The most beautiful woman is standing in front of me. Few minutes ago I was cursing myself for complaining about dying single.
She walked in like a storm.
White dress. Veil like mist. Eyes like daggers.
A girl dressed as a bride, but moving like a soldier marching into war.
Her arm was looped through her younger brother’s. Not her father’s. A bold move. One I wasn’t expecting.
For a moment, I forgot where we were.
She looked at no one. Not the crowd. Not the flowers. Just me.
And… all I saw was her.
She stepped past my offered hand and climbed the stage herself.
So this was her.
The girl I was marrying.
She is completely opposite of what I had in my mind.
When the priest brought out the rings, I felt my hands go clammy.
She reached first.
Inaya Mahajan(FL)
“Give me your hand."
Not a request. A command.
I gave it.
Her fingers were cold but steady as she slipped the ring on.
My turn.
I looked at her properly.
There was no fear in her eyes. Only fury. And calculation.
I slid the ring onto her finger.
???
“You may now kiss the bride.”
My heart stalled. My mind blanked.
I leaned in, slowly. Watching her face for some kind of sign.
Permission. Protest. Anything.
She gave me nothing.
Just silence.
So I kissed her.
Barely a touch. More breath than lips.
Cold. Quick. Mechanical.
Applause erupted.
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