I should lie. I should say something easy—times change, duty calls, Sitara needs this. But the words stick in my throat.
"I remember what I said," I admit, my voice low. "And I meant it."
I used to think marriage was a gilded cage. That love was just another word for control, dressed up in silk and tradition. I swore I’d never do that to someone—not after watching my mother’s light dim, year by year, until she forgot she was allowed to shine.
But then there’s Sitara.
She doesn’t make me think of duty or obligation. She makes me think of laughter in quiet corners, of funny sketches left outside my room when I visited, of the way her eyes challenge me even when her voice doesn’t. She makes me want to believe—just a little—that maybe not all marriages are prisons.
I’m terrified, I admit to myself. Because what if I’m wrong? What if I can’t give her the freedom she deserves? What if I become the very thing I hate?
Ma doesn’t look away. She knows. She’s always known.
I exhale, rubbing the tension at the back of my neck. "But this isn’t about me. It’s about her." My chest tightens. "She’s standing in that room right now, thinking she’s not enough. And I can’t—" My hands clench. "I can’t let her believe that."
Yagini’s voice is soft. "So you’re marrying her to prove a point?"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. "I’m marrying her because she deserves someone who won’t let her drown in her own doubts. Even if that someone is me."
Ma’s cup clinks against the saucer as she sets it down. Her eyes are bright, but her voice is steady. "You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good."
I almost laugh. "Or just stubborn enough for hers."
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Then Ma smiles—small, proud, a little sad. “She’s a strong girl. She’ll need to be.”
“She already is,” I murmur.
Yagini props her chin on her hand. “So, let me get this straight. You spent years dodging alliances, ignored every princess, diplomat, and heiress Ma threw at you… only to marry your best friend’s sister, in the middle of her own abandoned wedding, in a lehenga that probably costs more than that shitty groom’s car?”
“Yes.”
She blinks. “Okay, just checking. Because that’s very on-brand for you.”
I can’t help it—I chuckle. “Thanks, Choti.”
“Anytime.” She grins mischievously. “And just so you know, I already told the head chef to double the dessert order. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Ma rolls her eyes but her tone softens. “She’s right, you know. It’s better this way. You’ll both get peace of mind—and perhaps, something more.”
Something more.
The words echo. I think of Sitara in that moment when she looked up at me, eyes red but unbroken, the quiet dignity in her voice when she said yes.
It wasn’t resignation. It was courage disguised as surrender.
I clear my throat. “I need to tell Devraj before preparations start again. He should know the decision’s final.”
Ma nods. “He’ll understand. He’s always trusted your judgment.”
I stand, but Yagini calls out, “Wait!”
I turn back. “What?”
She grins. “You’ll thank me later. I had your wedding sherwani ironed this morning, just in case.” My very annoying, and even more idiotic sister wiggles her eyebrows at me. She gifted me a sherwani on my previous birthday, which I know was my mother’s idea of pressuring me into marriage.
I stare at her. “You what?”
