AAROHI

Chapter 1

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The mirror doesn’t lie but it doesn’t tell the full truth either. It shows a woman in red, eyes lined with hope and kohl, lips trembling under a practiced smile, hair pinned in perfection. It shows a bride. But it doesn’t show the storm underneath. Aarohi Goenka stares at her reflection, still and silent, as if movement might shake the illusion that today is hers. That the dreams she stitched over years haven’t come undone just yet.

The noise outside is rising. Music, laughter, camera flashes, dhols. The grand Goenka-Birla wedding is being spoken about across Udaipur and beyond. Reporters camped outside. Guests in designer clothes. Chandeliers in gold, marigold curtains flowing like rivers of flame. The bride’s room smells of sandalwood, fresh roses, and something bitter — something that crawls up her spine and whispers don’t be so sure.

She tells herself to breathe. Tells herself that it’s normal. Pre-wedding jitters. After all, she’s marrying Abhimanyu Birla. The man who once looked past her. The man who finally chose her. The man who promised he was done with Akshara. The man who said he saw her for who she truly was. And yet, something inside her doesn’t settle. It hasn’t for days. But she cannot fall now. Not when she’s wearing the lehenga Bade maa picked with tears in her eyes. Not when Bade Papa finally smiled at her like a daughter worth something. Not when the family accepted that the second daughter can also be a first choice.

Her phone lights up. No messages. Abhimanyu hasn’t texted since last night. Just a dry see you tomorrow and that familiar silence that always lingered between them like a ghost. Still, she smiles. She always does. Because Aarohi doesn’t cry unless no one is watching.

The priest calls from outside. Bring the groom. The baraat has arrived, they say. The pandit is ready. She stands, adjusting her dupatta, the heavy one with the embroidered A&A over her heart. She touches her mangalsutra set laid out beside the mirror. Her fingers tremble when she reaches for the sindoor box. One stroke and she’ll be his forever. No more comparisons. No more shadows. Just her. Chosen.

Then the noise shifts. From joy to confusion. A ripple. A murmur. A cousin rushes in, pale, eyes wide. Didi... he... she trails off. Another voice cuts in from the hallway. Where is Abhimanyu? Then a scream. One that doesn’t belong in weddings.

She runs.

The corridor is spinning. Her lehenga scrapes against the marble floor. Bangles clink like windchimes in a storm. The mandap is ahead — empty. The priest is confused. Guests whisper.

But it’s not empty.

He’s just not there.

Because he’s elsewhere.

At the second mandap.

Abhimanyu Birla stands with Akshara.

Garlands exchanged.

Hands joined.

Pheras completed.

Aarohi stops breathing.

There’s no sound. No scream. No protest. Not from her. Not from Goenkas. Not from Birlas. Manjari’s eyes lower. Mahima looks away. Bade Papa stands still. Swarna covers her mouth. No one stops the wedding. No one defends the bride left behind but all accepted the marriage silently. Because no one even dared to raise voice for stopping

No one.

And so, Aarohi doesn’t cry.

She watches.

Seven rounds around the sacred fire. Seven steps into a future that wasn’t hers. Seven promises made while she watched from behind the flower curtain, a decorated ghost.

She turns back.

Inside her bridal room, the silence is louder than the chants outside. She removes her earrings slowly, then the nose ring, then the bangles. The mirror still shows a bride. But now, a broken one.

She picks up the sindoor box. Opens it.

Her eyes meet her own in the reflection — red, raw, and calm. She pours the sindoor into the bin. A soft thud. The sound of something sacred being discarded.

They call it fate. They say it was love. They call her dramatic. A mistake, not a tragedy.

She walks out of the mansion that night.

No screams. No revenge. Just ashes in her eyes and ice in her spine.

She leaves Udaipur behind. Leaves the girl who once begged to be loved.

She dies quietly as Aarohi Karthik goenka

And is reborn as Dr. Aarohi sirat Goenka .

A name that doesn’t tremble.

A woman who no longer waits to be chosen.

A flame that remembers what it felt like to burn at the altar.

And promises to return.

Not to ruin their lives.

But to make them remember

what it costs to mistake silence for weakness.