Episode 5

The air was a symphony of celebration. The rhythmic beat of the dhol, the vibrant notes of the shehnai, and the joyous shouts of the crowd enveloped the Sharma family’s opulent wedding venue. Aadhya stood at the entrance of the grand hall, her heart a drum against her ribs, not from excitement, but from the sheer weight of the moment. Draped in a magnificent maroon and gold Sabyasachi lehenga, its intricate embroidery shimmering under the lights, she felt less like a bride and more like a carefully crafted exhibit. Her mother, Radhika, fussed over her veil, adjusting the delicate lace that cascaded over her face, obscuring her vision just enough to add to the surreal quality of the day.

“The baraat is here, darling!” Radhika whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of pride and relief. “Veer looks absolutely dashing!”

Aadhya took a deep breath, the scent of jasmine and marigolds filling her lungs. She could hear the escalating crescendo of the music, signaling the groom’s procession. She had seen Veer only a handful of times, always in formal settings, always with a calculated distance. She knew his profile, the way he carried himself, the intensity in his dark eyes. This was the moment their two worlds, two empires, would irrevocably merge.

As the baraat entered the courtyard, a wave of sound and color washed over them. Dancers swirled, confetti cannons exploded, and the groom’s carriage, a beautifully adorned chariot, slowly made its way towards the mandap. Aadhya’s gaze instinctively sought out the groom. He was seated regally, partially obscured by the elaborate decorations of the carriage and the swirling crowd around him. He wore a deep maroon sherwani, matching her lehenga, and a heavy, ornate turban.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his posture was undeniably confident. As he dismounted the carriage, surrounded by his family and security, Aadhya felt a flicker of something she couldn't quite place. He seemed… different. Not drastically so, but there was a subtle shift in his bearing, a certain quiet intensity that she hadn't quite registered in their previous encounters. Perhaps it was the gravity of the occasion, or the sheer spectacle of the baraat that was altering her perception.

Her father, Devraj Sharma, beamed, his face alight with triumph. He moved forward to greet Vikram Malhotra, the two patriarchs exchanging hearty embraces, their smiles wide and genuine, a testament to the colossal deal they were sealing.

Then, it was time for the Jaimala ceremony, the exchange of garlands. Aadhya was gently guided towards the mandap, where the groom stood waiting. As she approached, the crowd parted slightly, giving her a clearer view. He was indeed handsome, his features sharp, his eyes dark and piercing. But as their gazes met, a strange jolt went through Aadhya.

There was a fleeting moment, a millisecond, where his eyes seemed to hold a depth she hadn’t seen in Veer before. A hint of something akin to… pain? Resignation? It was quickly masked, replaced by a neutral, almost unreadable expression. Yet, the sensation lingered, a faint discord in the symphony of her meticulously planned day.

She dismissed it. It was nerves, she told herself. The pressure of the thousands of eyes on her, the culmination of years of preparation. Veer was a private man, often stoic. Perhaps this was just his true demeanor, unmasked by the social niceties of their previous meetings.

The Jaimala ceremony commenced. Aadhya, with the help of her bridesmaids, lifted the heavy garland of fresh roses and jasmine. As she extended her arms, the groom, too, lifted his. Their hands brushed, and again, that subtle jolt. His touch was firm, yet there was a faint tremor she felt, or imagined she felt. He placed his garland around her neck, and she, in turn, placed hers around his. The cameras flashed, capturing the perfect moment, the perfect union.

The initial rituals followed swiftly. The Kanyadaan, where Devraj Sharma formally gave Aadhya away, his voice thick with emotion, his hand firm on her back. The Gathbandhan, where a corner of Aadhya’s dupatta was tied to the groom’s scarf, symbolizing their eternal bond. Throughout these ceremonies, the groom remained largely silent, his head often bowed, following the priest’s instructions with a quiet deference.

Aadhya observed him from the corner of her eye. His hands, when they were briefly visible, seemed… slightly different. Veer had a small scar on his left thumb, a faded line from a childhood accident she had heard about. She couldn't see it now, but then again, the lighting was dim under the canopy, and his hands were often clasped or covered by the heavy fabric of his sleeve. She chided herself for being so hyper-observant, for searching for flaws on her wedding day.

As the priest began the lengthy chants, preparing for the Saath Pheras, Aadhya found her gaze drawn to the groom’s profile. The sharp line of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips, the way his dark hair fell just so on his forehead. It was Veer, undeniably. Yet, a tiny, persistent voice in the back of her mind whispered, Is it?

Rohan, meanwhile, felt Aadhya’s gaze on him, a subtle pressure that made his skin prickle. He maintained his carefully constructed facade, his head bowed, his movements precise, mimicking the rituals he had been hastily briefed on. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest. He was a fraud, a stranger, standing at the precipice of a sacred union built on a foundation of lies.

He had caught glimpses of Aadhya through her veil. Her eyes, intelligent and watchful, had met his briefly during the Jaimala. He had seen the flicker of confusion, the subtle unease that she quickly suppressed. She was sharp, sharper than his father had given her credit for. He knew, with a sinking feeling, that she wouldn’t remain deceived for long.

The weight of the sherwani, the heat of the mandap, the incessant chanting of the priest – it all combined into a suffocating sensory overload. He wanted to rip off the turban, tear away the disguise, and scream the truth. But then he remembered his mother’s pale, anxious face, the cold threat in his father’s eyes. He had to do this. For her.

He felt Aadhya’s presence beside him, a quiet strength that emanated from her. She was graceful, composed, a woman of immense dignity. He was about to tie her to his family’s dark world, to a life she hadn’t chosen, to a man who wasn’t who he seemed. A wave of unexpected guilt washed over him. This wasn't just a business deal; it was her life. And he was complicit in its deception.

The priest’s voice rose, signaling the next crucial step. The Saath Pheras were about to begin. Rohan took a deep, steadying breath, preparing himself for the ultimate act of deception, the sacred vows he would make under false pretenses. He glanced at Aadhya, her veiled face serene, oblivious. The stranger’s face he wore was about to become her husband’s.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***