The sun had set, casting long shadows across the ancestral house as Amrutha sat in the vast open hall, surrounded by women whispering among themselves.

She knew what they were saying.

She could hear them.

"Widow once. Married twice. Will she bring bad luck to him too?"

"Her first husband died before even tying the thaali. Now she wears the thaali of the most powerful man in these lands."

"If she was not a widow, this marriage would have been beautiful. But now… it’s shameful."

Each word was a knife to her chest.

She wanted to close her ears, to run, to escape—but she belonged to him now.

There was no escape.

---

A Family That Didn’t Expect Her

The house was massive, built over generations, its pillars standing strong like the man who ruled it. But its people were few.

A small but powerful family.

At the head of it was Paati—Rudhran’s grandmother. Old, sharp-tongued, and ruthless in her opinions. She sat on the wooden swing, her frail hands clutching her Rudraksha mala, eyes dark with disapproval.

"I never thought I’d live to see my grandson marry a widow," she muttered, her voice laced with disappointment.

Then she sighed, shaking her head. "If only she had not been married before… I would have been the first to celebrate this union."

Her words cut deeper than the whispers of the women outside.

Rudhran’s uncle and aunt—the ones who had raised him after his parents died—stood near the doorway. They were loyal to him, feared him, but also loved him in their own way.

His uncle, an old but strong man, cleared his throat. No one in this house called Rudhran by his name. Not even him.

"The rituals must be done properly. She is his wife now."

His aunt, a woman who had always been warm to everyone but careful around her nephew, nodded.

"Yes, but… she should not touch the temple lamp. Not yet."

A reminder that in their eyes, she was still stained by her past.

Then there was his cousin, their son, a man who handled Rudhran’s legal matters, and his wife—a silent woman who never spoke against the old rules but never spoke for them either.

They all stood watching. Observing. Judging.

Not openly cruel.

But not welcoming either.

---

The Rituals – A Silence That Spoke Volumes

The priest had been called. A hurried wedding meant hurried post-wedding rituals.

Amrutha sat beside Rudhran again, her fingers ice cold as they followed the instructions.

She felt small, out of place, unworthy.

But the man beside her—he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t react.

He simply did what had to be done.

When they placed the silver platter before them for their first meal as husband and wife, he tore a piece of food and placed it on her banana leaf.

It was a ritual. A formality.

But the moment his fingers left the food, whispers began again.

"A woman who should be feeding him, and instead, she is eating from his hand."

"Will he even accept her? Or is this just his duty?"

Paati watched from her swing, her eyes unreadable.

And then, just when Amrutha thought he would leave her to face everything alone, Rudhran did something no one expected.

He ate from the same leaf.

A statement.

A message.

This woman belongs to me.

The whispers stopped.

---

Janani’s Eyes Burned with Hate

Standing in the corner, her nails dug into her palms.

Janani.

She had waited for years.

For one look from him. For one sign that he would choose her. For one moment where he would acknowledge that she was his perfect match.

But he had chosen her.

The girl who had feared him all her life. The girl who had been meant for another man.

And worst of all?

He had given her his father’s chain.

Her blood boiled.

This was not over.

Not yet.

---

The Night That Should Have Been a Stranger’s Night

The night stretched long and silent as Amrutha was led to his room.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

The last time she had been prepared for a wedding night, her groom had died before he could claim her.

And now, this man was waiting on the other side of the door.

Her husband.

The one man she had spent her whole life avoiding.

The one man who had never shown her any kindness, any warmth, any affection.

A man too powerful to refuse, too distant to reach.

She stepped inside.

The door clicked shut.

The room was large, dark, and cold. Just like him.

And there he was.

Sitting on the wooden chair near the bed, his arms resting on the handles, his body relaxed—but his gaze sharp.

She didn’t dare move.

He said nothing.

Minutes stretched between them like an eternity.

Then, slowly, he stood.

Her breath caught.

He walked past her. Not toward her. Not near her.

Just past her—toward the bed.

And then, he sat down.

Leaning back against the carved wooden headboard, one arm thrown over the pillow beside him, he looked at her for the first time.

A long, assessing stare.

Then, in a voice as deep as the night itself, he said only one word.

"Sleep."

And just like that, he closed his eyes.

She stood frozen. Waiting. Expecting. Dreading.

But he didn’t touch her.

Didn’t speak again.

Didn’t move.

The man she had feared her whole life was now her husband.

And tonight, he had claimed nothing but the silence between them.

Bye bye. Do share your thoughts.