The celebration swirled around Dakshin, a kaleidoscope of noise and color that failed to touch him. He had spent the evening navigating the wedding like a ghost, feeling the weight of a hundred unspoken judgments and curious stares. The tension radiating from his father was a physical force, thickening the air around their family. Exhausted, he had finally slipped away, finding a moment of peace in a quiet, darkened bedroom at the far end of the venue. The distant thrum of music lulled him into a deep, troubled sleep.
He was jolted awake not by sound, but by a frantic shaking. The room was pitch black. A sliver of light from the hallway outlined his sister's panicked face.
"Dakshin!
Get up!"
... she whispered, her voice tight with an urgency that cut through his sleep-fogged mind. "We're leaving. Right now. Father's orders."
"Leaving? The wedding's n o. . . . W —"
"Now!" she insisted, her eyes wide.
"Come down quickly.
And for heaven's sake, don't make a noise."
Bewilderment turned to cold dread as he followed her downstairs.
The scene that greeted him was one of chaotic, silent fury. His mother was hastily gathering her shawl, her face pale and streaked with silent tears.
His father, David, was a terrifying portrait of rage, his movements sharp and violent as he shoved a gift into a bag, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap.
No words were exchanged.
A single, searing look from his father was all the explanation he received—a look that promised a storm of biblical proportions. They moved like thieves in the night, slipping out a side door into the cool, disapproving air.
The car ride home was a tomb on wheels. The only sound was the hum of the engine and his mother's occasional, choked sob.
His father stared unseeingly at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, the silence emanating from him more deafening than any scream.
The festive lights of the wedding venue disappeared behind them, swallowed by the darkness, leaving only the heavy weight of their disgrace.
The next morning, under a cheerful sun that felt like an insult, confusion reigned at the wedding. Guests milled about, asking after the missing family. Their names were whispered in concerned tones that slowly morphed into understanding and scandalized gossip. Phones buzzed endlessly, their calls and messages meeting a wall of silence. David had severed the connection, plunging them into total isolation.
The marriage ceremony proceeded, but the joy was marred. The row of seats reserved for David's family sat conspicuously, painfully empty—a silent, screaming testament to a schism that had just been torn wide open, a fresh wound on an old scar.