In the rustic villages of Rajasthan, where ancient customs weave the fabric of daily life, Taehyung's story unfolds-a tale of courage, love, and the power to defy destiny.
At seventeen, she was thrust into an arranged marriage with Jungkook, a stric...
Yaah everyone; do vote and Comment. Don't be a silent reader. It takes so much time to write such long chapters. I would appreciate if you all are interactive and keep your authornim happy too!
How many comments shall I expect? 200? Come on you all can do atleast much. Previous chapters had crossed even 500. 200 is not much to ask.
Anyways; enjoy! Happy reading!!!
Two months passed, as time often does in busy homes-with whispers of preparation, the rustle of silks, and the chime of temple bells every morning that reminded the Jeon Residence: a wedding was near.
The day had arrived.
The veranda of the Jeon Residence was dressed like a bride herself-bright marigolds looped along the wooden pillars, white jasmine garlands hanging in strings from the ceiling, and the fresh scent of mogra mixed with the aroma of sandalwood incense drifting through the breeze.
Guests and relatives filled the home like a flowing river-children running about with sweetened palms, women gossiping in soft, musical tones, and men huddled in corners, discussing rituals and politics in equal parts.
The center of it all?
The mandap, set up in the spacious veranda with sheer red and gold fabric fluttering in the wind like stories waiting to unfold.
The reason for celebration?
Jiminee's wedding.
The Min family, after discussing with their priest, had proposed an early date: October 13th, a rare auspicious muhurat before a long dry stretch of inauspicious months. Jungkook had objected initially-worried it was too soon-but Mr. Kim's gentle yet firm insistence had changed his mind.
And then, as if it were a divine sign, they realized-
October 13th was also the birth date of Jungkook's late younger sister... Jiminee's mother.
It was a circle completing itself.
---
That evening, as the golden dusk melted into orange, the peace was broken-not rudely, but cheerfully-by a familiar voice.
"Sethani! Come fast! Commissioner Sahab sent me with the finest bangles in the entire Marwar!"
Shambhu Kaka had arrived.
His arrival was like a small festival in itself. A weathered man with a thick white mustache, a long kurta tied at the waist, and a tokra (wide basket) balanced like royalty on his head-filled to the brim with a glittering forest of glass bangles.
Women began pouring into the veranda from every corner of the house-aunts, cousins, nieces, neighbors, all chattering in excitement.
Tae stepped out too, her pace soft but commanding, her presence graceful.
Beside her, walked the bride-Jiminee.
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