The Chatterjee mansion was buzzing with life. Relatives, neighbors, and well-wishers had gathered to witness the arrival of the newest member of the family—Srirupa Mukherjee.
"Step in with your left foot first," instructed Rinadevi Chatterjee, the matriarch of the family, as she guided her daughter-in-law through the traditional entry rituals.
Srirupa obediently stepped onto the ceremonial plate of milk and vermillion, imprinting her delicate footprints onto the white cloth before entering the house. A murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd.
She wasn't just strikingly beautiful—her grace, education, and lineage spoke of sophistication.
Draped in an intricate zardosi Benarasi saree, her form shimmered under the weight of heavy gold and diamond jewelry. Every piece adorning her—from the delicate bangles on her wrists to the elaborate necklace resting against her collarbone—spoke of affluence.
Her father had ensured no expense was spared, covering his daughter in an armor of wealth as she stepped into her new life.
The Chatterjees were no ordinary family either. Renowned jewelers, their wealth and influence stretched far beyond the city. The union of two such distinguished families was an occasion worth celebrating.
As the wedding festivities settled, Srirupa was led to her new home—her husband's room.
The grand suite on the fourth floor was unlike anything she had imagined.
A space so vast, it felt more like a luxury hotel than a home. The king-sized bed was framed by an elegant wooden headboard, a floor-to-ceiling window opening up to a private balcony, and a study filled with books that hinted at the room's owner's intellect.
Standing by the bookshelves, she admired the impressive collection—though she found not a single book in Bengali.
The dark color palette was modern, the furniture sleek and sophisticated—yet the space lacked warmth.
The extravagant decor reminded her of her own house—perhaps even grander, yet lifeless and cold.
The most striking feature of the suite was a massive portrait of her husband dominating the wall behind the bed. A man in uniform. Confident. Commanding.
IPS Officer Ritwik Chatterjee.
At thirty-two, he had already earned a formidable reputation. Having cleared the UPSC exams at just twenty-one, his career had taken him through some of the toughest postings—Bihar, Rajasthan, and now, West Bengal, his home state.
A man dedicated to law and order, yet here he was—tied to a woman he barely knew.
Srirupa sighed, after spending a few minutes on the balcony, she returned inside and stood in front of the mirror.
She was draped in a bright red Benarasi saree, her body adorned with gold, her forehead filled with vermillion. Despite her exhaustion, she looked stunning.
She had known since childhood that people admired her beauty more than her talents.
Her father had covered her in gold and diamonds—so much that it almost felt excessive.
Her ten or eleven massive luggage bags had already been sent to her room earlier, she took out all her things and entered the bathroom.
After freshening up, she changed into a simple red Dhakai saree and removed most of her jewelry, setting them aside with care. Just as she finished adjusting her bangles, a knock echoed at the door.
"Srirupa, are you ready?"
It was Nilanjana, her sister-in-law, carrying a tray filled with steaming kachoris, dum aloo, shahi paneer, and sweets.
"I brought your food," Nilanjana said warmly, placing the tray on the table. "Eat well. You must be exhausted."
Srirupa hesitated, then asked softly, "There's no onion or garlic in this, right?"
Nilanjana smiled. "Not at all. We know you're vegetarian."
Relieved, Srirupa thanked her, and Nilanjana left, disappearing into the lively household—being the eldest daughter in law, she still had a mountain of work to handle with the house full of guests.
Huh, now that we've talked about the bride, let's turn to the groom—who, after enduring an hour and a half of family rituals, had finally retreated to his room.
Except, he wasn't in his own bedroom tonight. The family had arranged for him to stay in the guest room on the fifth floor.
The real issue? Since entering the guest room, he hasn't come out.
A newlywed groom usually carried an air of excitement—but there was none on his face. Instead, he seemed irritated.
His mother, Rinadevi, had taken his food to his room, but when she didn't find him there, she came back out to search for him.
Seeing Nilanjana, she asked, "Nilanjana, have you seen Ritwik?"
"No, I was just with Srirupa," Nilanjana replied. Noting the worry on her aunt's face, she asked, "You didn't find him in his room?"
"No, and he's nowhere outside either," Rinadevi said softly. Looking around, she murmured, "Tonight, he isn't supposed to leave. It's the first night, Kalratri. If his elder uncle finds out he's missing, there will be chaos..."
Nilanjana's face grew serious. With a house full of relatives and neighbors—where had Ritwik gone?