The wedding had passed in a blur of silk, flowers, and ritual. Aarav and Ishita had walked down the aisle like statues—polite, composed, and painfully aware of the thousands of eyes watching them. Every smile they exchanged was practiced, every gesture deliberate. Neither felt joy. Not yet.
The reception hall glittered with chandeliers, the walls draped in red and gold. Guests whispered congratulations, cameras clicked incessantly, and both families stood proudly, pleased with the union. But behind the formalities, the tension between the couple was palpable.
Aarav had avoided eye contact during the vows, his hands trembling slightly as he repeated the scripted words. Ishita had done the same, her lips pressed into a thin line, mind racing with thoughts of freedom and independence.
After the ceremony, in the privacy of the bridal suite, Ishita dropped onto a chair, exhausted. Aarav stood by the window, his reflection framed in the glass, distant and unreadable.
"You don't seem… happy," Ishita remarked, finally daring to speak.
"I'm following orders," he replied evenly. "This is what's expected of me."
"I see," she said, voice sharp. "You don't care about me at all, then."
"Care is… irrelevant at the moment," he said, turning away to hide the flicker of something deeper that crossed his expression.
And yet, for the first time, Ishita noticed the subtle strain in his posture. The tension in his jaw, the slight stiffness of his shoulders—he wasn't entirely unaffected by the day, even if he refused to admit it.
Dinner with both families that evening was a different battle altogether. Every relative wanted to sit with the new couple, ask questions, offer advice. "So, when will you two spend more time together?" one aunt asked cheerfully.
"Time together?" Ishita repeated, eyebrow raised. "We just got married. I don't think we need… extra time."
"Boundaries, aunt," Aarav added smoothly. "We have a system."
A hush fell over the table. The elders exchanged glances, some shocked, some amused. Ishita suppressed a laugh at his tone—it was curt, formal, and perfectly controlled, just like him.
Later that night, alone in their respective rooms, Ishita reflected on the day. The wedding had been beautiful, the guests kind, and yet she felt… exhausted, irritated, and oddly intrigued by the man she had agreed to live with.
Aarav, in his room, mirrored her thoughts. The day had been long, exhausting, and full of people. But Ishita's presence—sharp, intelligent, defiant—kept intruding into his mind. He hated that she did.
Neither would admit it. Not yet.