The house was quiet, a heavy stillness in the air that almost felt suffocating. Meera stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection, her hands trembling as they smoothed out the folds of her wedding saree. The red silk shimmered under the light, its intricate gold embroidery catching her eye. She was the picture of grace and beauty—a vision her mother, Sunita Goel, had always dreamed of. But as she gazed at her reflection, a knot tightened in her stomach, an unease that had settled in since the day the proposal had been accepted.

Today wasn’t just any day. It was the day her life would change forever.

She had always known this moment would come—the marriage arranged by her parents, the decision made without her input. Her mother had told her stories of how love was a bond forged by time, by mutual respect. Meera had believed those stories when she was younger, but now, with the reality of her wedding day unfolding before her, she wasn’t so sure.

The traditional wedding rituals were meant to be sacred, a binding of two souls. Yet, Meera couldn't help but feel disconnected from them, like a passenger on a journey she didn’t choose. She had never met Kabir Ahuja, her soon-to-be husband. They were strangers, bound by duty, not love. She had heard rumors of his wealth, his successful family, his powerful connections. But none of that meant anything to her.

In the world she came from, those things didn’t matter. Her family had always valued simplicity, honesty, and respect above everything else. They had always lived humbly, making do with what they had. But now, Meera found herself stepping into a world of luxury and expectations, and she didn’t know how to navigate it.

A soft knock at the door brought her back to the present.

“Meera, beta, it’s time,” her mother’s voice called from the other side.

Meera swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. “I’ll be out in a minute, Maa,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before carefully placing the bindi on her forehead, adding the final touch to her appearance. She looked like the perfect bride, but inside, she felt anything but.

She opened the door, stepping out into the hallway where her mother awaited. Sunita Goel stood there, her face a mixture of pride and worry, her eyes soft with emotion. She had spent years preparing for this moment, for her daughter’s wedding. She had spent hours planning every detail, ensuring that everything was perfect for the occasion. Meera could see the excitement in her mother’s eyes, but there was something else too—a flicker of concern that she couldn’t quite place.

“Are you okay, beta?” Sunita asked gently, her hand brushing Meera’s cheek in a comforting gesture.

Meera forced a smile, though it felt like a mask. “I’m fine, Maa. Just a little nervous.”

Her mother nodded, though her gaze seemed to linger on her daughter’s face for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to see through her mask. “You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

Meera didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. She knew her mother meant well, but no one could understand the complexity of her emotions at that moment.

As they made their way downstairs, the sound of drums and music grew louder. The atmosphere in the house was filled with energy—excited chatter, laughter, the rustle of saris and kurtas, all blending together into a festive cacophony. But Meera felt detached from it all, like a quiet observer watching her own life unfold.

The wedding was being held at her family’s home, in a beautiful hall decorated with bright marigolds and twinkling fairy lights. Guests were arriving, and Meera’s father, Rajeev Goel, was greeting everyone with his usual warmth. She noticed his beaming smile as he spoke to family friends, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a heaviness there too, a quiet anxiety that Meera couldn’t ignore.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she entered the main hall. It was time for the ceremony to begin.

The priest was already there, his white robes flowing as he moved around the makeshift mandap, preparing the sacred space for the rituals. Meera could see her father exchanging pleasantries with a few family members, but her gaze was immediately drawn to the figure standing near the mandap. Kabir Ahuja.

He was dressed in an elegant cream-colored sherwani, his posture tall and poised, his presence commanding even from a distance. He was everything Meera had heard about—handsome, calm, collected. But what stood out most was the coldness in his eyes. His gaze didn’t soften when it met hers; instead, it was distant, almost detached. He was a stranger, someone who she was about to marry, yet she felt no connection, no recognition in his eyes.

As she approached the mandap, the ceremony began in earnest. The priest chanted sacred mantras, guiding them through the vows and promises that would bind them together. Meera sat on one side of the sacred fire, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her mind racing. This was supposed to be the moment when her life changed, when she made a promise to the man beside her, but it all felt surreal. She wasn’t sure what to expect from this marriage. Would it be a marriage of convenience? Of duty? Or could there be something more, something deeper that would eventually bloom between them?

When the moment arrived for them to exchange garlands, she stood up, her body stiff, her nerves on edge. Kabir didn’t look at her, not even as she placed the garland around his neck. There was no smile, no softening of his expression—just a quick, efficient gesture, as if he were going through the motions of a preordained script.

Their hands briefly touched as he placed the garland around her neck, but it was nothing like she had imagined. There was no warmth in his touch, no spark of connection. She quickly looked away, her heart sinking deeper with each passing second.

The vows followed—the sacred promises they made to one another, words spoken without emotion, without connection. Meera didn’t even hear the words the priest was saying. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the swirl of emotions that clouded her thoughts.

Finally, the priest declared them husband and wife. But Meera barely heard him. She could only feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, the realization that her life had changed irrevocably.

The evening passed in a blur. There was a dinner with relatives, laughter and conversations, and then the moment came when she and Kabir were to leave for their new home. Her heart pounded as they climbed into the car, her hands clutching the edge of her sari as the vehicle began to drive away from the familiar warmth of her childhood home.

Kabir sat beside her, his posture rigid, his eyes focused on the road ahead. There was no conversation, no attempt at small talk. It felt as though they were two strangers, occupying the same space but living in different worlds.

As they arrived at the house where they would begin their life together, Meera couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Was this what marriage was supposed to feel like? Was it supposed to feel like a silent, inevitable force that took over your life, or was there more? Could there ever be more?

As she stood at the threshold of the house, her mind raced with uncertainty, but Kabir’s hand on her back gently pushed her inside. The cool air of the house greeted her, but it felt hollow—like a space waiting to be filled, but never quite enough.

This was her new life, the life she had been

pushed into, and she had no idea what it would hold.