The sky was still grey with the mornings downpour when Jai walked into the stables.

He had followed the faint sound of voices—brief commands, the dull clatter of saddle buckles—and he wasn't surprised to find Malhar tightening the straps on his horse himself, a guard standing idly by, unsure whether to offer help or stay invisible.

Malhar's sleeves were rolled up, his kurta slightly askew, hair unkempt from a night without rest. There was urgency in his movements, not born of necessity but of the need to occupy his hands—of a man running from stillness because stillness brought thought, and thought brought ruin.

"You're leaving?" Jai's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

Malhar paused, hand resting on the leather strap, but didn't turn.

"Yes."

Jai stepped forward, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots the only sound besides the horses snorting in the morning chill. "And that's it, then?" he said. "You disrupt a ceremony in front of half the household, smear mehendi on a bride's hand like it's some sort of claim—and now you're just going to ride off before sunrise like a man who lost a war?"

Malhar looked up, jaw clenched.

"I only went to give her my blessings."

Jai scoffed. "You've never blessed anything in your life without meaning it to be yours."

That landed harder than expected. Malhar didn't respond. He adjusted the reins instead.

Jai took another step closer, his voice low now. "Do you intend to do nothing, Malhar? Let this wedding go on? Let Jahnvi marry Abhinav and pretend she never once looked at you like her world revolved around you?"

"She doesn't belong to me, Jai," Malhar replied quietly. "Not anymore."

"You think this is what honour looks like? Silence?"

Malhar finally turned.

There was no anger in his face. Just exhaustion. And something far more painful—resignation.

"We both know what it feels like to love someone who will never be ours," he said, eyes fixed on Jai. "We both know what it feels like to stand still while the woman we love walks toward someone else."

Jai faltered.

For a moment, neither spoke.

"I'm not running away," Malhar added. "But if I stay, I will burn everything down. This palace. This marriage. Her peace."

He glanced at the sky. The soft lavender light of morning was creeping in, gilding the stable gates.

"I can't destroy what I love to protect my own pride."

"And what about her?" Jai asked. "What if she doesn't want to be protected?"

Malhar didn't answer.

He mounted the horse in one swift movement, his posture steady even as the grief clung to his shoulders like weightless armor.

"I wasted precious moments Jai," he said, "moments I could have used to profess my love to her, you have wasted years, but it's still not too late."

He urged the horse forward, past Jai, past the empty courtyards, and into the waking silence of Satara's outer gates.

And Jai stood there, knowing the his hearts betrayal had not gone unnoticed by his best friend. The storm hadn't passed. It was merely circling, waiting for the moment the palace walls would no longer hold it back.

•••

The courtyard never truly returned to its rhythm after Malhar left.

The women had laughed nervously, resumed their songs with forced smiles, but the shift in energy was undeniable—like a mirror cracked down its center, still whole, but forever changed. Gauri had noticed how the artisans hesitated, their cones of henna suddenly forgotten in their palms. The songs thinned, the claps grew faint.

And Jahnvi... Jahnvi had not said a word.

She had sat through the rest of the evening like a statue wrapped in green silk—unmoving, unblinking, her open palms resting gently on her lap. When asked if she wanted her designs to extend to her forearms or ankles, she had simply shaken her head.

"Just a few dots," she had murmured. "Nothing more."

The artisans obeyed.

Small, neat dots of henna were pressed onto the tips of her fingers and the backs of her hands—delicate, modest, unremarkable.

All except one: Malhar's thick, careless smear on her left palm—dark, defiant, and stubbornly fresh. No one touched it. No one tried to conceal it. Even Gauri, who sat silently beside her, didn't suggest washing it off. They simply continued the evening with that unspoken truth painted onto her skin like a wound no one dared address.

When the others had finally left—one by one, with hesitant smiles and rehearsed warmth—Jahnvi had not moved. It was Gauri who had taken her inside, helped her change, braided her hair.

She stayed the night. Tried to keep Jahnvi's mind off the events of the morning even though her own mind had been clouded with Malhar's words.

Gauri stood by the mirror, running her fingers slowly through her hair, her eyes distant—unfixed.

She had barely slept, despite the stillness of the night. Her mind had been too loud, looping back to that one conversation, those few words spoken under the quiet hush of a corridor that now seemed far too heavy with unspoken truths.

"I can't understand your actions today Malhar," Gauri said "Will you be heading upstairs? Giving the groom your royal blessings?"

Malhar didn't smile. "Some choices feel heavier when the drums start playing. Like you can finally hear what you've been ignoring."

She looked at him. "You've never been one to ignore anything."

"Even I can pretend if the silence benefits others." He said

There was a quiet between them. Then he asked, softer this time, "Do you think it's right... marrying someone you don't love? For the sake of honour.. expectations?"

She thought about it, but only briefly. "I think people do it every day. Some even find happiness in it."

"And if they don't?"

"Then they carry it. We're taught that endurance is nobler than longing."

Malhar's eyes drifted toward the far gardens. "But what if someone realises they've been wrong? That their silence, their obedience... all of it was misplaced?"

"Then they live with it," she said quietly. "Or they change course—if they're brave enough to bear the aftermath."

His gaze flickered to her. "And if they're not the only ones who'd have to live with it?"

She blinked. "What are you trying to say?"

He didn't answer directly. "Choose love Gauri, ... Sometimes, the person you think least of... notices everything. Fights for you in places you'll never see."

She frowned, unsure. "What are you saying ?Who are you talking about?"

Malhar looked away. "No one. Just saying—you might want to think about who's watching when you're too busy looking elsewhere."

Gauri looked at Jahnvi, still curled up on her side, her hand tucked beneath her cheek, a few strands of hair clinging to her temple. Her brow was drawn in the same quiet tension she'd carried all week — as though even sleep hadn't managed to untangle the knots of her worry.

A soft knock broke the stillness before the doors were pushed open gently.

Nanda stepped in, a quiet presence as always, followed by a servant holding a shallow brass bowl of warm oil, its scent already filling the room.

"Good morning, Aai Saheb," Gauri whispered, rising from the divan beside the bed.

Nanda glanced toward Jahnvi. "Did she sleep?"

"I want to say she did," Gauri replied softly. "She closed her eyes just before dawn... hasn't moved since." She paused, gave a small, weary smile. "But her face still looks like it's fighting something."

Nanda studied her closely. "And you?"

Gauri tried to laugh, but it came out thinner than intended. "Not yet, Aai Saheb. I think the thought of battling my demons kept me up longer than the battle itself ever could."

Nanda reached out, cupping Gauri's chin gently. "Is something troubling you?"

Before Gauri could answer, a cry rang out—sharp, sudden, startling.

Jahnvi.

She twisted under the sheets, her body stiff, fists clenched, her voice rising in terror.

"No... no, please don't go—don't leave me!"

Gauri rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. "Janu! Wake up! It's just a dream!"

Nanda leaned in on the other side, tapping her cheek with careful firmness. "Jahnvi, open your eyes. You're here. You're safe."

But Jahnvi thrashed harder, her voice cracking in the middle of her plea.

"He's gone—he left me behind, Aai Saheb—he left me alone..."

"Who, Jahnvi? No one's left you," Nanda said, trying to soothe her, her voice a mix of maternal instinct and restrained panic.

Jahnvi's mouth trembled, the name on the edge of her tongue.

"Malh—"

She froze.

As though the syllable itself jolted her back to consciousness, her eyes flew open. Wide, tear-filled, frantic. She looked around, disoriented at first, then ashamed. Her gaze darted to Nanda, to Gauri, to the oil bowl still clutched in the servant's hands by the door.

Nanda touched her forehead. "It was just a dream, beta."

But even as Jahnvi nodded faintly, her body trembling beneath the sheets, she knew it wasn't just a dream.
It was a truth her heart had already lived.

He was gone.
And she... was still here.

"Gauri, help her wash her face," Nanda said, her voice steady but kind. "She needs to rub the oil into her skin before the haldi—so it doesn't stain too deeply."

"I'm alright," Jahnvi interjected, offering a quick, faint smile. "Just give me a few minutes, I'll be back."

Before either of them could argue, she stepped off the bed, her feet still bare against the cold marble, and hurried into the adjoining bath chamber.

The sound of splashing water soon echoed from within—sharp, purposeful—like she was trying to wash something more than just sleep from her skin.

In the quiet that followed, Nanda looked toward the open door and then at Gauri.

"She's holding too much in," Nanda murmured, almost to herself.

"She always does," Gauri replied quietly, glancing down at her hands. "Even when it's cracking through her voice, she won't let it show."

Nanda nodded absently, then turned to the maid standing silently in the corner. "You're dismissed."

The servant offered a small bow and left without a word, closing the door softly behind her. Nanda had long learned how to keep gossip from leaking beyond walls—especially during a wedding.

A few moments later, the door to the bath opened and Jahnvi stepped out, her damp hair clinging to her neck and temples, small beads of water trailing down her arms. She looked fresher, calmer, but something in her eyes remained cloudy—like the dream hadn't quite left her.

"Come," Nanda said gently. "Let us help you rub the oil in. Then you can change into your haldi clothes."

Jahnvi hesitated for a breath, her eyes flitting to Gauri, then back to Nanda. But she didn't protest. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees for a moment before extending them.

Gauri took the brass bowl and dipped her fingers into the oil, warming it between her palms. She knelt down beside Jahnvi and began rubbing the oil along her arms in slow, even strokes.

"It's strange," Gauri said, trying to lift the mood, "how this same oil we use every day suddenly feels sacred during weddings."

"It is sacred," Nanda replied softly. She dipped her own fingers into the bowl and moved behind Jahnvi, beginning to work the oil into her scalp. "Not because of the oil, but because of the hands applying it."

Jahnvi flinched slightly at the first touch, then relaxed as Nanda's fingers moved gently through her hair, parting and pressing, the oil softening each knot as it was coaxed free.

"I was told once," Nanda continued, her voice almost nostalgic, "that oiling a bride's hair the morning of her haldi is like sealing away her childhood... and preparing her for what she must carry ahead."

Jahnvi listened, silently.

"There's so much I wanted to tell you," Nanda added after a pause. "But I wasn't sure if you wanted to hear it from me."

"I did," Jahnvi said, her voice low but certain. "Maybe not in the beginning. But now... I think I do."

They didn't say anything after that for a while.

Gauri rubbed the last traces of oil into Jahnvi's hands, wiping her own fingers with a small cotton cloth. Nanda gathered the ends of Jahnvi's damp hair, twisting them into a loose braid that would be easy to undo before the ceremony.

"You should get dressed," Nanda said gently, rising to her feet. "The haldi will be held in my chamber, near the balcony. It's all ready."

Jahnvi nodded slowly and stood up, her oil-slicked skin glowing faintly under the early light.

"I'll help her," Gauri offered, already turning toward the wardrobe. "We'll join you soon."

AN : Twist and turns up ahead
It's going to be a bumpy ride !!