Glided Bonds
The Bride in Red
The room smelled faintly of incense and roses. Golden threads shimmered across the folds of her wedding attire, heavy enough to weigh down not just her body but her thoughts. She sat still, almost carved into the moment, her hands trembling under the weight of bangles that clinked softly whenever she shifted.
Everyone outside the door was laughing, singing, arranging, celebrating. Inside, her world was silent.
Her eyes dropped to the vermilion fabric stretched across her lap. It glittered under the dim yellow light, dazzling to anyone who looked at her. But to her, it felt like chains. She had always imagined her wedding day differently—maybe filled with joy, maybe with nervous excitement—but never with this tightness in her chest, this question pressing against her ribs -—
???
What if my life is not mine anymore?
She had only seen him twice. Once when his family came to see her, and again at the small, hurried engagement where words were scarce and glances even scarcer. Both times, his presence was like smoke—there but untouchable, quiet, unreadable.
Was he shy? Or unwilling? Was he forced into this just like she was?
Her fingers twisted the edge of her dupatta nervously. In her mind, possibilities unfolded like dark branches: a husband who might ignore her, or one who might raise his voice… or worse. She had seen such stories in houses nearby, whispered among women in the courtyard, shared in broken voices late at night. Would her story join them?
She pressed her lips together, fighting the sting in her eyes. Her parents never asked what she wanted. They had fixed the match, spoken of responsibility, family honor, “a good boy from a good family.” She was expected to nod, and she had. What else could she do?
Now, in this moment—adorned in jewels and silk, her life rewritten without her consent—she sat like a stranger at her own fate.
The mirror across the room reflected a bride that looked like a dream, but behind those layers of gold and red, she felt small. Fragile. Suspended between the world she knew and the unknown that awaited her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to summon calmness. But instead, her mind replayed his face—calm, distant, untouched by the rush of emotions drowning her.
???
Does he think of me at all?
The thought chilled her more than the silence of the room.
Outside, someone called her name. The music swelled. The time had come.
Her heart pounded as she rose, the heavy attire dragging against the floor. She walked slowly, each step echoing the question she dared not say aloud—
???
Am I stepping into love… or into loneliness?
The Silent Groom
The sound of conch shells and drums echoed through the courtyard. Guests bustled around in silks and sequins, their voices rising with laughter and chatter. For everyone else, this was a night of joy. For her, it felt like a march toward the unknown.
She sat before the sacred fire, her eyes lowered, her heart thudding with each chant of the priest. The weight of the garlands pressed against her neck, the heavy jewelry dug into her skin, but none of it compared to the heaviness in her chest.
And then—she felt it.
The shift in air.
He had entered.
The groom sat across from her, and the world seemed to pause for a breath.
She dared not look up fully, only catching glimpses between lowered lashes. His presence was steady, almost too steady. He moved as though each action had been rehearsed—not with eagerness, but with obligation.
His face betrayed nothing. Calm, distant. Neither joy nor anger, neither excitement nor reluctance. Just silence.
Was this how he truly was? Or was there something locked behind that unreadable expression?
The priest’s words filled the space between them, but their silence was louder. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he noticed. Did he even see her?
As the rituals continued, her thoughts churned.
Perhaps he too was bound by unseen chains.
Perhaps this marriage was not his choice either.
Perhaps his silence was not indifference… but helplessness.
And yet, doubt gnawed at her. What if his silence hid disapproval? What if tomorrow, behind closed doors, that calmness broke into something harsher?
Her fingers trembled as she held the edge of the sacred thread, their hands brushing for the first time. His touch was brief—warm but restrained, like someone holding back a storm.
The flames crackled, throwing shadows across their faces. Two strangers, bound together before a thousand eyes, yet completely unreadable to each other.
As the vows were spoken and the knots tied, one thought echoed in her mind, louder than the chants, louder than the music outside—
???
Am I marrying a man… or a mystery?
The Threshold
The music faded behind her as the car pulled away, leaving the house she had called home since birth. She turned once, her tear-blurred eyes catching the outline of her parents in the doorway. Their hands lifted in blessing, but their faces had already disappeared in the mist of her thoughts.
Her heart felt like it had been uprooted. The bangles on her wrists jingled with every tremble, their sound sharp in the quiet of the night. She pressed her palms together to steady them.
Beside her, he sat—still, composed, gazing out the window as though the road held more interest than the bride beside him. The silence stretched so wide between them that it seemed the car itself might drown in it.
She tried to steal a glance. His jaw was firm, his expression unreadable. No words escaped his lips, no flicker of emotion crossed his face.
Did he notice her tears? Did he care?
The ride felt endless. The questions inside her multiplied, curling around her like vines.
???
Should I speak first? Should I wait? What if he doesn’t want me here at all?
When the car finally stopped, her breath caught. The mansion loomed before her—grand, illuminated, its gates wide open in welcome. Yet to her, it looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
Stepping down, she clutched her veil tightly, her heart pounding as the rituals of welcome began. Lamps flickered, rice scattered, voices called her name. But beneath the surface of celebration, she felt her own uncertainty louder than the drums.
When they entered together, side by side, she noticed it again—the distance. Though his hand brushed hers lightly during the ritual, it was steady, careful, neither cold nor warm. Just… restrained.
She forced a smile for the family that cheered her arrival. But inside, one thought kept echoing—
???
I am crossing into a life I know nothing about, with a man I do not understand.
And as the night deepened, as the celebrations dimmed, and as she found herself in unfamiliar rooms with unfamiliar faces, her greatest fear whispered louder than ever—
???
What if silence becomes my only companion?
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