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Author's Pov
Isha walked out of the mandir with a small plate of prasad in her hands. Her steps were soft, calm, almost unnoticeable. As she turned towards the narrow street, a group of children caught her attention. They were gathered near a big tree, looking up with troubled faces.
"Didi! Our kite... it's stuck on the branch!" one boy shouted, pointing upward.
Isha's eyes followed their little fingers. A colorful kite was trapped on the highest branch, swaying with the breeze. She stepped forward, her lips curving into a faint smile. Carefully, she shook the branch until the kite came loose and dropped to the ground.
"Yayyy! We got it!" the children clapped and jumped with joy.
"Thank you, didi!" a little girl said, running towards her.
Isha bent slightly, stroked her hair with affection, and with a simple hand gesture told them to go and play.
One boy looked at her innocently, "Didi... why don't you talk?"
Isha's smile flickered for a second. She lowered her eyes, gave a small nod, and turned away. The boy grinned. "It's okay... you understand everything without saying a word."
The kids laughed, holding the kite high, and ran down the lane. Isha watched them go, her eyes soft. She then adjusted her dupatta and continued walking.
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Male Lead's POV
Traffic had come to a sudden halt. Inside a black luxury car, he sat in the backseat, scrolling through his phone. Irritated, he looked outside the window-and then his eyes froze.
There she was. Walking slowly, holding a plate of prasad, her dupatta flowing with the wind. She had just helped a group of kids, and the gentle smile on her lips had unknowingly pierced something deep inside him.
His grip on the phone tightened. He couldn't look away.
"Who is she?" he muttered under his breath.
"Sir?" his assistant turned, confused.
His eyes still followed her. "Find out about her. Everything. Name, address, family... I want every detail."
The assistant hesitated. "But sir, why-"
"Don't ask questions," his voice dropped lower, sharp and commanding, "just do it."
The traffic light turned green, cars moved ahead, but his gaze stayed fixed on her until she disappeared from sight. And in that single moment, he knew-she was going to be his.
Author's POV
Isha entered the house quietly, placing the prasad plate near the small mandir in the living room. Before she could even turn, a sharp voice pierced the air.
"What time is this to come home?" her stepmother's words dripped with anger. "There's a wedding happening in this house, and this maharani is roaming outside like queen! Don't you feel ashamed even a little, Isha?"
(Isha stood silently, her eyes lowered. She clutched her dupatta tightly in her fist.)
Divyanshi, standing beside her mother, smirked. She crossed her arms and added with a mocking tone, "Shame? Oh please, Mom... expecting her to understand shame is like expecting a stone to turn into gold."
Her mother nodded furiously, "Exactly! Instead of helping us, she wanders the streets. What will people say?"
Divyanshi stepped forward, her voice full of poison, "People will say the bride's step-sister doesn't know manners. But why should she care? She's not even one of us... she's just a burden we have to carry."
(Isha's hands trembled at her sides, but she didn't lift her eyes. Her silence seemed to fuel their taunts even more.)
Step-mother: "Go inside! And don't show your face in front of guests. I don't want anyone to ask about you and embarrass us."
Divyanshi sneered, leaning closer to Isha, "Yes, hide in your room, mute doll. That's the only place you belong."
(Isha's eyes glistened for a second, but she turned away quietly, walking towards her room. Her silence once again became her only shield).
Time skipped
The evening was wrapped in glittering lights. The mansion shone like a palace, every corner decorated for the grand wedding. Outside, the sound of dhol and shehnai echoed with joy as the groom's procession danced its way in. Inside, rituals were being prepared, the sacred fire lit, and the mandap ready.
The priest raised his voice firmly, "Call the bride."
All eyes turned toward the bride's family. With a forced smile, Isha's stepmother leaned closer to her.
"Isha!" she snapped in a low, commanding tone. "Go bring Divyanshi here. The priest is waiting, and we can't keep the groom's family waiting."
Isha nodded silently and walked toward the bridal chamber. Her anklets made the only sound in the tense silence of the hallway.
She pushed the decorated door open... and froze.
The room was empty. The bridal bed was perfectly arranged, jewels scattered neatly on the table, the heavy bridal dupatta draped on the chair-but there was no sign of Divyanshi.
Isha's eyes widened. She turned slowly, her steps hesitant, and looked at her stepmother standing in the corridor.
"What happened?" her stepmother barked. "Why are you standing like a statue? Where is she?"
Isha lowered her gaze and shook her head, her hands trembling.
"What nonsense!" her stepmother hissed, storming into the room. She pulled open the wardrobe-empty. She rushed to the bathroom-silent. Her breaths grew uneven as panic spread across her face.
"This... this can't be happening," she muttered, her voice breaking. "Where the hell is Divyanshi?!"
Her bangles jingled violently as she turned back to Vaani, fury and fear mixed in her eyes. "Did you check properly? Look again!"
But the truth was undeniable-the bride was gone.
The stepmother's face turned pale. She stumbled backward and screamed toward the corridor, "Call your father! Call him right now!"
Within moments, Divyanshi's father stormed into the bridal chamber, his sherwani slightly unsettled from rushing. His voice roared, filling the entire corridor.
"What's going on here? Why is everyone panicking? The priest is calling for the bride!"
His wife's face was pale. She pointed toward the empty room, her voice trembling, "She's... she's not here. Divyanshi is missing."
For a second, he thought he misheard. "What nonsense are you speaking?" He shoved past and searched every corner himself-under the canopy bed, behind the curtains, even the adjoining dressing room. His hands shook as he pulled open the drawers, the cupboards, the bridal trunk-empty.
And then... his eyes caught a folded paper lying beneath the jewelry box. He picked it up with trembling fingers.
"Look... there's a note!" gasped one of the relatives peeking from the door.
The father unfolded it quickly, his heart pounding. The words written in Divyanshi's delicate handwriting hit him like a dagger:
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The Note
[ *"Maa, Papa... I'm sorry. I know today was supposed to be the biggest day of your lives, but it's not mine. I cannot marry this man. I told you so many times that I don't want this marriage, that I have dreams beyond these walls. I want to study, to build a career, to see the world with my own eyes-not stay chained in a relationship I never chose.
You never listened, Maa. You always silenced me, telling me this marriage was for my own good. But this isn't what I want.
By the time you read this, I'll be far away. Please... don't look for me. This is the first time I am choosing for myself. Forgive me if I've brought shame to you, but I'd rather live free than live a lie."*]
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The letter slipped from his trembling hands, falling to the floor.
"What... what is this madness?" the father whispered, his face drained of color. "She ran away?"
The festive drums outside suddenly felt mocking, too loud, too cruel.
The stepmother clutched her head, panic dripping from her voice. "No... this can't be true. Someone must have taken her! She wouldn't do this to us, not today!"
But the truth lay at their feet, written in ink. The bride had vanished, leaving only her words behind.
The letter lay on the floor like a curse. The festive sounds of the baarat outside now felt like a cruel reminder of the disaster inside.
Divyanshi's father clenched his fists, his voice trembling with rage.
"Our daughter has disgraced us! The groom's family is waiting... the mandap is ready... what will we tell them? That the bride has run away?"
His wife, equally shaken, grabbed his arm. "No! We cannot let our name be dragged into mud. People will laugh, society will spit on us!"
Relatives whispered at the door, some covering their mouths in shock, others already imagining the scandal.
The father turned, his furious eyes landing on the only other girl in the room-Isha.
She froze, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Stepmother whispered sharply, "She's the only option left. If Divyanshi isn't here, she will sit in the mandap. No one outside needs to know."
Isha's eyes widened. She shook her head violently, clutching her dupatta, silently pleading no.
The father's voice boomed, "Enough! The baarat has come, the rituals have begun. If the bride is missing, then this girl will take her place. Do you understand? Our reputation will not be ruined because of Divyanshi's madness!"
Tears stung Isha's eyes as she stepped back, shaking her head again. But her stepmother's fingers dug into her arm, nails pressing hard.
"You owe this family everything! Don't forget-you live here because of us. Today, you will do as we say. You will marry him."
Isha's lips parted, but no sound came out-her silence screamed louder than any words. She looked around desperately, but every face was cold, calculating, worried only about honor.
A relative muttered, "The groom's side must not find out. Cover her with the bridal veil. Nobody will notice."
Stepmother smirked cruelly. "Yes... she will wear Divyanshi's bridal lehenga. And by the time anyone realizes, the marriage will be over."
(Isha's body trembled, her mind screamed, but her voice-her one defense-remained lost. Surrounded, helpless, she could do nothing as hands pushed her towards the bridal attire, each second pulling her deeper into a fate she never chose.)
The bridal room smelled of roses and incense, but for isha it was suffocating, a prison dressed in silk and flowers.
She sat draped in a heavy red lehenga, her trembling hands clutching the dupatta. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, smudging the kohl in her eyes. Every beat of the dhol outside felt like a hammer breaking her heart into pieces.
Her reflection in the mirror mocked her-she looked like a bride, but inside she felt like a corpse waiting for her own funeral.
Why me? Why this fate? she cursed silently, her chest heaving with helpless sobs.
The door creaked open. Her stepmother entered, her bangles jingling coldly. She folded her arms, looking down at Isha with no trace of sympathy.
"Enough of these tears. Get up. The groom is waiting. The family's respect rests on your shoulders now."
Isha shook her head faintly, her lips trembling to form words that never came. Her eyes begged, Please don't do this to me.
But her stepmother's tone turned sharp, merciless.
"Don't waste time! Do you want everyone outside to know Divyanshi has run away? Do you want us to be disgraced? Walk to the mandap quietly and finish this wedding."
Her hand gripped Vaani's wrist tightly, dragging her up.
Isha stumbled to her feet, her legs heavy like chains had been tied around them. Each step felt like it was dragging her closer to the edge of a cliff.
The sounds of the wedding echoed louder now-the shehnai, the chants, the laughter. But inside her, silence screamed.
As she walked slowly out of the room, her vision blurred with tears. She felt the floor beneath her feet disappear
ing, as though the ground itself had betrayed her.
Every step whispered the same truth: Her world was collapsing.
Her dupatta trailed behind like a crimson shadow of her broken destiny.
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