DEDICATION ೃ⁀➷

To every village girl who was told "bas ghar sambhalo" instead of "sapne dekho."
And to the men who choose to be her partner, not her master.
May your love bloom slowly, sweetly, and forever—just like theirs.

SNEAK-PEEK ೃ⁀➷

The courtyard of the haveli buzzed with music and laughter. Bright marigold garlands swayed gently in the breeze, and the rhythmic beat of dhol echoed against the old sandstone walls. Village women, dressed in vibrant lehengas and sarees, circled around Radha, their palms clapping, hips swaying, voices singing playful wedding songs.

Radha sat in the middle, head bowed slightly, her face veiled in a deep crimson ghunghat that matched the heavy silk of her bridal attire. Her bangles jingled nervously every time she moved. This was her muh dikhai, the first time the women of the village would see their new bahu—the Sarpanch's son's wife.

"Aree haye, kitni sharmilee hai!" one of the women chuckled, lifting a corner of Radha's veil just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. "Bilkul dulhan jaisi dulhan! Nazar na lage."

Another one chimed in, "Ab toh rasam kehte hai, Radha ko naachna hoga! Thoda naach dikha de, nayi dulhaniya!"

The women cheered, forming a wider circle. Someone brought out a dholki, the tempo rising. Radha hesitated, hands fidgeting at the edge of her dupatta.

"I—main... nahi jaanti," she whispered.

A kind older woman touched her shoulder gently. "Koi nahi, beta. Sirf ek do kadam, rasam nibha lo. Phir sab tujhe poore gaav ki sherni kehte rahenge!"

With her heart pounding, Radha stepped into the circle. The dhol beat seemed louder now, and her hands trembled as she lifted her lehenga just enough to move. Her feet followed the rhythm, unsure and shy—just small, graceful steps. The women clapped for her, laughing and teasing.

Then... something shifted.

She felt it—like a spark along her spine. An unseen weight to the air around her. As if someone were watching.

Slowly, she looked up.

There, on the haveli's balcony, leaning casually against the carved stone railing, stood her husband.

Dev.

His kurta was plain, sleeves rolled up, and one elbow rested on the railing. His eyes—dark, unreadable—were fixed on her. Unmoving. Intense.

Through her veil, Radha met his gaze.

And froze.

Her feet stilled mid-step. Her breath hitched, the world suddenly silent except for the rapid beat of her heart. The laughter and clapping faded into a blur, and all she could see was him.

He didn't smile. Didn't wave. He just watched her, as if memorising her every hesitant movement. As if seeing her—not just as a bride—but as his.

Down in the courtyard, two women exchanged whispers.

"She saw him."

"Ahaan... dekha kaise ruk gayi bechari. Dulhan ko dulha se pehli baar nazar milti hai toh aise hi hota hai... jism nahi, dil ka lagav."

Radha lowered her gaze quickly, her cheeks burning beneath the veil. She stepped back into the circle quietly, but her heartbeat remained uneven. She didn't know what had passed between them in that gaze—but something had.

It wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it was a beginning.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥