---
Chapter 2: The Blood-Stained Sindoor
The mandap was silent.
No chants. No music. Just the crackling of fire and the metallic taste of fear.
Meher sat in bridal red, hands trembling in her lap. Her bangles felt like chains. Every glance from Kabir was a knife pressed to her throat.
He stepped forward, tall and terrifying, holding the sindoor between two fingers. His eyes locked onto hers — unreadable, merciless.
“Bend your head,” he ordered.
Meher didn’t move.
The silence stretched.
The guards shifted, tense. The priest looked away.
Kabir leaned in, voice low and venomous. “Do not test me in front of my men, biwi.”
She swallowed hard, tears blurring her vision. Slowly, she bowed her head.
The vermillion hit her scalp like fire — bright, thick, cruel.
It wasn’t a blessing. It was a brand.
The room exhaled. The marriage was done.
Meher looked up, her eyes fierce despite the tears. “You can force me to wear your name, Kabir Rathore. But you’ll never own my soul.”
He smirked, brushing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Sweetheart, I don’t need your soul. Just your silence. And your body.”
She flinched.
And as he turned to address his men, Meher realized something worse than fear was blooming inside her.
Hatred.
And hatred, she knew, was far more dangerous than love.
-
Write a comment ...