Chapter 1
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The mirror in front of me shimmered with gold… not because I was glowing — but because of the heavy jewelry choking my neck, wrists, ears, forehead.
The red lehenga weighed on me like chains.
I didn’t feel like a bride.
I felt like a prisoner.
A lone tear traced the side of my nose as I tried to breathe without sobbing. My kajal was already smudged. Not that anyone would notice — or care.
I looked like a queen.
But inside, I was breaking.
Shattering into pieces no one could see.
They all wanted this wedding. Everyone except me.
I had begged.
I had screamed.
I had even showed them my entrance exam result — I cleared it.
I could’ve gone to college. I could’ve become something.
But “Study after marriage.”
“You don’t get proposals like this again and again.”
“He owns his own company. He’s rich. A bit rude, yes, but he’s successful.”
Even my own brother…
My only sibling…
He didn’t say a single word.
He had seen me crying two nights ago. And he had walked away, headphones on, without a glance.
“It’s not a big deal,” my mother had told me.
“You’ve got a good match, now get married peacefully.”
Peacefully?
There was a storm inside me, screaming and slamming against my chest.
But on the outside, I was expected to stay still. Pretty. Silent.
I looked at myself again.
Who is this girl?
Red lips, heavy liner, maang tikka, jasmine flowers tucked into her hair…
She didn’t look like me.
I used to dream of giving lectures in big classrooms.
Now my dreams were being traded for sindoor and silence.
The door creaked.
“Mehru" my mother’s voice came through.
“Everyone is waiting at the wedding altar. Come.”
I turned, eyes wet, heart thudding.
“Mom… please. Don’t do this to me. I don’t want this marriage. Please, let me go. Let me study. Just give me one year…”
She didn’t even blink.
She walked over, lifted the red veil from the bed, and placed it over my head like a final goodbye to my freedom.
"Everything gets better after marriage.”she said, smoothing the dupatta like I was a doll.
She didn’t look at my eyes.
She didn’t want to see them.
Because if she did, maybe her heart would break too.
And then… she turned.
Walked away.
I stood. Like a puppet.
My hands were cold. Anklets jingled as I walked behind her.
Each step toward the mandap was a funeral for a part of me.
They say brides cry because they’re leaving home.
But I was crying because home never loved me enough to let me live.
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The mandap was bright with marigold garlands and fairy lights.
The fire in the middle crackled softly, mocking me with its warmth.
I felt nothing but ice.
People smiled. Some whispered.
Relatives nodded in approval.
And there he sat — my groom.
Tall. Sharp-featured. Wearing an ivory sherwani with a crimson stole draped carelessly.
His face was unreadable.
Expression blank.
His eyes didn’t even scan my face for more than a second.
No smile.
No welcome.
Nothing.
He looked like a man closing a business deal.
Not a man about to marry someone.
I sat beside him, knees shaking under the silk.
The priest began chanting.
The fire burned.
I sat silently, hands in lap, staring ahead like I wasn’t really here.
I didn’t look at him.
And he didn’t look at me.
Only when the priest said," Place the mangalsutra around the bride’s neck.” he moved.
Someone passed him the black-beaded necklace.
He leaned slightly, cold fingers brushing my neck, and fastened it like a chain on a prisoner.
Then came the sindoor.
He picked the pinch of red powder from the silver plate.
I flinched.
But I didn’t move.
He filled my hair parting with that red — the color of blood, the color of endings.
And something inside me broke.
Hot tears poured down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them.
I didn’t care.
No one stopped him.
No one stopped the ceremony.
The priest kept chanting.
The fire kept burning.
And I kept drowning.
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The seven pheras passed in a blur.
With every step around the fire, my dreams fell behind.
My voice.
My education.
My freedom.
I had hoped that maybe — just maybe — he’d say something. Ask me if I was okay. Whisper something human.
But he didn’t.
Not even a glance as he walked beside me, eyes forward, steps firm.
When it was over, people clapped. Showers of rose petals rained down.
And I?
I just sat there.
Tears falling.
A bride in red.
A girl buried alive.
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