AANYA

The temple is quieter than I imagined.
Just two families.

The incense curls into the air, thick and heavy, as though even the gods want to look away.

"Sit properly, Aanya," Ma hisses under her breath, tugging at my dupatta.

Papa doesn't glance at me at all-his eyes stay fixed on the fire, as if this marriage is his offering to the gods, and I am just the matchstick.
Beside him, my brother stares at the floor. He hasn't said a word since morning. Maybe he doesn't know what to say. Or maybe silence runs in our blood when it comes to me.

Across the fire, Aarav Saxena sits-His posture is steady, his expression calm, unreadable. His silence feels different-less like punishment, more like a shield.

The priest's chants rise and fall like waves I'm too tired to swim in. His words don't touch me; they pass over my head like smoke that never settles.
Then he called us for the saat phere.

Ma leans toward me, her voice sharp even in whispers.

"Stand straight. Stop fidgeting."

I rise. My anklets sing with every step, and I feel like a doll being walked in circles.

The fire crackles as Aarav and I rise. My anklets ring with every step, mocking me, reminding me that even shackles can be dressed in silver.

Step after step, I walk, not as a bride but as a prisoner circling her own cage.

The vows are recited. I don't hear them at all.

But then-just once-I hear Aarav's low voice, quiet but firm as he repeats after the priest. Not cold, not resentful. Simply... steady. And for the first time that morning, I realised he is not my enemy. Just another soul caught in someone else's script.

The last step.
After that the priest signals. Aarav picks up the pinch of vermilion. His hand doesn't tremble. When the vermilion touched my hairline, it burned-not with fire, but with the weight of a brand.
The nuptial chain slid against my throat, cool at first, then heavy, as though it carried both duty and destiny

The fire fades low.
The priest smiles, his voice ringing in finality:
"From now you both are husband and wife."

Ma bows, eyes shut, relief dripping from her face like sweat.
Papa straightens, pride swelling his chest.
My brother remains silent.

And his family?
His mother touches my shoulder, gently, like a mother should.
His sister presses her palms together in a quiet blessing.
His father nods once, firm and kind.

It feels strange.
To be seen-not fully, not deeply, but at least not like a burden.

And yet...

When the voices fade, when the claps die down, when the smoke clears, one truth still screams inside me:

That even in this marriage, even in this name-
I am still Aanya who once belonged to someone else.

That love is not theirs to command.
That even in marriage, I remain yours.

Always.

And no vow, no fire, no family pride can burn that away.

The vidai isn't tender.
It isn't the kind of farewell they write about in poems.

Ma presses the rice into my palms and leans close, her voice sharp enough to pierce through the silence:
"Keep your husband happy, his happiness is your responsibility. From now on, understand your world through him only, do not make any mistake."

Not be happy.
Not live well.
Just-keep him happy.

Her words smell less of love, more of transaction.
I nod once. Because what else can I do?

Papa stays stiff, like pride stitched into human form.
My brother still doesn't look at me.
And that's it. That's all the farewell I get.

Aarav moves forward, calm, almost formal. He opens the car door for me-quiet, steady, no flourish, no theatrics. Just a gesture that feels strangely respectful, after everything I've heard today.

I sit. The door shuts with a hollow thud.

The drive is long. The silence sits between us like a fourth passenger. Aarav scrolls his phone, as if its glow matters more than the girl beside him. And I'm sitting with a stranger they now call my husband.

The journey stretched into hours. The sky shifted from gold to grey, then bled into evening. The silence in the car was thick- not tense, just... resigned. Like three people sharing air, but not words.

When the car finally turned through tall iron gates, my breath caught.

The bungalow rose before me, glowing in soft yellow lights. Wide verandas, carved pillars, windows lined with flowering plants. It didn't look like a house-it looked like a world. A world that was never meant for someone like me.

My heart whispered the thought I didn't dare speak aloud-
How can a girl who was never wanted at her own home belong in one this grand?

But then...his family stands already waiting. His mother, holding an aarti thali, her smile warm-not forced, not painted, but real. His father, steady and dignified, eyes kind. His sister, bright-eyed, almost glowing with excitement, unable to stay still.

"Step in, beta," his mother said softly.
I tipped the kalash, vermillion water brushing my feet as I crossed the threshold.

Not a burden.
Not a performance.
Just... a girl entering a new house.

After the handprints on the wall, Aarav's mother led me to the mandir.
"Light this diya, beta. Let it be your first blessing here."

His mother's voice wrapped around me like warmth I'd never known.
"From today this is your home too, beta. You are our family. And just like I am Aarav's mother, I am your mother too."

The words lodged deep in me-foreign, almost unbelievable. A mother claiming me, not discarding me.

His father interrupted, voice laced with teasing.
"And I am your father. Beta, you are like a daughter to us . So don't feel shy in front of anyone here."

His sister laughed, slipping her arm around me in a side hug.
"And I am your sister in law."

She turned to Aarav, mock-threatening.
"And brother, don't trouble my sister-in-law. And keep your anger away from her. Otherwise, no one will be worse off than me."

Aarav raised an eyebrow. "There is nobody worse than you."

His mother shook her head fondly. "Hey, stop it beta, now both of you freshen up. Then come down for dinner."

Still dazed, I followed Aarav down a wide corridor. He opened the door to a vast room-larger than my entire house. Greyish walls, curtains trailing to the floor, chandeliers, bookshelves, a bed like something from another century.

"There is the washroom," Aarav said quietly, gesturing. His tone was plain, careful. "You can use it first."

I walk in, close the door, and for the first time that day, breathe. Water cools my skin as I splashed it on my face. When I looked up, a stranger stared back at me. Vermillion streak sharp, kajal smudged, lips cracked. A bride draped in silk, wearing a name she hadn't chosen.

"Who are you now?" I whispered to her. A girl who belonged nowhere?
Or a wife expected to belong everywhere?
Is this safety-or just another cage dressed prettier?
Maybe... maybe not all cages lock the same way.

When I stepped out, Aarav handed me a towel, wordless, then disappeared inside.

The room pressed heavy, suffocating. I went to the window, parted the curtains slightly and opened the window. Cool air brushed my skin. Lights twinkled in the garden below, calm and distant. For the first time that day, I let myself breathe.

Behind me, the washroom door opened. Aarav came out, combing his hair, droplets clinging to his temples. His eyes flickered to me through the mirror. He didn't speak. Neither did I. But something wordless passed-recognition, perhaps. That both of us were strangers to this moment.

A knock broke it.

"Bhai! Bhabhi!" His sister's voice carried joy. "Dinner's ready. Please come soon."

She stood at the door, smiling. My lips didn't move, but inside, something softened.

Downstairs, the dining hall shimmered under soft light. His sister tugged me to sit beside her. His parents are already waiting. The aroma is warm and homely. I pushed food around my plate, not really eating. Aarav sat beside me, tense, silent. His parents exchanged a look, and then his father spoke.

"Beta, we were thinking... maybe a small reception. People will ask questions otherwise."

Aarav's fork stilled for a second, then hit the plate with a quiet clang. His eyes didn't lift.
"Dad... not needed. Let them ask."

His mother's voice was softer, almost pleading.
"Aarav, the world doesn't stop at our doorstep. Sometimes we have to answer it."

A pause. Then his father, calm as ever.
"It's only a gathering. Not for us-for them. It'll keep things quiet."

Aarav leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening. For a moment it seemed like he would argue, but instead he exhaled slowly and let silence speak for him.

The silence stretched until his sister tried to joke about outfits. Nobody laughed. Yet somewhere, in the stillness of this house, I felt something unexpected. Not sharpness. Not cruelty. Just... warmth.

And for the first time, a small thought flickered inside me: maybe this house isn't so terrible. Maybe, in this house, I could find a little peace.

But before that fragile thought could take root, his voice cut through the quiet-low, unreadable.
"Aanya..."