The wedding venue shimmered under the afternoon sun, all vibrant silks and fragrant flowers—a perfect picture of celebration. But for Anaya, standing at Ahan's side, it felt like the most ornate prison she'd ever entered. This was the wedding of her youngest uncle, the one whose desperate threat had sparked the feud that tore their family apart. Now, they were all here, a fragile truce held together by the thin glue of social obligation.
She smoothed the silk of her dress, a gift from Ahan's mother, and felt the weight of his family's approval like a fine chain. He stood beside her, solid and sure, his presence a constant reminder of the stable, respectable future she had chosen. With him, she was no longer the girl from the broken family; she was Anaya, Ahan's chosen one, insulated from the past.
Her gaze drifted across the crowd, over the faces of relatives she hadn't seen in years, and for the briefest moment, it landed on a familiar figure. Dakshin. He was there, across the venue, a part of the landscape of her old life. There was no meeting of eyes, no silent communication. He was simply a fact, a living memory of a path not taken. She looked away, the sight of him causing a faint, almost forgotten ache, like a healed bone predicting rain. It was a feeling she quickly buried, focusing instead on the man beside her.
Her attention shifted to the elders. Her own father, Ben, was holding court, the strain of the past years visible in the new lines on his face, but his head was high. And there was David, Dakshin's father. He moved with a rigid, proud dignity, his head held high as if he were still the respected patriarch who had solved the great family crisis, not the man who had orchestrated it.
Then she saw it begin—the subtle unraveling. She watched as one of David's own brothers-in-law clapped her father warmly on the shoulder, sharing a laugh. Then another relative joined them. A cold knot tightened in her stomach. She saw David's expression begin to change, the confidence slowly giving way to a dawning, horrified understanding. The air, already thick with unsaid words, grew heavier still.
The bomb had been lit. She could only watch, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, as the fuse burned shorter and shorter. The gilded cage, she realized, was not just hers and Dakshin's. It belonged to everyone. And it was about to be shattered from the inside.