. My thoughts tangled in confusion. Why is he here? Why me? Husband? No… this can’t be real.
“Devi!"
"Devi!”
Maya’s voice snapped me out of my daze. She shook my shoulder lightly.
“Ji… ji,” I whispered, realizing everyone had been calling my name.
A graceful lady, dressed in an elegant saree, looked at me with warm, motherly eyes.
“Beta, tum bohot sundar ho… aur sarvagun sampann bhi. Shakal se hi bholi lagti ho. Tum mere bete ke liye ekdum sahi pasand ho.”
Her words wrapped around my heart like a gentle shawl. My fingers began tracing the edges of my bangles without me even realizing.
But then…
“Haan, lekin hamare khandan ka ladka… inki aukat se bahar hai,” came a sharp, cold voice.
I looked up to see an older woman — perhaps his grandmother — staring at me with unmistakable disdain. Disgust, even.
His mother leaned towards her. “Maa…” she murmured, a subtle warning as if stopping her to say more.
My aunt gave a strained laugh, as did his mother, and then his mother suggested,
“ ji… bachon ko agar akele mein baat karni ho, to…”
“Ji… ji, bilkul,” my aunt interrupted quickly, her smile not reaching her eyes. She shot me a look that said more than words — Say nothing.
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The door clicked shut behind us. My pulse roared in my ears.
He took steps forward, closing the space between us, his presence filling the small room. His voice was calm, low.
“Aap chahe to waqt le sakti hain… koi problem nahi hai.”
For a second, I almost believed him. That I had a choice. That my answer could change something.
But my reality pressed down on me like chains.
He stared walking towards the door. And I gathered the courage to finally speak .
“Ji,” I whispered.
His hand reached for the doorknob, but then he froze. Slowly, he turned back, his eyes searching my face. “Yes?”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
“Ji… karungi main aapse… shaadi.”
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