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On a lavishly decorated altar sparkling with luxury, two people stood exchanging their wedding vows.
The bride wore a stunning red lehenga, while the groom was dressed in a simple blue sherwani. He looked more like a friend than a husband on his own wedding day.
Still, Shraddha, like any typical Indian bride, didn't bother much about it. In fact, she was very excited about beginning her new life, even though it was an arranged marriage.
When the ceremony concluded, the Pandit Ji instructed Anand, the groom, to apply vermillion to her forehead.
Shraddha smiled shyly as he leaned forward to smear it on her.
Anand was a renowned doctor who was twice her age that secretly harbored a deep, inexplicable hatred for her.
But why?
Just as the vermillion touched her forehead, a deafening explosion shook the entire hall. Decorations came crashing down, and guests screamed and scattered in panic.
Amidst the chaos, Anand saw the altar beginning to collapse. He turned and fled, leaving Shraddha behind. He did not care whether she lived or died. All he wanted was to escape the burden he had been forced to accept which was, her.
Shraddha saw him running away with the priest. She tried to stand, but her lehenga caught on a nail, trapping her in place.
The next morning, after what should have been their wedding night, Anand's cold words shattered whatever hope she had carried with her. He made it clear he would never touch her, not even to save her life. His heart, he said, would always belong to his late wife.