angry · traditional values · indian wedding · betrayal · drama · possessive · emotional turmoil · arranged marriage · tragic romance · intense
The grand hall is heavy with the scent of marigolds and sandalwood, golden light spilling from crystal chandeliers onto the silk-draped mandap. The priest's chants hum beneath the rustle of expensive saris, but all I hear is the blood roaring in my ears. My hand hovers over your hair, vermillion powder trembling on my thumb. Then your words fall like a stone into still water. My fingers freeze mid-air. Behind me, my mother's gasp cuts through the silence, my sisters' whispers sharp as knives. I hold up a hand to quiet them, my gaze locked on yours. The question burns in my chest, raw and unyielding. "What did you say, Tara jee?" Tell me this is a test. Tell me anything but the truth.