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BRIDE'S ROOM

── .✦ RIDHIMA ✦. ──

I didn't recognize the girl looking back from the mirror.

Not completely.

The red lehenga fit perfectly of course it did. Every measurement had been taken twice. The embroidery sat exactly where it was supposed to. The jewelry framed my face the way it was designed to.

Designed.

The thought almost made me smile.

Somewhere in another timeline, I would've been the one sketching this. Adjusting the fall, correcting the stitch, telling someone where the neckline should sit and how the fabric should move when the bride walks.

That's what I do.

My eyes lingered on the detailing for a second longer... automatically noticing what could've been better. What could've been sharper. What I would've done differently.

A habit.

One that never really leaves.

R Atelier didn't become what it is because I got lucky. It became what it is because I don't walk away halfway.

My eyes lifted slightly, meeting my own reflection again.

Everything looked right. Perfect, even.

Like something designed, approved and finalized.

Except my eyes.

They didn't match the bride.

They looked like someone who had already signed something I couldn't undo.

My phone buzzed again on the table beside me. I didn't even need to check to know what it was.

Work never waits.

My hand moved automatically, picking it up. The screen lit up:

R Atelier - Board Update Pending Approval

A small breath left me.

Even today.

Of course it couldn't wait. Nothing ever did.

That's what happens when you build something that doesn't breathe without you.

For a second, I almost opened it. Just one approval. Just one decision. It would take less than a minute. It always does.

That's the thing about being in control. You don't get to step away from it. Not really.

The door opened before I could tap the screen.

"Ridhi."

I didn't turn. I didn't have to.

Dhruv bhaiya.

"Bhaiya?"

Something in me eased the moment I heard his voice. Not completely. Just enough.

I watched his reflection instead as he walked in.

He didn't say anything at first. He never does, not when he's observing.

And he was. Always.

Measuring. But understanding. Trying to see what I wasn't saying.

I raised an eyebrow slightly, still looking at him through the mirror. "Bh-bhaiya?"

He blinked, like I caught him. "Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Just... looking at you."

I looked away instantly. "You're acting like you've never seen me before."

"Not like this."

There was something in his voice that made me pause for half a second.

Before I could respond, he noticed the phone in my hand.

Too late.

He walked over, took it from me before I could react, and placed it back on the table.

"Seriously?" he said. "Working on your wedding day too?"

"It's just one approval," I replied. "It'll take a minute."

"It can wait." That tone. Final.

The same tone he used when I was younger and refused to listen.

I looked at him, a little annoyed, a little amused. "You're saying that like the company runs itself."

"It doesn't," he said, folding his arms, "but it also won't collapse if you take one day off."

I didn't answer immediately. Because this wasn't just about the company. And he knew it.

He stepped closer, adjusting the edge of my dupatta.

"You've been running everything alone for so long," he said quietly. "At least today... just be Ridhima. Not the CEO."

My gaze softened. Just a little. "I am Ridhima," I said. "This is also me."

That was actually the truth.

He smiled faintly. "Yeah."

Of course he knew. He's seen it all. Before everything changed. After everything broke. And everything I became after that.

His eyes searched my face again, more carefully this time. "Are you really okay with this?"

The question was simple. But it carried too much.

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I looked back at the mirror.

At the red. At the jewelry. At the version of my life that was about to begin.

Am I okay with this?

I had asked myself that already. More than once.

This marriage wasn't something I dreamed of. It wasn't something I waited for.

It was a decision.

A calculated one.

Bhaiya thinks I don't see it. The way he watches me when I go quiet. The way he hesitates before leaving me alone.

The way he's been trying so carefully not to say what he's thinking.

He's worried. About me. About what I've become after everything. About what I haven't moved on from.

And if this, if this marriage gives him even a little peace.

Then I can do this.

I smoothed an invisible crease on the lehenga before answering, "I know you want me to get married," I said quietly.

His expression changed immediately. "Ridhi."

"I'm not saying it like that bhaiya," I cut in, softer. "I just... know."

I met his eyes now.

"You think this will help, don't you?" I said.

My voice didn't shake. Because I wasn't accusing him. I understood him.

"But I'm fine," I added. "I'm okay with this."

That was the part I chose.

He let out a small breath, like he wasn't fully convinced. But he didn't push.

He never forces me.

Instead, he flicked my forehead.

"Oww!!! What was that for?!" I snapped, instantly pulling back.

"For sounding like a 40-year-old grandma."

That, That actually made me laugh.

"There she is," he muttered.

I shook my head. "You're impossible."

"And you," he pointed at me, "need to stop acting like you've got everything to handle by yourself all the time."

"I do have things to handle alone all the time."

"Acha?" He smirked.

(Really?)

Before I could react, he held my hands. And just like that, everything slowed down.

"Ridhi" his voice softened, "you don't need to accept this marriage if you don't want it."

I pulled my hands back immediately. "It's not like I don't want it, bhaiya."

But he caught them again. And I went quiet. "You don't have to pretend with me."

I looked at him. "I'm not pretending." But this time, it didn't sound as firm as I wanted it to.

He looked like he wanted to say more. He didn't.

"Hmm, but after this marriage, you'll have a new life. A new start. And more importantly you'll have a person to stand with you." he said.

Because he knows pushing me won't change my decision.

After a moment, I stood up.

The lehenga settled around me, heavy but steady. I adjusted it slightly, grounding myself again.

"So?" I asked, turning to him. "How do I look?"

He stepped back dramatically, pretending to inspect me.

Then he smiled. "Like someone I'm going to have a hard time letting go of."

That made something pause inside me. Just for a second.

Then I rolled my eyes lightly. "Draamaa!"

"Shut up," he said. But he was smiling.

And I was too.

We started walking towards the door.

And then, "Ridhima beta," I paused mid-step.

I turned.

"Anjali aunty."

She stood at the doorway, her presence softer than everything else around her.

Her eyes moved over me slowly.

Taking everything in. Not like people outside who look to admire.

She looked like she was measuring something deeper. "Come here," she said gently.

I stepped toward her without thinking.

Her hand came up, adjusting my jewellery. Just like mom used to do.

The movement was so familiar that for a second I didn't breathe.

"You look beautiful," she said quietly.

"Thank you, aunty," I replied. My voice came out softer than usual.

She didn't respond immediately.

Instead. She turned slightly and held up something in her hands.

A necklace.

Not overly heavy.

But elegant. Detailed. The kind that didn't need attention to stand out.

My brows drew together slightly. "Aunty?"

She stepped closer. Holding it up.

"Wear this."

I blinked. "No, aunty, it's okay this is already too much," I gestured lightly toward my jewelry. "I don't need..."

"Ridhima." That was all she said.

But her tone? Didn't force. Didn't push.

Still made me stop.

She moved behind me before I could protest again.

Her fingers brushed lightly against my neck as she settled the necklace into place. Calm. Steady. Like she had every right to.

I looked at her through the mirror. "Aunty, really, you don't have to."

She met my eyes.

And this time. There was something else there. Something deeper. "You should wear it, beta."

"Because when your mom recovers fully and comes back home." Her voice softened further. "And she watches your wedding videos,"

My fingers stilled.

"She'll ask me," Anjali continued gently, "what I was doing at your wedding?" A small breath. "if I didn't even give her a proper necklace."

That landed. My throat tightened slightly. Not enough to show. But enough to feel.

For a second, I couldn't say anything. Because this wasn't about jewelry.

This was about presence. I looked at her again. Properly this time.

Anjali aunty. Mom's friend.

Dad's closest friend Rajveer uncle's wife.

The people who had been here through everything. Sehgal family. Mom dad's closest friends.

And right now. In a space where something was missing.

She wasn't trying to replace it. She was just... Standing where it mattered.

"O-Okay," I said finally. Quiet.

A small smile touched her lips. Not wide. But enough.

She adjusted the necklace once more, making sure it sat perfectly. Her fingers lingered for just a second longer.

"Bas," she murmured. "Now it's complete."

I didn't argue this time. Because for the first time since morning,

Something about this didn't feel like a setup. Or a decision. Or an obligation.

It just felt held.

Before I could say anything, she adjusted my dupatta once more, her gaze moving over me with quiet satisfaction.

"Dhruv, If anything comes up with the arrangements," she said, almost casually, "Rajveer will handle it." A small pause. "Or you can ask my son too... he's around."

"Yes aunty." Bhaiya said.

She gave a small approving nod "Chalo."

And just like that we stepped out of the room together. And I didn't look back at the mirror again.

───────୨ৎ───────────୨ৎ────────

MANDAP

── .✦ THIRD PERSON ✦. ──

The mandap glowed under soft golden lights. The garlands hung in perfect symmetry, their fragrance blending with the faint scent of incense. The sacred fire flickered gently at the center, its warmth brushing against Ridhima's skin as she sat beside,

Aarav Mehta

Everything looked perfect.

Ridhima's hands rested in her lap, her fingers lightly touching each other, steady on the outside, even if her thoughts weren't.

The chants began. Low. Rhythmic. Continuous.

She didn't fully listen.

Her gaze shifted slightly just enough to notice Dhruv standing a few steps away. Watching.

She exhaled slowly.

This changes nothing. It shouldn't.

One ceremony doesn't erase anything. One man doesn't fix what's already broken.

This is just... another decision. Another thing I'll learn to live with.

And some things, don't need punishment from the world. They stay with you long enough to become one.

Beside her, Aarav adjusted his position slightly, careful not to disturb the rituals.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked quietly. His voice was calm. Just considerate.

Ridhima glanced at him for the first time properly.

He wasn't what she expected. There was no arrogance. Like someone who didn't need to prove anything.

"I'm fine," she replied.

Aarav nodded, then after a second, gave a small, almost apologetic smile.

"I know this whole thing is a lot," he said. "If you need anything during the rituals, just tell me. These go on forever."

That caught her off guard slightly. Not the words. The tone. Light. Normal. For a moment, the situation felt less heavy.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said.

Aarav let out a quiet breath, as if relieved she responded at all.

"I was actually warned," he added softly, glancing at the fire, "that you don't talk much."

Ridhima raised an eyebrow. "And yet you decided to marry me?"

He smiled faintly. "I was told you only speak when it matters."

That made her pause. Before she could respond, the priest's voice interrupted "Take the mangalsutra."

The words seemed to echo louder than everything else. This was it. The final step. Ridhima's fingers tightened slightly. Aarav noticed.

"Ridhima," he said quietly, so only she could hear, "you don't have to push yourself into anything you don't want. After today."

She looked at him. He wasn't looking at her.

Just speaking forward, like he didn't want to make it heavier than it already was.

"We'll take things at your pace," he added. "There's no pressure."

That was unexpected. Ridhima studied him for a second.

He was just giving her space. And for the first time since the morning. She felt relieved. Just a little.

The priest repeated, louder this time, "Tie the mangalsutra."

His mother stepped forward, placing it into Aarav's hands. The black beads glinted under the lights.

Everything slowed. Ridhima's heartbeat grew louder in her ears.

This was real. This was actually happening. Aarav shifted closer. And then,

A sharp crack tore through the air.

The sound didn't register as a gunshot at first. Just a crack too loud, too wrong.

Like something in the moment had snapped.

For a second no one understood. Then Aarav's body jerked violently.

A choked sound escaped him as his hand dropped, the mangalsutra slipping from his fingers. Blood spread across his shoulder. Bright. Sudden. Terrifying. He collapsed forward. Screams exploded.

"GUNSHOT!"

"OH MY GOD! ''

"CALL SOMEONE!"

The mandap turned into chaos within seconds. People rushed in every direction. Some ducked. Some shouted. Some froze.

Ridhima didn't move. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred around the edges.

"AARAV!"

Dhruv's voice cut through everything as he pushed through the crowd, dropping to Aarav's side instantly.

"Aarav careful! careful!"

His hands were already pressing against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Ambulance! NOW!" he shouted.

Aarav winced, his breathing uneven, but he was conscious.

"Dhruv..." he managed weakly.

"Don't talk," Dhruv snapped. "Save your strength."

People rushed to carry him. Within seconds, Aarav was lifted, chaos following him out as they hurried toward the exit.

Slowly. The mandap emptied. The chants stopped.

The fire still burned. But everything else... felt frozen.

Ridhima stood alone in the mandap. Her heartbeat was still racing. Her mind was struggling to catch up.

Who would do this? Why?

Her thoughts weren't still. Voices were still overlapping shocked whispers, hurried footsteps, someone shouting instructions in the distance. The sacred fire crackled faintly, almost forgotten in the chaos. The mandap, just moments ago filled with ritual and rhythm, now stood fractured. Unsteady.

Ridhima hadn't moved. The weight of what had just happened hadn't reached her yet. It was all suspended. Like her mind had refused to catch up.

And then footsteps.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Measured. They didn't belong to the chaos around her.

Her gaze lifted. He was walking toward her. Through the scattered flowers. Past the half-toppled ceremonial plates. Through a space people had unconsciously cleared without even realizing it.

Tall. Composed. Dressed sharply, like he had walked into the wrong event but owned it anyway.

There was something unsettling about the way he moved. Not urgency. Not shock. Not even anger. Just certainty.

As if everything happening around him was already expected. Already decided.

Ridhima's brows drew together slightly.

He stopped in front of her. Close enough for her to finally see him clearly.

For a second, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt different. Still. Heavy. Like the rest of the world had stepped back and left just this moment behind.

"Who-"

She didn't get to finish.

His gaze dropped briefly just once to the ground beside them.

The mangalsutra.

It had fallen during the chaos. Half-hidden between scattered petals and ash. Forgotten by everyone else.

Then his hand moved. Slow. Deliberate.

To his wrist.

The bracelet sat there like it belonged black beads threaded with gold, resting against his skin as if it had always been part of him.

For a second, his fingers paused over it. Not hesitation. Control.

Then he slid it off. Clean. Effortless.

The beads shifted softly against his palm as he lifted his hand bringing it between them.

Close enough for her to see. Too close to misunderstand.

But before her mind could catch up. Before she could place what it was.

He stepped closer. No hesitation. No pause to ask.

No moment offered for her to understand what he was about to do.

His hand came up. Steady. Certain.

And before her body could react. Before her mind could even refuse.

He closed the distance. And made the decision for her.

He tied it around her neck. His hands brushed her skin as he tightened it.

What!?

Her thoughts didn't finish. They couldn't.

Because his hand was already there. Too certain.

The black beads. The gold. The truth.

No. No, this didn't just happen.

The thread brushed against the side of her neck first, cool against warm skin.

For a second nothing moved. Not her. Not him. Not the world around them.

Ridhima blinked. Once. Twice.

Her hand lifted on instinct, fingers trembling just enough to betray what her face didn't. She touched the mangalsutra lightly.

Still there. Not imagined.

Her throat tightened, but no words came out.

Because her mind hadn't caught up yet. Because this wasn't something you process. This was something that happened to you before you even realize it's happening.

Her gaze snapped back to him. To the man standing in front of her like nothing irreversible had just been done.

And the worst part was that he didn't look uncertain. He didn't look like he had crossed a line. He looked right.

Like he had just completed something that was always meant to be finished.

And that? That was what made it terrifying.

Her gaze snapped back to him.

"What..?" The word barely formed.

"What did you just-just?" Her breath hitched, voice faltering under the weight of something she couldn't yet name. "Who are you? And why-why did you? H-How could you!?"

The questions broke apart before they could become whole.

Because he didn't move. Didn't step back. Didn't explain. Didn't even look like he needed to.

His attention never left her. Not her confusion. Not the chaos. Just her.

And then he spoke. Calm. Measured. Like this moment belonged to him more than anyone else.

"Who I am," he said quietly, "doesn't matter right now."

A beat.

His gaze dropped just for a second to the mangalsutra resting against her skin. Then back to her eyes.

"What matters is this."

Another step closer.

"In front of this sacred fire..."

His voice didn't rise. But it held.

"You're not the woman who was left behind anymore."

A pause. Not for effect. For certainty.

"You're my wife."

No hesitation. No softness. Just a truth he had already decided.

"Wife!?" The word tore out of her sharp, disbelieving.

It didn't sound real. None of this did.

But he didn't react to her tone. Didn't explain.

Her fingers trembled against the beads.

He turned his head slightly. "Panditji, Mantra shuroo kijiye."

The priest froze. Completely.

His hands trembled slightly over the sacred fire, eyes flickering between them, unsure, hesitant.. "Yeh? yeh kaise..."

"What!?" Ridhima's voice cut in, louder now, raw with disbelief. "Are you out of your-"

He looked at the priest.

Just a look.

Nothing loud. Nothing dramatic. But it was enough.

The kind of look that didn't ask twice.

The priest's voice faltered. Then resumed. Mantras filled the air again. Uneven at first. Then steady.

Ridhima turned back to him, fury rising faster now. "Stop this!! What do you think you're doing!?" Her words broke when his hand came to her waist. Firm. Unyielding.

He pulled her forward. Flush against him.

The movement wasn't forceful in appearance. But there was no resisting it.

Her breath hitched. "Don't!"

Too late.

His other hand lifted. A pinch of sindoor between his fingers.

And before her mind could even catch up. He filled her maang.

A streak of red.

Decisive. Final.

"NO!"

She shoved him. With everything she had.

But he didn't move. Not even an inch.

It was like pushing against something solid. Unshaken.

Her chest rose and fell sharply, panic and anger colliding all at once. "What the hell is wrong with you!? Stop this!! JUST STOP!"

His grip shifted. From her waist to her hand. Locking around her wrist.

And then he moved.

The first round around the fire.

She stumbled.

"Leave me!" she snapped, trying to pull back, digging her heels into the ground. "Let go of me! What the fvck do you think you're doing!?"

Second round.

He didn't slow. Didn't loosen his hold.

"I'm not!"

"This isn't-"

"Stop!"

Third.

Her voice broke through the mantras now. Sharp. Angry. Refusing. But he kept dragging her.

"LET GO!" Her hand twisted in his grip, trying to break free but his hold didn't shift.

Her vision blurred for a second as tears gathered, unwanted, blinding.

Fourth.

Her steps faltered, dragged forward with his. "This isn't your decision to make!"

Fifth.

Her breathing turned too uneven, frustration spilling over. "I said stop!"

And then his voice. Low. Close."Your brother wanted you married today." The words cut through everything.

Sixth.

"I'm just making sure he isn't disappointed."

For a second, she stopped resisting. Not because she agreed. But because the words hit somewhere deeper than she expected. Just for a second. That was all he needed.

Seventh.

Complete.

The mantras slowed. Then stopped.

Silence didn't return. Footsteps did. Fast. Urgent.

A group of men rushed into the mandap, cutting through the scattered remains of what this ceremony used to be.

"Rishi."

One of them stepped forward, breath uneven. "He's in the hospital now, condition is critical."

No reaction. "Hmm," he said simply. "Good." The word landed colder than anything else that had happened.

Ridhima stared at him.

Her hand still trapped in his. Still trying to pull away. Still failing.

"Just leave me!" she snapped, her voice trembling now not with fear, but with sheer rage. "Let go of my hand!"

He turned to her. Slowly.

And before she could say another word.

His finger pressed lightly against her lips.

"Shhh." Not harsh. Not loud. But it silenced her anyway. For a second. Only a second.

Then he looked away from her toward the men.

"Make sure no one is left outside," he said, calm as ever. "All the guests should leave this place."

They nodded immediately. No questions. No hesitation. And walked out. Leaving behind a space that felt even heavier than before.

Then he looked back at her.

Ridhima stepped forward this time, voice shaking now, anger covering over completely. "Just let go of me!"

This time he did. Slowly. Deliberately.

His fingers loosened around her wrist. Releasing her.

She stepped back instantly. Distance. Finally. But it didn't feel like freedom.

Everything felt like it slowed again.

Tears falling down her cheeks. Quiet. Uninvited. Cutting down the edge of her cheek before she could stop it.

He saw it.

And for the first time since he had stepped into that mandap he stilled.

Not outwardly. No one else would notice. But something in him paused.

His gaze didn't move away this time. It stayed. Locked on that single tear as it traced its way down her skin.

His jaw tightened slightly, not in anger. Not this time. Something else. Something unfamiliar. Unsettling even to him.

Before she could turn away. He stepped closer.

Again. But not like before. Slower. Measured.

His hand lifted. His fingers touched her face. Warm against the dampness of her skin.

He cupped her cheek fully then, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye, catching the tear before it could fall further.

His gaze softened just slightly. Barely there.

But real enough to not belong to the man who had just dragged her through a wedding she never agreed to.

And that made it worse. Because none of this made sense.

Not him. Not this moment. Not the way he was looking at her now.

Ridhima's breath hitched just once. Then her expression hardened instantly.

She jerked her face out of his hold, stepping back like his touch burned.

Her voice snapped raw, furious, shaking. "Don't touch me!"

She took another step back, breath uneven, eyes blazing. "Who the fvck do you think you are?!" The words came out sharp. Controlled but just barely.

He didn't react to the tone. Didn't flinch. Didn't look offended.

"Rishav Sehgal, hope you heard my name." He said. His eyes locked into hers.

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How was the chapter?

Some might feel this cringe or not logical or something else. But yea this is the way I choose to write this book.

And there's a long game ahead.