The hall shimmered with gold and maroon as the sounds of drums and shehnai filled the air, weaving through the glittering chandeliers and the fragrant air of roses and jasmine. Jiya’s hands trembled beneath the heavy veil of crimson silk that weighed on her like a burden. Not just from the intricate embroidery, but from the silent promise she’d made to her family.
She looked across the room, searching for Atharv among the sea of faces, but her vision blurred as emotions clouded her eyes. He stood there at the mandap, tall and broad-shouldered, his face unreadable. Even amid their own wedding, he seemed detached, as if the ceremony unfolding around him were happening to someone else entirely.
As her brother led her to the mandap, her heart pounded against her chest. She felt the curious, watchful eyes of her family behind her. They had raised her with the purpose of this moment, and now that it had arrived, the weight of their expectations was almost too much to bear.
She took her seat beside Atharv, stealing a glance at him from under her veil. His jaw was clenched the sharp angles of his face framed by the ceremonial turban he wore. He didn’t look at her, not directly, but his presence beside her was imposing, commanding, yet distant.
As the priest began the rituals, the sacred fire crackling softly between them, Jiya’s fingers nervously twisted in her lap. She could feel the intensity of her father’s gaze from behind her, a reminder of why she was here. A reminder of the mission she had to fulfil.
"Are you ready for this?" Atharv’s voice was low, cutting through the chanting. His words were for her alone, though his eyes remained fixed on the fire.
Jiya hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but it held layers of meaning. Was she ready for this marriage? Was she ready to betray him?
“I am,” she whispered, her voice wavering. I have to be.
Atharv’s expression didn’t change, though his brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed her unease. He said nothing more, allowing the priest to guide them through the rest of the rituals, their silence speaking louder than words.
As the ceremony drew to a close, Atharv rose and offered his hand to her. The gesture was formal, as though they were mere strangers bound by an obligation rather than a couple beginning their lives together. Jiya placed her hand in his, and the warmth of his touch startled her. For a brief moment, something passed between them, something unspoken, before they were swept away by the cacophony of family members rushing to offer their blessings.
Later that evening, after the endless rounds of congratulations, photographs, and family chatter, Jiya found herself standing alone in the dimly lit bridal suite. The large room was adorned with flowers and scented candles, creating an atmosphere that was supposed to be romantic, but all she felt was the suffocating silence.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, still adorned in her wedding attire, the jewellery heavy around her neck, her face tired beneath the layers of makeup. Was this really her life now? The wife of Atharv Rana, a man she was sent to destroy?
The door creaked open, and her heart skipped a beat. Atharv stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He had discarded his turban, his dark hair slightly tousled, the fine lines of his face illuminated by the soft candlelight. He glanced at her briefly before his gaze flickered away as if he, too, was unsure of how to bridge the gap between them.
“So,” he began, his voice steady but cool, “our first night as husband and wife.”
Jiya swallowed hard. There was no warmth in his words, no sense of intimacy. It was as if he were acknowledging the inevitable rather than the emotional reality of the situation.
She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "Yes. A beginning."
Atharv raised an eyebrow. "A beginning, is it?" He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, stopping a few feet away from her. His eyes searched hers, but there was no softness there, no tenderness. "I suppose we should play our roles then, shouldn’t we?"
Jiya’s stomach twisted at the coldness in his voice. She knew he didn’t want this marriage any more than she did, but she hadn’t expected this level of indifference. How can I do this? How can I betray him if he doesn’t even care?
Atharv looked at her, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “I don’t expect anything from you tonight, Jiya,” he said quietly, his tone softening. “We’re both strangers in this… situation.”
She blinked, surprised by his words. She had expected him to be distant, perhaps even cruel, but instead, there was a strange gentleness in his voice that disarmed her. She had been prepared to face a man who might treat her with disdain, not one who would offer her kindness, even in his aloofness.
“I don’t know what to expect either,” she admitted softly, lowering her gaze. “This is all new to me.”
Atharv let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “We don’t have to pretend,” he said, stepping back and settling into a chair by the window. “There’s no need for pretence between us. Let’s take things slow, for both our sakes.”
Jiya felt a strange mix of relief and confusion. She had expected their first night to be the hardest, but his words were unexpected, a small act of kindness that made her feel even more conflicted. How could she move forward with her family's plan when Atharv was being… decent?
The weight of her secret pressed heavily on her chest, and as she lay down on the ornate bed, the distance between them felt both a relief and a burden. The candlelight flickered softly, casting shadows across the room as Atharv sat in the chair, staring out the window.
Jiya closed her eyes, her thoughts a whirlwind of guilt, duty, and an emotion she hadn’t anticipated—genuine curiosity about the man she had just married.
Tonight, they were husband and wife, bound by tradition and promises they hadn’t made. Tomorrow, her mission would begin. But as she lay there, the warmth of his earlier words still lingering in the air, Jiya couldn’t help but wonder how she would ever carry out the task her family had set for her.
Because tonight, for the first time, she doubted she could.
