The day had finally arrived.

The palace woke before the sun,wrapped in gold and crimson.Every corridor glowed with lamps,flowers,and the quiet rush of servants preparing for the wedding of Prince Atharva. Drums echoed softly in the distance,blending with temple bells,as if the city itself was holding its breath.

The palace of Rajgarh had never looked more alive.

From the very first light of dawn,the walls shimmered with marigold garlands and silk drapes in royal gold and deep red.Conch shells were blown at the gates,announcing the beginning of Prince Atharva’s wedding day.

Servants moved like a well-rehearsed orchestra carrying trays of jewels,perfumes,turbans, swords,and embroidered safas.Every corner breathed celebration.

And in the middle of it all stood Atharva.

For the first time in his life,the weight on his chest felt lighter.He was not thinking like a prince today he was thinking like a man in love.

He stood before the mirror while two attendants adjusted his sherwani,the fabric heavy with zari and tradition.

His grandmother,Rageshwari Devi,watched him with moist eyes and a proud smile.

“My child,”she said softly,touching his cheek, “today you begin not just a marriage,but a destiny.”

Atharva smiled rare,genuine,unguarded.

“For once,Dadi… this destiny is mine.”

Outside,Yuvansh burst into the room without permission,clapping his hands.

“Your Highness,the city is ready to witness your downfall into marriage!”

Atharva laughed.“You sure want to die today.”

Devika followed behind him,dressed in an elegant sari,her smile graceful though her eyes held something quieter.

“You look… different today,” she said. “Happier.”

“I am,”Atharva replied honestly.

Shaurya stood near the window,watching the palace come alive.When Atharva turned to him, Shaurya nodded.

“You're finally getting married.Im really happy for you.”

The prince took a deep breath.

The drums grew louder.The wedding procession was almost ready.

And in his heart,there was only one thought,

Sanskriti.

The woman he believed was his fate.

They all stepped out of the room,laughter and excitement echoing behind them,but Atharva slowed his pace.

Instead of heading straight to the mandap,he turned toward the quieter wing of the palace Ragini Palace,where his mother’s memories still lived.

He entered alone.

The air there was calm,untouched by the noise of celebration.At the far end of the hall hung a large,beautiful portrait of his mother Ragini Singh Rajvansh,her eyes gentle,her smile full of warmth.Atharva stopped in front of it.

He straightened his sherwani and looked up at her.

“Maa… I’m getting married today,” he said softly.

“Look at me.Do I look handsome enough?”

A faint smile curved his lips,though his eyes were already shining.

“Your daughter-in-law is really lucky,you know.”

His voice broke.A single tear slipped down his cheek.

He closed his eyes and whispered,

“I really miss you,Maa.”

And for a moment,the prince was no longer the heir of Rajgarh just a son,standing before his mother,wishing she could see him today.

After a long, silent moment,Atharva folded his hands before her portrait and bowed his head.

“Bless me, Maa,”he whispered.

Then he turned away,wiping his tears,and with one last glance at her gentle smile,he walked out of Ragini Palace and headed toward the main palace where the music,the crowdand his wedding awaited him.

Sanskriti's Mansion,

In Sanskriti’s mansion,the air was just as heavy but with something far more fragile.

It was her wedding day.

Sanskriti stood before the tall mirror as the final preparations for her wedding were being made.

The room was filled with quiet movement maids gliding from one corner to another, adjusting her jewelry,smoothing the silks,and arranging her veil so that she might look every bit the bride of a noble household.

Her friend Mona lingered close,carefully setting the pleats of her lehenga with the tenderness of someone who knew her heart far too well.

Yet for all the bustle around her,Sanskriti herself seemed untouched by it.

Her eyes rested on her reflection,but her thoughts were elsewhere,drifting far from the laughter and the rustle of fabric.

This marriage,which others spoke of with such hope and celebration,felt to her more like a duty than a dream.It was an arrangement her mother had made to preserve the family’s honour and hold together a household on the verge of ruin.

She did not love the man she was to marry.

In truth,she had never even learned to like him.

Outwardly,she stood adorned like a queen. Inwardly,her heart was heavy with a quiet sorrow she dared not speak aloud.

No tears stained her kohl-lined eyes,yet grief sat there,silent and constant,as she waited for a fate she had not chosen.

At the doorway,her parents watched her in silence.

Her mother stood with folded hands,her face composed,yet her eyes betrayed a quiet unease. She told herself this was necessary that a mother’s heart must sometimes harden to protect her home.

Still, seeing her daughter dressed as a bride,so distant and pale beneath the ornaments,stirred a guilt she quickly pressed down.

Her father remained a step behind.He did not speak.His gaze moved over Sanskriti with a mixture of pride and helpless sorrow.

Outwardly,everything was perfect.Inwardly, three hearts stood quietly at war with themselves.

No tears were shed.In that house,sorrow had learned to walk in silence.

Her Aesthetics ,

Rajgarh palace,

The palace courtyard was transformed into a royal mandap,built with carved pillars and silk canopies.

The sacred fire burned at the center,its flames steady,as priests in saffron robes chanted ancient mantras.The air smelled of ghee, sandalwood,and marigold.

Atharva arrived first,seated on a white horse, wearing a crimson and gold sherwani,a pearl-studded turban,and the traditional Rajput talwar at his waist.This was not just a groom  it was a warrior entering marriage.

Drums thundered as he dismounted. His grandmother applied tilak on his forehead and performed aarti,warding off evil.

Then came the Milni the formal greeting between both families followed by the groom being led to the mandap.

Sanskriti arrived later in a royal doli,her face veiled,dressed in heavy bridal silk with gold embroidery.The moment she stepped out,the palace fell silent.She was guided to the mandap by her mother and elder women.

The rituals began with the Ganesh Puja,where the priests invoked Lord Ganapati to remove every obstacle from the path of the bride and groom.

Sacred chants echoed through the courtyard as Atharva offered flowers and rice into the fire,his hands steady,his eyes full of faith.

From there,the ceremony flowed into the heart of the wedding.Sanskriti was brought forward by her parents,her veil drawn low,her steps careful and trembling.

During the Kanyadaan,her father placed her hand into Atharva’s,surrendering his most precious treasure with moist eyes.

A silk cloth was tied around their hands in the Hasta Milap,binding their lives together before the sacred fire.

Then came the pheras seven slow,solemn rounds around the flames.With each vow, Atharva promised protection,loyalty, and honor,while Sanskriti vowed devotion,strength, and companionship.

The fire bore witness to every word.When they returned to their seats,Atharva gently applied sindoor to the parting of her hair and tied the mangalsutra around her neck,marking her as his wife.

When the final mantra ended, the priest announced

“From this moment… you are husband and wife.”

Atharva looked at Sanskriti for the first time as his wife.

Finally,the elders stepped forward for the Rajput blessings placing sacred scriptures and even the family sword before them,reminding them that marriage in a Rajput household was not only about love,but also duty,courage,and legacy.

When they all stood,the conch shells blew and the palace erupted in celebration,sealing their union in tradition and honor.

From the side of the mandap,Atharva’s friends watched every ritual with full hearts.Yuvansh leaned forward,a rare softness in his eyes.

Shaurya stood quietly,hands folded,a small, sincere smile on his lips.Even they could feel the weight of the moment history,tradition,and fate tying two lives together.

But Devika stood a little apart.She clapped when everyone else did.She smiled when the conch shells blew.She even laughed when the flowers were showered.

Yet inside,something was breaking.

This was the wedding of her first love.

And he would never know how deeply she had once felt for him.

Her eyes followed Atharva as he looked at Sanskriti,and Devika lowered her gaze quickly, hiding the ache behind grace and dignity.

Yuvansh’s laughter faded for a moment.

From across the mandap,he noticed Devika standing still,her smile fixed but her eyes shining in a way that had nothing to do with joy.A single tear clung to her lashes before she quickly wiped it away.

Yuvansh felt his chest tighten.

He knew that look.He had seen it before in people who were trying not to fall apart.

He followed her gaze and saw it resting on Atharva and Sanskriti.That’s when he understood.

She loved him.

Not in a passing way.Not in a harmless way.

But in the quiet,painful way you love someone you can never have.

Yuvansh didn’t say anything.He just watched her for a long second,his teasing nature completely gone.

For the first time,he wasn’t joking.He was worried.

Across the courtyard,Mona stood among the women of Sanskriti’s side.Tears shimmered in her eyes not of loss,but of emotion.She watched her best friend take her vows,dressed as a bride,and felt a strange mix of pride and worry.

She folded her hands in silent prayer.

May she be happy,Mona thought.

Even if her heart is tired….may her life be gentle now.

The pa

lace erupted in celebration,everyone clapped.

Some with joy.Some with hope.And some… with quiet,invisible heartbreak.

Hey beautiful Ladies,❤️

Vote please.

Takecare.

Love _Qiana❤️