Meher bhabhi-sa squeezes my hand, her eyes full of that calm she always carries, the kind that makes you feel safe and foolish at once. “You don’t have to joke right now.”
“I do,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s either that or faint, and I’m not fainting in this lehenga, Bhabhi-sa. It probably weighs more than me.” Which is so rare considering I am very… heavy.
She opens her mouth to reply, but someone rushes in. Ayush’s cousin, face pale, expression caught between guilt and fear.
He bows to Devraj bhai-sa, then looks away. “He’s not coming.”
The words fall like thunder.
The hall doesn’t gasp right away—it inhales first, a stunned second of disbelief—and then the sound erupts. Murmurs. Shuffling feet. A woman heaves. Someone muttersshameful.
I don’t move.
I don’t cry.
I just stare at the orange petals scattered on the floor. They look too bright, too alive for what I’m feeling inside.
Devraj bhai-sa’s voice cuts through the noise. “Everyone, please step outside. Give us a moment.”
People hesitate but obey, murmuring apologies or curiosity, each word pricking like needles.
When the hall empties, it’s only Meher, Poorvi, Devraj bhai-sa… and Dhruv.
I hadn’t noticed him before. He’s standing near one of the carved pillars, still in his cream sherwani, gold buttons gleaming faintly under the lights. His expression is calm in a way that doesn’t belong in chaos. The King of Ranakpur—my brother’s best friend—someone I’ve known since I was twenty-one, back when I called him “the annoyingly perfect guest.”
Now he just looks… steady.
Devraj bhai-sa walks up to me. “Sitara,” he says, voice low. “You don’t have to stay here. Go to your room. We’ll handle this.”
I nod numbly, trying to stand. My legs tremble under the weight of the lehenga and whatever dignity I have left. Bhabhi-sa and Poorvi flank me, their arms at my elbows, guiding me gently through the side corridor. I wish Tia was here, but she’s studying in London, and I didn’t want her to miss her finals because of me. I promised her we would watch my wedding video together when she comes back. I guess that’s not happening.
As soon as we’re away from the main hall, I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what feels like hours.
The corridor smells of roses and sandalwood. I hate both scents right now.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
“You’re not,” Poorvi says softly. “And that’s okay.”
We reach my room. The air conditioning hums quietly. Someone has left a tray of sweets on the dresser—mocking me with the label ‘for the bride.’
The bride.
What a cruel title for a girl who’s already been abandoned.
Poorvi helps me sit on the bed. My bangles clink as I cover my face with my hands. “He didn’t even call, Bhabhi-sa. Not a single message. Just disappeared.”
Poorvi sits beside me, her voice steady. “That’s on him, Sitara, not on you.”
“I should have seen it,” I whisper. “He barely talked to me during the engagement. I thought he was just shy. Turns out he was preparing for a magic trick.”
“Sitara—”
“—vanishing groom.” I laugh bitterly. “Nice headline for tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Bhabhi-sa sighs, brushing a stray strand from my face. “You don’t need to think about tomorrow. Just breathe through today.”
I look up, my throat tight. “Bhabhi-sa, everyone will know. They’ll whisper about how the king’s sister wasn’t good enough. About how I was too heavy, too talkative, too… too me.”
