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THIS STORY IS MORE FICTIONAL THAN YOUR CRUSH PROPOSING YOU AND EVERY CHARACTER , PLACE ,THING DOSENT EXIST AND SIMILARITIES ARE COINCEDENCE SO SENORITA IGNORE COENICEDENCE BECAUSE IN BIG NOVEL SMALL COINCEDENCE HAPPENS.
The courtyard of the Roy haveli shimmered with rows of oil lamps, their flames dancing in rhythm with the conch shells and dhak drums. The air was thick with incense, devotion, and the anticipation of Durga Puja.
At the center stood Trilochan Roy, his forehead marked with sacred ash, his voice commanding as he led the rituals. A worshiper of Goddess Durga, he embodied tradition itself — kind at heart, yet unyielding when it came to protecting custom.
Nearby, Vinoy Roy observed in silence. Ambitious and aligned with the British, he carried himself with stern dignity. Though he liked to drink, he never allowed alcohol inside the haveli — to do so would be a disgrace to the goddess. His restraint was both a mark of respect and a reminder of the boundaries tradition imposed on ambition.
Anirudh Roy moved among the villagers with ease, his words flowing like a river. Trained as a barrister, he spoke passionately of justice and law, motivating those around him. His charisma lit the courtyard, a stark contrast to his father’s silence and his uncle’s rigid authority.
At the edge of the gathering stood Somnath Roy. A young doctor, he loved reading but could not always carry books with him. His introverted nature made him quiet, yet his dual personality flickered beneath the surface — torn between his devotion to study and his admiration for his uncle’s commanding presence.
Batuk Roy lingered near the lamps, his innocence softening the atmosphere.
And then, through the throng of worshippers, Sudamini entered. The daughter of Vinoy’s business partner, she was both neighbor and childhood friend to Anirudh. Her presence was graceful, her eyes meeting Anirudh’s with familiarity and quiet promise. In that moment, the puja’s grandeur faded, leaving only the unspoken bond between them — a bond destined to become marriage.
The puja flames flickered against the carved pillars of the haveli. The goddess stood radiant, her eyes seeming to watch every soul gathered.
Vinoy Roy turned to his eldest son, his voice low but firm, carrying the weight of both ambition and tradition: Vinoy: “Anirudh, you should now marry Sudamini. You said yourself — once you won your first case, you would take her hand. Tonight, you have fulfilled that promise.”
The words hung heavy in the air, not just as a father’s command but as a businessman’s calculation. Sudamini was the daughter of his partner, and this marriage would bind alliances as tightly as it bound hearts.
From the edge of the courtyard, Somnath Roy watched silently, his doctor’s eyes sharp, his mind restless.
Somnath (inner monologue): Yes, he should. After all, Anirudh dada returned here at eighteen, and only now at twenty‑five has he won his first case. It’s not that he doesn’t get cases — he rejected thirty of them. Thirty! And all of them tied, directly or indirectly, to Father and Sudamini’s father. His revolutionary mind made him refuse them, even when they could have secured his place. But tonight… tonight he cannot refuse.
Somnath’s gaze shifted to Anirudh, who stood tall, his barrister’s robe brushing against the marble floor. His eyes flickered between his father, his uncle presiding over the rituals, and Sudamini — his childhood friend, now the woman fate demanded he marry.
The courtyard seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Anirudh’s answer.
The conch shells quieted for a moment, leaving only the crackle of lamps and the murmur of villagers.
Trilochan Roy straightened, his eyes fixed on Anirudh. His tone was decisive, carrying the weight of tradition: Trilochan: “Yes, of course he will marry Sudamini. But before that, I must meet a priest. Their birth charts must be seen together. Only then can we ensure the goddess blesses their union.”
Somnath’s lips pressed into a thin line, though his thoughts ran freely.
Somnath (inner monologue): That’s what I was waiting for. Uncle will summon some strange priest, who will eat half our food and then declare a random date. Always the same ritual, always the same theatrics. Yet, it is custom, and custom rules this house.
He glanced at Anirudh, then spoke aloud, his voice respectful but tinged with quiet irony: Somnath: “Yes, Uncle. You should show their birth charts to a priest. That way, there won’t be any problems in their marital life in the future.”
The villagers nodded, reassured by the words. Trilochan’s authority, Vinoy’s ambition, and Somnath’s agreement seemed to seal the moment. Yet in Anirudh’s eyes, a flicker of hesitation remained — the barrister’s mind weighing law against tradition, love against duty.
And Sudamini, standing at the threshold, felt the weight of all their gazes.
The courtyard was alive with the glow of lamps and the murmur of villagers, but tension rippled through the Roy family.
Anirudh Roy stepped forward, his voice steady yet edged with unease: Anirudh: “Wait, Uncle. I want some time… just till yesterday.”
Somnath (inner monologue): Why? Wasn’t all this time enough? He wants more time?
Somnath’s brow furrowed, and he spoke aloud, his tone respectful but questioning: Somnath: “Why, Dada?”
Trilochan Roy turned sharply, his voice carrying the weight of tradition: Trilochan: “Exactly. Why do you want time?”
Anirudh’s eyes flickered toward Sudamini, standing quietly at the threshold. His words came slowly, deliberate: Anirudh: “I want to say something to Sudamini… in private.”
The courtyard fell silent.
Somnath (inner monologue): Oh, so brother is this type of person — wanting to try before buying. That’s not how things are done here.
Trilochan’s face hardened, his tone absolute: Trilochan: “No. In our society, unmarried men and women cannot speak in private.”
Somnath (inner monologue): Yes, of course. They can only marry strangers. That is the way of our world.
Sudamini’s eyes lowered, caught between custom and the quiet pull of Anirudh’s gaze. The goddess seemed to watch, her presence both blessing and barrier.
The courtyard’s lamps flickered, shadows stretching across the marble floor. The goddess seemed to watch silently as the family’s voices rose.
Vinoy Roy leaned forward, his tone sharp but curious: Vinoy: “What do you want to speak in private, Anirudh?”
Anirudh Roy hesitated, his voice faltering: Anirudh: “Dad… actually…”
Somnath (inner monologue): Poor man with needs. How could he say aloud that he wants to talk with Sudamini in the sugarcane field… or worse, in bed?
Anirudh straightened, his words finally spilling out: Anirudh: “I want to propose to Sudamini.”
Somnath (inner monologue): Liar. If you truly wanted that, why didn’t you propose before? Why wait so long? I don’t believe you, Dada.
Trilochan Roy frowned, his voice heavy with suspicion: Trilochan: “What is that?”
Somnath stepped forward, his tone respectful but edged with irony: Somnath: “Uncle, Anirudh Dada wants to say ‘I love you’ to Sudamini — sister‑in‑law.”
The words struck like a drumbeat. Sudamini’s cheeks flushed crimson. Overcome with embarrassment, she turned and ran toward her house.
Somnath (inner monologue): Overacting. Even if she runs, she could reach home quickly — the path is straight. But still, she needs to run, scattering her dignity along the way. And look — she’s even managed to throw the sindoor plate by accident. Dramatic, as always.
The courtyard fell into stunned silence, broken only by the clatter of the fallen plate. The goddess’s eyes seemed to glimmer, as though amused by the chaos unfolding beneath her gaze.
The courtyard was tense, the fallen sindoor plate still staining the marble floor.
Trilochan Roy stepped forward, his voice heavy with authority: Trilochan: “Anirudh, you are wrong. In our society, a man cannot speak privately with a woman before marriage. It is against custom, against the goddess’s blessing. You must respect tradition.”
Anirudh’s eyes burned with conviction. He raised his chin, his barrister’s voice echoing across the courtyard: Anirudh: “Uncle, with respect — customs cannot bind the truth of human hearts. Law teaches us that justice is not in silence, but in understanding. If Sudamini is to be my wife, should I not speak to her first? Should I not know her thoughts, her dreams, her consent? What is marriage if it is only a transaction between families, without the voices of those who live it?”
The villagers murmured, some nodding, others frowning.
Somnath (inner monologue): Here he goes again — lecturing. Dada always believes law can change society. But uncle will never accept it. Still, his words… they carry weight. Even I feel them, though I know uncle will dismiss them.
Trilochan’s face hardened, his devotion unshaken: Trilochan: “You speak of law, Anirudh, but I speak of dharma. Without dharma, law is hollow. Without custom, society collapses. You may be a barrister, but here in Tulisipur, the goddess decides, not you.”
Anirudh’s voice rose, passionate, unyielding: Anirudh: “Then let the goddess decide through truth, not silence. If Sudamini runs in embarrassment, it is because society has taught her shame, not because she lacks love. I will not marry her without her voice being heard. That is my law, Uncle — the law of justice.”
The courtyard still echoed with Anirudh’s lecture, Trilochan’s stern rebuttal, and Sudamini’s embarrassed flight. The goddess’s shrine glowed, silent yet omnipresent.
Somnath (inner monologue): Now the goddess is so free that she will come here herself to decide who is right. And Sudamini — she is a woman home‑schooled by her father, spoiled by wealth, thinking that shyness makes her look good. Dada says he wants to propose, but why now? She came here every day, glancing at him, waiting for his words. He could have spoken then. He could have proposed long ago. But no — he only wanted to see her, to keep her as a distant dream. And now, when he thinks he can devour her, suddenly he wants to talk. Hypocrisy, plain and simple.
Somnath’s eyes narrowed, watching his elder brother stand tall in the courtyard, law and passion burning in his voice. Yet beneath it, Somnath saw hesitation — a man torn between ideals and desire.
The villagers whispered, some siding with Trilochan’s tradition, others stirred by Anirudh’s boldness. And in the midst of it all, Somnath’s thoughts cut sharper than any spoken word, exposing the contradictions no one else dared to say aloud.
