Siya's life in Chandipur was marked by resilience and solitude, her days consumed by nurturing the vibrant blooms of her flower shop. Abandoned at birth and haunted by the mystery of her parents' disappearance, she had grown accustomed to the whispe...
📖 "In the golden glow of tradition, a king's gaze never strays far from his queen." ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ˚ ༘♡ 🪷🪕🪞🦢⋆｡˚ ❀
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The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of my room, casting a warm, golden hue on everything it touched. Today was the day of haldi, and the garden outside had been transformed into something out of a royal painting. Every inch of it screamed grandeur and elegance, from the lavish marigold garlands strung up on every corner to the enormous brass bowls filled with fragrant turmeric paste.
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I stood before the mirror, pinning flowers into my hair as Priya and Ishita chattered away in the background, their excitement infectious. I was dressed in a simple yet elegant yellow lehenga, my waist adorned with a delicate chain made of jasmine flowers, carefully crafted under Hukum-sa himself. His touch lingered on every petal, and I could feel the weight of his gaze without him even being in the room.
A yellow dupatta, draped tightly around my chest, clung to me as if guarding the most intimate parts of me. It was traditional, modest, but there was no denying how it made my body feel, exposed under his intense eyes. I shook off the thought, chuckling to myself.
Calm down, Siya, it's just haldi.
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The garden was abuzz with laughter and joy, the kind that comes naturally at weddings. The soft beats of the dhol echoed in the background as I was escorted toward the largest haldi bowl.
