Suhaag Raat

Chapter 1

Pragya looked up as the door opened.

Her husband stepped in, pushing the door closed behind him. She watched as he made his way to his dressing table, but quickly cast her eyes down as he passed the bed. She didn't want him to think she was staring.

She kept her head turned away as Abhi did something in front of the mirror. From the whisper of cloth on cloth, it sounded like he had taken off his sherwani. Goodness, was he undressing already? Did he expect her to do the same? She had not removed a single piece of jewelry or clothing. The stiff net of her lehenga scratched against her skin, and all the heavy gold she wore had been weighing her down all day.

She thought she was supposed to wait for him to take off each ornament, one by one.

If they decided to...go that route. Which he might not want to do. Was that why he was getting undressed, because he intended to go straight to sleep?

Abhi's phone rang just then. He picked it up, and Pragya listened curiously. Who could be so important to talk to at this time? But then the phone chirped a three-note tune that could only mean it was powering down.

He had cut the call. And he wasn't planning on accepting any more calls for the rest of the night.

She still didn't dare to look at him.

The red rose petals scattered around her feet tickled her toes. She wanted to brush them all off the bed, but she tightened her hands around her knees and stayed still. Now that he was standing so near her, she didn't want to do anything sudden or unexpected.

A slight whoosh of air breezed against her ghoonghat. She watched a chain reaction ripple through the floral canopy over the bed, one strand of white flowers knocking into the next. The mattress sagged next to her.

Abhi was sitting on the bed with her.

A sudden weight of expectation settled on the back of her neck, and Pragya found that she couldn't lift her head. She waited tensely for his next move. Was he going to touch her? Did he want her to move over to make space? Should she -

"Hi," Abhi said, jolting Pragya out of her thoughts.

"H-hi," she managed to mumble back, addressing the rose petals.

Abhi shifted, and then to her surprise, Pragya found herself looking into his face. He had flopped onto the bed so that they could look at each other without her raising her head.

Pragya's lips parted, but no sound came out. She stared down at him, unable to think of anything to say.

A quick smile lighted his face, making him look innocent and boyish. But there was nothing childish about his low voice as he said, "So. It's our wedding night."

Pragya snapped her mouth closed. She nodded slightly.

"You must be very tired," he prompted. Abhi's hand moved slowly down his chest, flicking open the line of buttons fastening his sleek black kurta. Pragya's eyes followed the movement.

Her brain registered his words, and she gave him a half-nod to indicate that she was indeed tired, but maybe not too tired...if that's what he was asking.

"You know what people do on wedding nights, right?"

Her first reaction was to frown at the suggestion that she might be ignorant of the facts of life. But as he held her eyes with his intent, dark gaze, self-consciousness brought a blush to her cheeks. She nodded to indicate that she did know.

Abhi raised his hand to the edge of her skirt, skimming his fingers along the pearl embroidery. "Do you...want to do that?"

Pragya had hoped he would ask, giving her a chance to set the pace of their relationship. She had planned to say that she wanted to wait. They had only known each other a few days, after all, not counting their random encounters before the matchmaker brought them together. When she had thought about their first night during their very short, whirlwind engagement, she had assumed that neither of them would want to do anything intimate, since they were essentially still strangers.

But now, facing him on the bed that had been traditionally decorated for their wedding night, something felt different.

This man had walked pheras with her around the havan, his solid presence palpable in the tension of the gatbandhan tying them together.

This man had tied a mangal sutra around her throat, his hand grazing the bare skin of her neck.

This man had placed kumkum on her maang, his fingertips brushing searingly against her forehead.

He might be a stranger, but he was also her husband. And somehow, it didn't feel strange to be so close to him.

Somehow, she wanted to say yes.

So Pragya nodded again, firmly this time.