Scene: Wedding day
Yani stands before the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. The heavy embroidery of her bridal attire shimmers under the dim lighting, the red fabric draped around her like the weight of her own fate. Her fingers, adorned with intricate henna patterns, tremble slightly as she touches the cold glass, as if trying to grasp the fading image of the girl she once was.
Her heart feels like it's caught in a storm-sadness for the dreams slipping through her fingers, nervousness for the unknown future, anger at the helplessness of it all, and yet... a strange, aching hope.
"Is this really happening?" she wonders, swallowing the lump in her throat. The dream she had nurtured for so long-to become a fashion designer, to carve her own path-now seems like an illusion, washed away by the tide of her father's decisions.
A soft knock at the door pulls her back. She turns just as her mother, Tara Mehta, enters, her face carrying a bittersweet smile. The room feels heavier, filled with unspoken words, unshared emotions.
Mrs. Mehta's gaze sweeps over her daughter, drinking in the sight of her in bridal red. A lifetime of memories flashes before her Yani as a little girl, laughing in her arms, Yani clutching her hand on her first day of school, Yani growing into a woman, strong yet fragile.
Overwhelmed, she steps forward and pulls Yani into a tight embrace. The hug speaks volumes love, sorrow, an unbreakable bond, and the inevitable distance that marriage will bring.
She pulls back, cupping Yani's face, her voice trembling, "You look beautiful, my child. It feels like just yesterday you were my little girl... and now..." A tear escapes before she quickly wipes it away, forcing a small smile. "It's time."
Yani's heart tightens. Time. How cruelly fast it moves when you wish it would stop.
With one last glance at her reflection, she follows her mother toward the mandap. Her feet feel heavy, her breath shallow, each step a farewell to the life she once dreamed of.
As she approaches, she lifts her gaze and finds Karan sitting at the mandap. Their eyes meet. In that single moment, something shifts-a silent exchange of uncertainty, of unspoken questions, of fates intertwining against their will.
A shiver runs down Yani's spine. What lies ahead? A cage? Or... a destiny yet to be unraveled?
Kushagra sat at the mandap, his expression blank neither happiness nor sadness, just an unreadable mask of indifference. He looked handsome in his wedding attire, but there was no warmth in his eyes, no excitement on his face. He was simply fulfilling a duty, nothing more.
Yani's heart tightened as she took her place beside him. Was this how her new life would begin? With a husband who looked like a stranger even on their wedding day?
Mrs. Mehta leaned in, gently placing her hands on their shoulders. In a soft, loving voice, she whispered in Yani's ear, "From now on, your life will change. If you face any problems, please make sure to let us know."
Yani swallowed hard. Problems? She already knew she was stepping into a life filled with them. A life she never chose. Her face was covered by her bridal veil, but her eyes burned with unshed tears. She couldn't let them fall. Not here. Not now. She took deep, steadying breaths, forcing herself to stay composed.
The priest began chanting mantras. The rhythmic sound echoed in her ears, yet she felt disconnected from everything around her. Was this really happening?
She turned her head slightly to look at Kushagra, searching for even the slightest hint of warmth or understanding in his face. But he didn't glance at her. Not even once. His gaze remained fixed ahead, as if he were enduring this moment rather than living it.
"He doesn't care." The thought struck her like a dagger, cold and sharp.
"Now, the groom will place the mangalsutra around the bride's neck," the priest announced.
As Kushagra lifted the sacred thread and carefully placed it around her neck, a cold shiver ran down Yani's spine. The weight of the mangalsutra felt heavier than it should, like shackles binding her to a fate she never asked for.
The moment the sindoor touched her hairline, a sharp wave of reality crashed into her. She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply, as if trying to bury her past life along with her dreams. This was it.
"From now on, you both are husband and wife."
The words echoed in her ears like a final judgment. A sentence. A fate sealed.
Cheers erupted around them. Guests celebrated. A photographer captured the moments. But Yani felt like time had stopped for her. She was no longer Yani Mehta. She was now Mrs. Malhotra.
The bidaai began.
Mrs. Mehta pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. This was their last hug as mother and daughter before life pulled them apart. Tears streamed down her face, soaking Yani's veil. Yani clung to her mother, but no matter how tightly she held on, she knew she had to let go. This wasn't just a goodbye. This was an ending.
When Vikram embraced her, he didn't cry. But the weight of his silence felt heavier than any storm. His arms wrapped around her with a quiet desperation, as if he was holding onto something he wasn't ready to let go of.
His grip was firm steady but beneath it, Yanii could feel the faintest tremor. His breath hitched for just a second before he exhaled deeply, pressing his chin against the top of her head.
His voice, when it finally came, was softer than she had ever heard before. A quiet plea wrapped in restraint.
"Yanii, my child... take care of yourself."
The words weren't just spoken. They carried something unspoken beneath them something raw, something unbreakable.
Then came Anil. Always her annoying, teasing brother. The one who never missed a chance to pull her hair, steal her snacks, or poke fun at her for no reason at all.
But today... today was different.
His arms wrapped around her, but for once, there was no teasing smirk on his face. His hold was tight, almost too tight, as if he was scared that letting go would make everything real. His breath hitched slightly before he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You're getting married... I can't believe it."
There was a small, broken chuckle, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, blinking rapidly as if trying to keep his emotions in check.
"Who will trouble me now?" His lips curled into a weak smile, but the playful glint in his eyes was gone. It wasn't a joke it was grief hidden beneath humor.
His fingers curled slightly against her back before he let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to sound casual.
"Listen... if kushagra bothers you, just let me know, okay? I'll be there. Always."
His voice cracked at the end, and before Yanii could respond, he quickly wiped his eyes and turned away, pretending as if nothing had happened. But the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest refused to fade.
Yanii tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the storm inside her.
The car door clicked shut, sealing her away from everything she had ever known. Her hands rested on her lap, cold and slightly clenched, as if holding onto something invisible something slipping away.
She turned to the window.
There they were her parents, her family. Their faces blurred behind the thin layer of moisture in her eyes, but she could still see her mother's forced smile, her father's stiff posture, Anil's reddened eyes.
Her home.
Her old life.
Fading... disappearing with every passing second.
A lump formed in her throat, too heavy, too painful. The car began to move, and so did her tears silent, unstoppable, slipping down her face one by one. She didn't wipe them away. She just watched.
Watched as the road stretched ahead, while behind her, everything she had ever loved became nothing more than a distant blur in the rearview mirror.
And for the first time... she truly felt alone.
Her journey had begun.
---
The car rolled to a halt in front of the Malhotra mansion-grand, towering, intimidating. The sheer size of it made Yanii feel smaller, as if stepping into a world that was never meant for her.
Kushagra was the first to step out. Not a glance back. Not a moment's hesitation. He walked ahead like a man who had merely fulfilled an obligation, not someone bringing home his bride.
Yanii swallowed the lump in her throat, fingers tightening on the edge of her lehenga. This was it. There was no turning back.
She stepped out, her heels clicking against the marble driveway.
At the grand entrance, bathed in golden light, stood Meera Malhotra. The matriarch of the family, holding a puja thali, her presence commanding yet warm. Unlike Kushagra, at least she acknowledged Yanii.
A gentle smile curved Meera's lips as she took a step forward. The flickering diya in the thali reflected in her kind eyes.
"Welcome to the Malhotra family."
Her voice was soft, motherly a small comfort in an unfamiliar place. But no amount of warmth could erase the icy void left behind by the man who hadn't even cared to stop for her.