The car door shut with a muted thud, and the world outside blurred into ribbons of light and shadow. Piya sat still, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her red dupatta, the scent of fresh mehndi still clinging to her skin. Her reflection in the window trembled as the vehicle began to move—her own wide, uncertain eyes gazing back at her, framed by the delicate veil that shimmered under the streetlights.

The city slowly thinned into silence. The noise of celebration—laughter, firecrackers, songs—faded into the distance like an echo from another life. Only the rhythmic hum of the car remained, steady and soft, like a heartbeat beneath the quiet. Mihir sat beside her, calm, composed, his face half-hidden in the shadows. She dared not look at him too long. Every glance felt like trespassing into a mystery she wasn’t yet meant to understand.The moons light spilled through the windshield, bathing everything in a silver hue. The trees lining the road looked ethereal, swaying gently as though bowing in welcome.

When the car turned into the Shah estate, Piya’s breath caught. The mansion rose like something out of an old tale , its grand pillars wrapped in marigolds and strings of soft golden bulbs. The gates creaked open slowly, revealing a courtyard glowing in the moonlight. The air carried a mix of rosewater, incense, and wet earth.

The car halted, and a soft drizzle began to fall, as if the sky itself wished to bless her arrival. Servants rushed forward with umbrellas and trays of aarti lamps. The flame danced wildly in the night wind, scattering droplets of ghee and light into the air.

Piya stepped out, her feet meeting the cold marble floor. The red of her saree glowed under the moon, and the anklets at her feet jingled a timid rhythm. Her mother-in-law stood at the entrance, holding a silver plate filled with rice, vermilion, and a diya . Her gaze was warm but weighed with something deeper—an unspoken tradition, a gravity that made Piya’s heart flutter with both curiosity and unease. Piya bowed her head, as the aarti plate circled before her face. The scent of camphor rose sharply, mingling with the perfume of jasmine in her hair.

Then came the griha pravesh ritual—the moment she was to cross into her new home. A pot of rice sat before the doorway. Piya hesitated, then nudged it gently with her right foot, sending the grains scattering across the floor like a shower of blessings. She felt the earth beneath her toes cool, alive, welcoming.

As she stepped inside, the old wooden doors closed behind her with a soft echo. The noise of the world outside vanished completely. Inside was warmth, the flicker of diyas, the faint ringing of bells from the temple room. And yet, beneath it all, there was something else—a strange quiet, an air that seemed to watch her, study her.

Her veil brushed against her cheek as she glanced around. Mihir walked ahead, his footsteps confident and sure. Piya followed, her own steps soft and hesitant. Somewhere deep within her chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat grew louder.

"Piya, come! before you go to your room to rest there's one more ritual left. " Piya's mother in law Maya said asking piya to follow her to the home temple. As they reached the temple Maya asked Piya to remove her blouse. Piya shocked by Maya's weird words managed to squick out a timid "What".

Maya sensing Piya's bewildered state began to explain -- " Piya this is an age old tradition of Shah family. Every new bride must imprint her kumkum stained breast to the white wall near the temple. You don’t have to be nervous, your father in law will help you."

Authors note ---

How's the first chapter??? I had to edit it for the third time in a row. 🥲The apps not working properly.