The day of the wedding arrived not with celebration, but with a heavy sense of business. There were no grand decorations at Meera’s small house—only a few strings of fading marigolds.
Meera sat on the floor of her room as a neighbor helped her drape the heavy red wedding saree. The fabric was stiff, and the gold embroidery scratched her skin. She looked like a queen, but she felt like a ghost. Her "Milky" skin glowed against the deep crimson of the veil, and her dark, black eyes were rimmed with kohl, making them look larger and more frightened.
"Don't cry," the neighbor whispered. "You'll ruin the makeup. Just think of the gold you'll be wearing tomorrow."
They all including my family only care about money and make-up, no one is here for me..., meera thought.
Meera didn't care about the gold. She cared that her father hadn't looked her in the eye all morning, and her brother Arjun hadn't even sent a letter from the city.
🥀The Arrival
The sound of the dhol (drums) announced the arrival of the groom's party. But it wasn't the loud, rowdy procession typical of village weddings. It was disciplined and grand.
When it was time for the Varmala (the exchange of garlands), Meera was led out, her head bowed low under the weight of the veil. She could only see the ground—the polished leather shoes of the man standing before her and the hem of his expensive cream-colored sherwani.
"Raise your head, Meera," her mother prompted with a sharp nudge.
Meera slowly lifted her gaze.
For the first time, she saw him. Abhiraj Thakur. He was even more intimidating than the stories suggested. His 6-foot frame seemed to block out the sun. His shoulders were broad, and his face was carved from granite. But it was his eyes that stopped her breath—those strange, piercing greyish eyes. They weren't warm; they were like a winter sky, analyzing her, judging her beauty against the price his mother had paid.
Abhiraj, on the other hand, felt a momentary jolt. He had expected a simple village girl, but the woman standing before him was breathtaking. Her "button nose" was adorned with a small gold ring, and her "pink lips" were trembling slightly. She looked fragile, like a flower that would crush if he stepped too close.
He felt that familiar spark of irritation—the "anger" that always rose when something unsettled him. He didn't like how she made him feel. He wanted a wife who was a shadow, not someone whose beauty commanded his attention.
He placed the garland around her neck with a stiff, robotic movement. He didn't smile. He didn't lean in. He simply did his duty.
🥀The Departure
The ceremony passed in a blur of fire and mantras. Before the sun set, it was time for the Vidaai—the bride's departure.
As Meera walked toward the black jeep, she turned to her father one last time. She hoped for a hug, a tear, or a "stay safe."
Instead, her father simply nodded toward the mansion on the hill. "The debt is clear, Meera. Do not give them a reason to complain about us."
Meera’s heart broke into a thousand pieces. She stepped into the car, sitting as far away from Abhiraj as possible. The "Moon" was leaving her home, and the "Storm" was sitting right next to her, silent and cold.
Thankyou 🩷🧿
.
.
. Wattpad id : author _leoo17
( for spoiler's)🙂↔️
insta id: @author_leo17
Write a comment ...