A young girl of barely eighteen sat on the floor, wrapped in a red bridal lehenga, crying as if the world had collapsed on her shoulders. Her complexion was a soft wheatish glow, but her once-bright black eyes had turned swollen and red from hours of weeping. Thick lashes were matted with tears, and the kohl lining her eyes had streamed down her cheeks, forming dark, messy trails.
Her lipstick was smudged from her lips to the side of her cheek, as if someone had forcefully wiped it away in anger. Heavy gold jhumkas dangled helplessly from her ears. The big gold necklace around her neck hung crooked, and the nose ring rested awkwardly against her cheek. Her hands held only a few red bangles now — the rest lay shattered around her, and fresh blood oozed from the cuts on her wrist.
She kept crying… and crying…
Across from her sat a woman in her early forties, draped in a bright red sari.
“Enough now. The baarat is almost at the gate, and you're still throwing tantrums,” the woman snapped, her voice sharp. “Fix yourself! I don’t want any drama.”
“M-ma… please…” the girl sobbed desperately, “I don’t want to get married. I want to study. Please try to understand…”
“Study? Study, study, study!” The woman’s voice rose even louder. “What will you do with books, huh? We found you a good family. You will live comfortably. Stop being stubborn and fix your face!”
“I don’t want this marriage… I’m not even fully eighteen yet. Why are you forcing me into this?” the girl cried harder, though she looked older than her age.
SLAP!
The sound echoed through the small room.
The woman had struck her across the face.
“Shivanya! The baarat is almost at our doorstep and now you want to say no? Do you want to humiliate us in front of the whole community?” the woman shouted.
“Can’t you see how wealthy and respectable that family is? You’ll live like a queen there! They didn’t even ask for a single thing in dowry! Stop thinking about yourself for once. Think about your father, think about me, think about your younger sister. Your father’s job barely supports us. We still have your sister’s future to worry about!”
The woman stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Shivanya held her burning cheek, her tears flowing silently now.
Her mother’s words echoed in her ears…
But that woman was not her mother.
Her real mother had died months after giving birth to her. A newborn needed a mother, so her father had remarried — her mother’s sister. Her maasi-maa.
But this woman never treated her like a daughter… never gave her the warmth she longed for.
And now she was being married off before she had even turned eighteen.
She didn’t know the groom’s face.
She didn’t know his age.
His nature.
His character.
Nothing.
Her fate had been sealed without asking her a single question.
Lost in thought, she didn’t even realize when the sound of loud drums and trumpets pierced the air.
The baarat had arrived.
For her father’s respect… for her sister’s future… she had no choice now.
Tonight, she had to bury her dreams and light the lamp of a marriage she never wanted.
Wiping her tears harshly, she stood up.
The blood on her wrist had dried. She picked up a piece of cloth, wet it, and cleaned the stains. She wiped off the ruined lipstick and applied another layer. Put on new bangles.
Straightened her necklace.
Adjusted her nose ring.
Corrected her kajal.
Pulled the veil over her head.
And just like that…
She transformed into a bride.
From her family’s honor, she was now about to become someone else’s property.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror — eyes still red from crying, but tears held back with force. Crying had no purpose anymore. Fate had spoken.
Just then, the door opened, and two young girls along with another woman walked inside.
