The wedding was silent.

No music.

No lights.

No smiles.

Meher sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a simple red saree her sister had once picked for her.

She wasn’t a bride.

She was a shadow wearing sindoor.

The room was cold. The walls unfamiliar.

This wasn’t just her sister’s sasural.

This was her sister’s bedroom.

Her bed.

Her husband.

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

Aarav entered the room after a long pause. He didn’t look at her. Just walked to the balcony, lit a cigarette — and stood there.

> “Main is rishte se kuch expect mat karna, Meher,”

he said after a long silence,

“Main tumhe dard nahi dunga… par pyaar bhi nahi de sakta.”

His voice was calm. Flat. Honest.

Meher looked at him with eyes that had stopped crying.

> “Main tumse kuch nahi chaahti,”

she said quietly,

“Lekin main apni behen ki jagah bhi nahi le sakti. Main Meher hoon, Saanvi nahi.”

Aarav turned to her slowly. For the first time, he actually looked at her. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t weak. She was angry — and heartbroken.

But strong.

> “Good,” he said simply.

He put a blanket and pillow on the couch, and without another word, lay down.

Meher turned off the light.

And they both closed their eyes.

Two strangers, lying under the same roof.

Bound by sindoor and silence.

---

But what Aarav didn’t know…

Was that Meher had loved him even before Saanvi did.

That she had always hidden her feelings behind her smiles.

That every time he had come to their house to meet Saanvi, Meher had watched him from behind the curtain.

Now she was his wife.

But the love she once had felt like a curse.

She turned to look at his sleeping figure.

And whispered into the darkness…

> “Tum us din mere nahi ho sake, jab main tumse sach mein pyaar karti thi… ab to main sirf ek zinda moorat hoon, jisme dil hai par haqdaar nahi…”