Kiara's room glowed softly under the warm light of fairy lamps.

Outside, the haveli was alive with preparations. Green drapes and white flowers for the mehndi ceremony hung in perfect symmetry. The smell of henna, jasmine, and fresh roses drifted through the open windows. Laughter echoed down the corridors as women rushed around with trays, fabrics, and last-minute details.

Inside, however, the noise felt far away.

Kiara sat cross-legged on her bed, wearing a simple cotton kurti now that the heavy haldi clothes were gone. Riya lay on her side, her head resting on a pillow, while Kavya leaned against the dressing table, scrolling through her phone and occasionally glancing at both of them.

It felt like a small island of peace before the storm of wedding rituals began.

Kavya looked at Kiara thoughtfully and smiled softly. "So," she said, "in just a few days you'll leave this haveli for good. Romano Mansion... a whole new life." She paused, then added gently, "I hope you finally find your freedom there, Ki."

Riya nodded, though her smile was weak. "Yes," she said quietly. "From tomorrow, you won't have to obey Dadi-sa and Dada-sa anymore. You'll be free."

Kiara noticed it immediately—the sadness behind Riya's words. She turned to her. "Riya, what happened? You look upset. Just yesterday you were so excited."

Riya didn't answer right away. She just stared at Kiara, her eyes slowly filling with tears.

"I am happy for you, di," she said in a trembling voice. "I really am. You're getting a family like the Romanos... and Donato jiju is such a good man." She swallowed. "When your engagement was fixed, I was so happy. But as the days came closer... I realized something."

Her voice cracked.

"After you leave, I'll be the one left here. I'll be the one they'll start forcing. My finals are over. My university is about to start. And you know I don't want to join the business."
Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'm sure Dadi-sa and Dadu-sa will push me the same way they pushed you. Everything that happened to you... it's going to happen to me." And then she broke.

Riya buried her face in her hands and started crying. Kiara's heart clenched. She moved instantly, pulling Riya into her arms. Kavya joined them, hugging her tightly from the other side.

"No," Kavya said firmly, stroking Riya's hair. "Nothing like that will happen. We won't let it."

When Riya finally calmed down, Kiara gently took her hands in hers and made her look up.

"Listen to me carefully," Kiara said, her voice steady but soft. "I tolerated everything because I had no other option. But you do. You have both your parents standing with you. That makes all the difference." She squeezed Riya's hands.

"You will fight for your dreams. No matter who stands in front of you. You will do what you want to do."

Riya looked uncertain.
"But Dadi-sa—"

Kiara shook her head. "Chacha ( Uncle)  and Chachi ( aunty ) will support you. You've seen it yourself. When Kavya bua left the business and started teaching dance, Chacha (Uncle)  stood by her. He protected her choice."

At the mention of Kavya bua, a shadow crossed Kavya's face for a second—something old and painful flickered in her eyes.

"They supported her because they knew something wrong had been done to her," Kavya said quietly. "That's why they let her follow her passion." riya said." 

"And they will do the same for you, Riya. You want to be a painter, not a businesswoman. And you will be one."  kavya said her voice turning firm. She looked straight into Riya's eyes. "No one will stop you. I'm with you. Bhaiya is with you. We'll all talk to Maa-sa if we have to. What they did with Kiara... we won't let them do that to you."

Kiara nodded in agreement. "You're not alone anymore," she said softly.

Riya suddenly leaned forward and hugged them both, holding on as if she was afraid to let go.

For a moment, the world outside—the wedding, the expectations, the weight of tradition—didn't matter. There were just three girls in a softly lit room, holding onto each other, promising that at least one of them would not be forced to give up her dreams.

__

The Romano mansion was glowing today.

Soft golden lights lined the balconies and pillars, reflecting off the white marble like a thousand quiet stars. After the chaos of the haldi function, the house felt alive in a different way—calmer, warmer, filled with gentle laughter and the comfort of family returning home together.

In the main living hall, the Romano women had gathered.

Isabella sat cross-legged on the floor with Sofiya, showing her videos on her phone. Elena was curled up on one side of the sofa, sipping tea, while Lucia, Marco's wife, was excitedly laying out bangles and scarves she had bought earlier, already planning next  shopping.

Sofiya kept leaning forward, eyes bright with curiosity.

"Mama," she said in Italian, tugging Aravi's sleeve,
"Perché in India tutto è così colorato?"
(Why is everything in India so colorful?)

Aravi laughed softly. "Because this country celebrates life with colors, sweetheart."

Sofiya tilted her head.
"E la sposa? Anche lei sarà sempre così luminosa?"
(And the bride? Will she also always be this radiant?)

Isabella smiled knowingly. "If Kiara is anything to go by, then yes."

Across the room, Elena was scrolling through her phone, pausing on a picture she had secretly taken of Kiara at the haldi ceremony.

"She's really beautiful," Elena murmured. "Not just her face... she has a softness about her."

Lucia leaned over her shoulder. "The way she smiled when everyone teased her—so shy, so elegant. She's perfect for Donato."

Aravi watched them quietly, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

"She's strong too," Aravi said. "You might not see it immediately, but Kiara is not weak. She has survived a lot."

Sofiya looked up.
"Sopravvissuta a cosa?"
(Survived what?)

Aravi didn't answer directly. "Life, my love. Just like all of us."

At the far end of the hall, Donato entered, loosening the cuff of his shirt. 

Elena noticed him first.
"There he is—the future husband," she teased.

Donato gave her a dry look. "Behave."

Sofiya ran toward him.
"È vero che la sposa ti ha fatto sorridere tutto il giorno?"
(Is it true the bride made you smile all day?)

Donato paused for a fraction of a second, then smirked.

"Maybe."

That single word sent a wave of giggles through the room.

Aravi watched her son carefully.

He didn't realize it yet—but he was already changing.
The man who had once treated emotions like weaknesses had started carrying someone else's presence in his heart.

The Romano living room was still buzzing when Elena suddenly leaned toward Donato with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

"Brother," she said sweetly, lifting her phone, "look what I have."

He frowned. "What?"

Elena turned the screen toward him.

It was Kiara.

A short video from the haldi ceremony—her cheeks streaked with turmeric, laughing as Riya smeared more haldi on her nose. Her hair was half loose, flowers tucked behind her ear, her smile unguarded and bright.

"And this," Elena swiped, showing a few photos—Kiara sitting shyly, her bangles glowing, her eyes lowered.

Lucia gasped dramatically. "Oh mio Dio, she's beautiful."

Sofiya clapped. "She looks like a princess!"

Isabella grinned. "So this is the girl who made our Donato smile today."

Elena smirked. "Now I understand why my brother agreed so easily to get married."

Everyone start to tease him and  laughed.

Donato leaned back against the armrest, unfazed, a slow, dangerous smirk curling on his lips.

"Careful," he said calmly. "If you keep praising her like that, I might start charging you for compliments."

Marco laughed. "Still arrogant, huh?"

Donato shrugged. "Confidence."

Elena rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

Just then—

Bzzz.

Donato's phone vibrated in his hand.

He glanced down casually... then froze for half a second.

Kiara.

Elena saw the name light up and nearly shouted.

"Ohooo! Sister-in-law's message!"

Donato's eyes widened. "Elena—"

Too late.

Sofiya lunged like a tiny tornado, snatching the phone from his hand and sprinting across the room.

"Hey—Sofia!" Donato barked, instantly chasing her. "Give that back!"

Sofiya darted behind the sofa, laughing wildly.

"Aspetta! Solo a una condizione!"
(Wait! Only on one condition!)

Donato stopped, hands on his hips. "What condition?"

Sofiya grinned devilishly.

"Tu mi porterai in giro per il Rajasthan dopo il matrimonio con mia cognata."
(You will take me to tour Rajasthan after the wedding with my sister-in-law.)

Elena immediately joined in. "E anche me!"
(And me too!)

Donato stared at them. "You're blackmailing me now?"

Sofiya hugged the phone to her chest.

"Sì. È una trattativa."
(Yes. It's a deal.)

Everyone burst into laughter.

Donato sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"Va bene. Affare fatto."
(Alright. Deal done.)

Sofiya beamed. "Promesso?"
(Promise?)

"Promesso. Ora dammi il telefono."
(Promise. Now give me the phone.)

She slowly stepped forward and placed the phone in his hand like she was returning a priceless treasure.

The moment Donato got it back, he locked the screen, glaring playfully at his sister.

"You're dangerous."

Sofiya giggled. "Just like you."

Elena smirked. "So, what did she say?"

Donato raised an eyebrow. "Classified."

But the slight softness in his eyes betrayed him. Because even surrounded by noise, teasing, and chaos— One message from Kiara had already pulled his world a little closer to hers.

__

Kiara sat there, the bride of the moment, dressed in a soft pastel lehenga. Her hair was half pinned back, loose waves framing her face. Her bangles chimed softly every time she moved, though she barely moved at all—hands stretched forward as a mehndi artist bent over her, carefully tracing delicate patterns across her palms.

The thin cone of henna glided over her skin, leaving behind dark, intricate vines and paisleys. The scent of mehndi mixed with flowers and incense, filling the air with something earthy and sweet.

Behind her, the soft beat of the dhol played—slow, rhythmic, almost soothing. A light folk melody hummed through hidden speakers, blending perfectly with the laughter of women and the quiet excitement of the evening.

Riya sat beside Kiara, holding one of her elbows gently so she wouldn't move.

"Stay still, di," she whispered. "It's turning out so pretty."

Kiara smiled faintly, eyes lowered as she watched the designs bloom over her skin.

Across the courtyard, the Romano women were being guided in by Meera and Mrs. Rajput.

The Romano ladies exchanged curious looks before smiling and stepping forward.

Since the Romano family wasn't hosting any public functions—no grand mehndi, no loud celebration, no invitations beyond family—this evening at the Rajput haveli was their only chance to witness Indian wedding rituals closely. Donato had insisted on keeping everything quiet on his side. His rivals were already suspicious; he refused to give them any unnecessary reason to watch his family.

But here, among the Rajputs, it was safe.

Lucia Romano was the first to sit down, eyes shining as she held out her hand.

"This is so beautiful," she murmured, watching the mehndi artist. "It's like art."

Elena and Sofiya quickly followed, settling beside Kiara with barely contained excitement.

Elena leaned closer, studying the patterns forming on Kiara's palms. "Does it hurt?"

Kiara shook her head softly. "Not at all. It just feels... cool."

Sofiya stared with wide eyes. "How long does it stay?"

"Two to three weeks," Kiara replied gently.

Sofiya gasped. "That long? I want the darkest one!"

Elena laughed. "Of course you do."

The artist began working on Elena's hand, then Sofiya's, and soon the Romano women were just as absorbed in the process as the Rajputs.

Lucia looked at Kiara with open admiration. "You look beautiful," she said warmly.

Kiara's cheeks tinted slightly. "Thank you."

Elena tilted her head, studying her. "You're very calm for a bride."

Kiara smiled faintly. "I don't know... I think I'm just tired."

Sofiya rested her chin on her free hand. "Are you nervous?"

Kiara thought for a moment. Then she answered honestly, softly. "A little."

Sofiya nodded seriously, as if that made perfect sense. "I would be too."

Around them, the courtyard glowed brighter as night fell. Women laughed, bracelets chimed, the dhol grew slightly louder. The scent of mehndi thickened in the air.

Between traditions, languages, and curious glances, Kiara sat quietly at the center of it all—her hands slowly being painted with the story of a new life she was about to step into. And for the first time that evening, she didn't feel alone in it.

The mehndi artist had moved on to filling the spaces between the intricate vines when Elena leaned closer, her eyes scanning Kiara's hands with fascination.

"I've heard something," she said, her voice curious and playful. "In Indian weddings, the bride writes her soon-to-be husband's name in her mehndi. Are you going to do that too?"

Kiara looked up, surprised for a second—then laughed softly.

"Yes," she said, a shy smile touching her lips. "Of course."

Sofiya's eyes sparkled. "Where?"

Kiara glanced down at her palms, watching the delicate patterns form. "Somewhere in between the design," she replied. "Hidden."

Riya leaned in mischievously, her voice dropping as if she were sharing a secret.
Write it in a very secret place, di.  she said with a grin. So that Donato jiju can't even find it.

Elena and Sofiya both gasped dramatically, eyes wide.

"So brother will have to search for his own name in your mehndi?" Elena asked, half amused, half impressed.

Kiara nodded gently. "Yes. That's how it is. The bride hides her husband's name in her mehndi, and on the wedding night, the groom has to find it."

Sofiya clapped her hands in delight. "Wow, that's interesting!"

Then she grinned, eyes glowing with mischief. "Hide it somewhere really difficult. Let's see what my brother does when he can't find it easily."

Laughter rippled through the women around Kiara.

Elena leaned closer again, studying the artwork like it was a masterpiece.

"This is beautiful," she said sincerely. "It looks like a story written on your skin."

Kiara smiled softly. "That's what it is," she replied. "Every bride's mehndi tells her story."

"And what is yours?" Elena asked gently.

Kiara paused.

Before she could answer, Sofiya cut in, eyes sparkling. "It's obviously a love story. With my scary brother in it."

Everyone laughed.

"Scary?" Kiara repeated, amused.

Elena nodded dramatically. "You haven't seen him when he's angry."

Sofiya leaned closer to Kiara, whispering in a conspiratorial tone. "But don't worry. When he smiles like this—" she curved her lips into a perfect imitation of Donato's slow smirk, "—that means he likes you."

Kiara's cheeks warmed.

Riya watched her from the side, smiling softly. "You see, di? You already have a whole fan club there."

Across the courtyard, Mrs. Rajput was speaking with Aravi, both women quietly observing the scene—the two families, so different, yet now bound together. For a brief moment, there was no tension, no rules, no expectations. Just laughter, lights, and a bride being surrounded by warmth.

The mehndi artist finally lifted her cone and nodded. It's done.  she said.

Kiara slowly lifted her hands, careful not to smudge the fresh henna. The designs were rich and dark, and somewhere within them, hidden cleverly between curves and vines, Donato Romano's name rested—waiting.

Sofiya peeked closer. "I still can't see it," she said proudly. "Good. He won't find it either."

Kiara laughed softly, looking down at her hands. For the first time in days, something inside her felt light. Maybe... just maybe... this new chapter wouldn't be as frightening as she had imagined.

___

The wedding courtyard of the Rajput haveli stood ready.

Every corner was glowing—rows of marigolds draped like golden waterfalls, white mogra woven through crimson fabric, lamps flickering softly in the early evening breeze. The mandap stood tall at the center, carved pillars wrapped in flowers, sacred fire waiting patiently beneath it. Guests murmured in excitement, silk saris brushed past sherwanis, and the air buzzed with the kind of anticipation that only a wedding day could bring.

The Rajput family had taken their places.

Meera stood near the entrance, adjusting her dupatta again and again, her eyes fixed on the road. Kavya whispered to Riya, who nervously smoothed the pleats of her lehenga. Kiara sat inside, surrounded by women, dressed like a dream in red and gold, unaware that time outside was stretching into something uneasy.

"They should be here by now," Meera murmured.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Finally, headlights appeared at the gate.

A wave of relief rushed through the courtyard as the Romano convoy entered. Black cars rolled in slowly, polished and powerful, stopping just beyond the floral archway. The Romano family stepped out—Alessandro, Giovanni, Aravi, Isabella, Albert, Elena, Sofiya, Marco and Lucia—all dressed impeccably, faces calm.

But something was missing. Something everyone felt before they even realized what it was.

Meera's eyes scanned the group again and again.

No tall figure in black.
No sharp eyes.
No Donato.

A strange silence crept over the waiting Rajputs.

Mr. Rajput stepped forward, forcing a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Mr. Romano," he said carefully, "where is Donato, beta? Is he coming in another car?"

The Romano family exchanged quick glances.

Aravi's lips parted, but she didn't speak. Elena looked down. Sofiya clutched her grandmother's hand. Their faces said everything.

Alessandro Romano inhaled deeply, as though steadying himself before a storm.

"Donato..." he said slowly, "is not with us."

The words landed like a crack of thunder.

Mr. Rajput frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Alessandro continued, his voice tight, "he did not come with us. We do not know where he is."

For a second, no one moved.

Then—

Meera's breath hitched.

"W-what... what are you saying?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Around her, the Rajput family froze. Smiles faded. Murmurs rose like ripples through the crowd. The music somewhere in the background felt suddenly too loud, too wrong.

A groom missing on his own wedding day. And no one knew why.

Inside the haveli, unaware of the growing chaos outside, Kiara sat quietly in her bridal seat—her hands still stained with mehndi, her heart still believing that in just a few moments, her future would walk through the gates. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Thank you for reading
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