✧
जिस रिश्ते में पहले थी मजबूरी,
उसमें अब दिल की हर धड़कन है,
जो शादी थी केवल रस्मों की,
अब वो हमारी सबसे प्यारी हसरत है।
✧
Author Pov
Avantika sat in front of the mirror, her reflection a mix of beauty and despair. The intricate wedding attire adorned her, but the weight of the forced marriage hung heavy in the air.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the vanity tightly, and she felt the sharp sting as her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. She winced, but the physical pain felt almost like a relief from the emotional turmoil inside her.
Just then, her mother, Viransha, entered the room, flanked by her chachi, Minakshi.
“Hogye tayyar?” Minakshi asked mockingly, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she took in Avantika’s sullen demeanor.
Avantika remained silent, her eyes cast down, unable to muster a response.
“What are you doing?” her mother snapped, noticing the crimson droplets staining Avantika’s hands. She jerked her daughter’s wrists, her voice laced with panic. “Look at what you’ve done!”
“Leave my hand,” Avantika said, her voice icy and devoid of emotion.
“Beta...” her mother tried to soften her tone, but Avantika cut her off.
“Stop with your melodrama, Maa,” Avantika shot back, her heart racing with frustration. The last thing she wanted was her mother’s sympathy or her chachi's mockery.
Before the argument could escalate, her younger brother, Samarth, peeked into the room. “Di... pandit ji is calling you,” he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. He knew about the forced marriage and felt powerless in a family that didn’t listen to him.
Time passed in a blur as Avantika gathered her thoughts and composure. She adjusted the delicate dupatta draped over her head, each movement feeling like an additional weight pressing down on her.
Timeskip
The mandap was adorned in radiant marigolds, red roses, and strings of jasmine. The air was thick with the scent of incense, adding a divine charm to the auspicious setting.
Family and friends sat around, their laughter and chatter filling the hall with a lively buzz. But Avyansh, seated beside the sacred fire, felt none of it. His mind was blank, his heart empty.
Just then, a hush fell over the crowd as a whisper echoed, “The bride is here!”
Heads turned, and excited murmurs spread through the hall.
“Oh, she’s stunning!”
“Look at her, so shy, eyes downcast.”
At the sound of the whispers, Avyansh glanced up, and his breath caught. Avantika entered, draped in a crimson lehenga, her face framed by delicate jewelry and a golden maang tikka resting on her forehead. Her brothers, holding the dupatta above her head, accompanied her. Each step she took was slow, deliberate, as though weighed down by more than just the bridal attire.
His gaze remained fixed on her, unable to tear away, and for a moment, something within him stirred—a flicker of recognition, perhaps, of her quiet strength.
