Scene: Yani's Griha Pravesh
Kushagra's mother, Meera, welcomes Yani with a warm smile, but instead of comforting her, it only intensifies the anxiety bubbling in Yani's chest. The house looms before her, unfamiliar yet now her home. Meera carefully places a bronze pot filled with rice at the doorstep, its polished surface reflecting the dim evening light.
"Dear, gently push this pot with your right foot and step inside with your right foot first," Meera instructs, her voice soft yet firm.
Yani adjusts the heavy folds of her bridal lehenga, her fingers trembling slightly. She nudges the pot, and the rice spills onto the floor in a cascading motion-a silent symbol of prosperity and a new beginning. But to her, it feels like grains of her past life slipping away.
As she steps into the kumkum filled plate, the cool liquid seeps between her toes, sending a strange sensation up her legs. The red imprints of her feet stain the marble floor, marking the first step into a world that feels foreign and uncertain.
She lifts her gaze and finds the entire family watching her. Some smiling, some merely observing, their expressions unreadable. Among them stands Raj-his kind eyes offering silent reassurance. His presence should have comforted her, yet it only makes her heart race faster.
Was she truly being welcomed? Or was she just a guest in a life she never asked for?
Kushagra's Thoughts:
Kushagra follows Yani at a slow, deliberate pace. Every step feels heavier than the last. This should have been Saniya standing beside him. Saniya, with her laughter, her dreams, her promises.
"If she loved me so much, why did she leave me?" His fingers curl into fists as the thought of her betrayal tightens around his chest like an iron chain.
His mother's voice pulls him back to reality.
"Kushagra, there is one ritual," Meera announces.
Kushagra meets Yani's gaze for the first time since their wedding vows. She looks nervous, vulnerable-so utterly inexperienced in this cruel game fate has played on them.
"Take Yani and carry her to the room," Meera instructs.
A sharp breath escapes him before he moves forward. Without hesitation, he bends slightly, sliding one arm under her legs and the other against her back.
In one swift motion, he lifts her up.
Yani gasps softly, her hands instinctively clutching onto his sherwani.
She can feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the strength in his arms. Yet, despite the closeness, his cold indifference sends a shiver through her.
The bedroom door creaks open, revealing a grand yet unfamiliar space. The scent of fresh roses fills the air, the petals carefully scattered across the bed in an attempt to create a romantic atmosphere. But nothing about this night feels romantic.
Kushagra gently lowers Yani onto the bed. His touch is careful but distant, as if carrying out an obligation rather than an intimate moment. Without a word, he turns away, walking to his wardrobe.
She watches as he pulls out a blanket, a pillow, and a set of clothes.
"I'm going to the guest room," he says, still not looking at her.
His words cut through the air like a dagger.
Yani blinks, trying to process what he just said.
"But... why?" she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kushagra pauses for a brief second, then glances at her over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"My only responsibility was to marry you. I've done that. Don't expect anything more from me."
And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving her alone in a room filled with rose petals and silence.
Yani sits motionless, staring at the closed door.
"If this was all he intended, why did he marry me in the first place?" She mutters under her breath, frustration bubbling inside her.
Her fingers clutch the edge of her dupatta tightly.
"Because of this idiot, my dream of becoming a fashion designer is ruined. If this is what my future holds, then I won't have any expectations either."
She stands up, wipes away the lone tear threatening to escape, and walks toward her suitcase.
Tonight, she would sleep alone-not just physically, but emotionally too
As exhaustion overtakes her, she curls up on the bed, pulling the blanket tightly around herself. The room, despite its beauty, feels cold.
And in that suffocating silence, for the first time, she realizes-she has married a man who doesn't want her.
Yani's First Morning in Her New Home
A soft knock echoes through the room, pulling Yani from the depths of her restless sleep.
Her eyes flutter open, adjusting to the morning light filtering through the silk curtains. For a brief moment, she forgets where she is. The scent of fresh roses still lingers in the air, remnants of last night's wedding décor, but the warmth she once associated with such scents now feels unfamiliar.
As she blinks away the sleep, her gaze falls on the door, where Meera stands, poised yet graceful, holding a red silk saree in her hands. The deep red fabric shimmers slightly under the light, its golden embroidery catching the morning sun.
"Yani, dear," Meera's voice is gentle, laced with warmth, yet holding the quiet authority of a woman who has managed a household for years. A woman who understands traditions, even if Yani doesn't.
"Wear this saree and come downstairs. Today is your first rasoi."
The words settle heavily on Yani's shoulders. First Rasoi. Another tradition. Another role she's expected to play in a marriage that still feels like a stranger's life.
Meera walks in gracefully, placing the saree neatly on the bed, smoothing out the delicate pleats with practiced hands. There is a silent understanding in her eyes, as if she knows Yani's heart is not ready for this yet-but also that there is no other choice.
Without another word, Meera turns and leaves, her presence lingering in the room even after the door closes softly behind her.
Yani remains frozen in place, staring at the saree.
The same deep red as the sindoor in her hair. The same red that tied her to a man who walked out of their wedding night without a second glance.
She exhales slowly, dragging herself out of bed.
"This is just the beginning, isn't it?" she mutters under her breath, her fingers brushing against the soft silk.
As she prepares to drape the saree around herself, she realizes this day will be another test. And she has no choice but to face it.
The First Rasoi
Wrapped in a stunning red silk saree, Yani descends the grand staircase, the fabric hugging her frame in all the right places. under the morning light, tracing the delicate curves of her silhouette as she moves gracefully. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, soft waves adding to her ethereal beauty. She looks breathtaking-an image of elegance, yet there's an undeniable sharpness in her eyes, reflecting the fire within her.
She steps into the kitchen, her fingers lightly tracing the polished marble counter. The scent of freshly ground spices lingers in the air, a reminder that this place is foreign to her. Just as she's about to start, she hears the faint sound of footsteps behind her. Her heart stirs, and she quickly turns around-
No one is there.
Her brows furrow slightly before she exhales and shakes her head. "You're overthinking, Yani," she murmurs to herself, brushing off the unease.
With a small smirk, she whispers under her breath, "Thank you, Mom, for teaching me how to cook; otherwise, I would have embarrassed myself today." A soft smile graces her lips at the thought of her mother, a rare moment of warmth amidst the cold unfamiliarity of her new home.
For the next hour, she loses herself in the process of cooking. The aroma of saffron and cardamom fills the air as she prepares suji halwa and kheer, two traditional sweets meant to mark the occasion. For the first time since her marriage, Kushagra's cold gaze doesn't cross her mind.
After finishing, Yani carefully sets the dining table, arranging the dishes with precision.
As the family takes their first bites, a hushed silence falls over the table then, a chorus of praise follows.
"Yani, this is incredible!"
"Dear, you have magic in your hands!"
"This halwa tastes just like my mother's!"
Each family member gifts her something-gold bangles, silk scarves, even a delicate anklet-tokens of appreciation for her first rasoi.
Then, it's Kushagra's turn.
He parts his lips as if to speak, but before a word escapes, he feels a piercing gaze land on him-his father's.
Raj Malhotra doesn't say anything, but his expression is enough. A silent warning. "If you utter something foolish, you will regret it."
Kushagra clears his throat, his sharp eyes meeting Yani's. Not with admiration, not with gratitude-only with resentment.
Hatred.
His fingers tighten around his fork as an intrusive thought enters his mind-What if it were Saniya in Yani's place? The warmth of that idea feels like a cruel joke.
Abruptly, he pushes his chair back and stands up.
"I'm going to the office. I'm getting late."
Without another glance, he strides out of the room, ignoring the disappointed sighs behind him.
Raj's expression darkens, his hands curling into fists. Meera's brows knit together in concern.
Meanwhile, Yani stands frozen, absorbing the moment.
"If my first rasoi went like this... what will my future be?"
A strange expression flickers across her face-not quite a smirk, but something close. A quiet defiance.
Without saying a word, she turns and heads back to her room.
Throwing herself onto the bed, Yani lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Why is this idiot so rude to me?" she mutters, burying her face in her pillow. "Did I steal something from him? He acts like some kind of king-but he's not a king! He's just a baka, a complete baka, nothing more!"
She grabs her phone and scrolls through her Instagram feed, trying to distract herself. The glow of the screen casts a soft light on her face, and for a moment, the world outside fades away.
That is-until something catches her eye.
A familiar name.
Saniya.
Her heart clenches as she clicks on the profile. A past uploaded post appears.
A picture of Saniya and Kushagra. Together.
Yani stares at the image, a strange heaviness settling in her chest.
"If this idiot loved someone else... then why did he marry me?"
The thought burns through her mind like wildfire. Her fingers curl into fists, and before she realizes it, she throws her phone onto the bed.
"Cheater!" she hisses, jumping to conclusions without knowing the full story.
Just then, a knock on the door pulls her out of her spiral.
She exhales sharply before responding, "Come in."
Meera steps inside, her expression soft yet firm.
"Today is your muh dikhai, so get ready properly and come downstairs. When all the women arrive, Richa will come to call you, okay?"
With that, she leaves, closing the door gently behind her.
Yani groans, flopping back onto the bed.
"I hate marriage," she mumbles, staring at the ceiling.
Her fingers unconsciously brush against the edge of her saree, the fabric smooth and luxurious-yet somehow, it still feels foreign.