The Binding That Shouldn't Be
The moment Ranvijay stepped into the grand wedding hall, carrying Myra in his arms, a hush fell over the crowd.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence—shocked stares, widened eyes, and then, as if someone had pressed play on a forgotten melody, the room erupted into whispers.
"She looks so fragile in his arms…"
"God, what a sight! A groom carrying his bride so protectively!"
"Did she twist her ankle? Oh, the poor girl."
"Lucky girl, if you ask me. He looks obsessed with her."
Myra stiffened, her breath caught in her throat as the weight of their misunderstanding pressed down on her like chains. No, this isn't love. But no one saw it. To them, this moment was a poetic declaration of passion, a prince refusing to let his bride walk on her own, as if the very earth was unworthy of touching her feet.
Dadi Sa's delighted laughter rang through the hall, a sound so warm it made Myra's chest ache.
"Oh, Ranvijay," Dadi Sa beamed, her wrinkled hands clasped together. "I knew you'd cherish her."
Ranvijay's arms flexed slightly around Myra, his grip shifting as he set her down with deliberate care—care that only she knew was nothing more than control.
Her knees wobbled, the pain in her ankle flaring like fire, but she refused to falter. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.
Dadi Sa approached, cupping Myra's cheek with trembling fingers. "Look at you, beti, glowing like a goddess."
Myra's throat burned. Her hands curled into fists beneath the heavy folds of her lehenga. A goddess? No. She was a prisoner dressed in gold.
Ranvijay, standing beside her, exuded calm dominance. His deep, unwavering voice sent a chill down her spine. "We should begin the ceremony."
The elders agreed, and the rituals resumed—each one a lock fastening Myra to a cage she hadn't chosen.
As they sat side by side before the sacred fire, the flames crackled between them, an untamed force—just like the war raging inside Myra's chest.
Her father stepped forward, hesitant but resigned. The Kanyadaan was the first strike, the final betrayal. With solemn hands, he placed hers in Ranvijay's palm, sealing the decision for her.
Her skin burned where their hands met. Ranvijay's fingers curled around hers, firm and possessive. Mine.
She wanted to pull away. She wanted to scream. But she sat still, her spine rigid, her face a mask of quiet defiance.
Ranvijay leaned in slightly, his voice so low only she could hear. "You can squeeze my hand all you want, sweetheart, but you're not escaping this."
Her nails dug into his palm, and she took quiet satisfaction in the way his muscles tensed. If she was bound to this moment, she'd make sure he felt every ounce of her fury.
Then came the Pheras. Seven steps around the fire. Seven vows. Seven nails in her coffin.
Ranvijay took the lead, his hold on her unyielding as they walked, their shadows dancing with the flames. Each step felt like a lifetime, each vow like a dagger to her ribs.
When they reached the final round, the priest's voice echoed through the hall. "With this last phera, the bride and groom are eternally bound in duty and love."
Myra swallowed against the lump in her throat. Not love. Never love.
Then, the final ritual.
A hush settled over the hall as Ranvijay picked up the sindoor.
A tiny pinch of red powder. A color that symbolized devotion, destiny, and an unbreakable bond.
The weight of the moment coiled around Myra's lungs like a tightening noose. She stared ahead, unblinking, as Ranvijay lifted his hand to her forehead.
And then, for just a second, he hesitated.
Not because he doubted his decision—but because he wanted her to see it. To feel it. To understand that there was no turning back.
The vermillion met her skin.
A shiver ran through her body.
The final shackle. The irreversible truth.
A storm of applause broke the silence. Flowers rained down, the scent of roses overwhelming her senses. Dadi Sa dabbed at her eyes, overcome with joy. "May you both have a long and happy life together."
Ranvijay fastened the mangalsutra around her neck, his fingers brushing against her pulse. "Mine," he murmured under his breath, so quietly that only she could hear.
And then, as if sensing her impending collapse, he pulled her closer, his lips ghosting against her ear.
"This was your last chance to run, love. But now? You belong to me."
Tears burned at the edges of Myra's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.
The fire crackled louder, the weight of her fate pressing down on her shoulders.
And as the conch shell blew, signaling the end of the ceremony, she made a silent vow of her own.
This isn't over, Ranvijay. Not by a long shot.
The wedding hall was still alive with murmurs and music, but for Myra, everything blurred into a distant hum.
she clutched the small golden locket around her neck.
Ma… if you were here, would you have saved me?
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not break in front of these people. Not in front of her.
"Myra," her stepmother's sickly sweet voice cut through the moment. "Why such a long face? You should be happy. Not every girl gets such a powerful husband."
Myra tightened her grip on the locket, its familiar warmth grounding her. "Not every girl is forced into a marriage she never wanted," she muttered, low enough that only her stepmother could hear.
A smirk curled on the older woman's lips. "Oh, but wasn't it your mother's dream to see you married into a wealthy family?" She leaned in, whispering, "Pity she isn't here to see it."
Myra's breath caught. A sharp pain twisted in her chest, but she refused to show weakness. Instead, she raised her chin. "And yet, despite all your efforts, she still watches over me."
Her stepmother's gaze flickered to the locket before she scoffed. "A dead woman can't help you now, Myra."
Before Myra could respond, a firm hand grasped her wrist.
Ranvijay.
She stiffened as he pulled her toward him, his expression unreadable but his grip unrelenting. "It's time."
The conch shell blew, signaling her final farewell.
Myra turned to her father, who had barely spoken since the ceremony. His eyes looked tired, aged beyond his years. But he said nothing—no words of comfort, no resistance to what was happening.
Tears burned at the back of her throat as she bent down, touching his feet. He hesitated before placing a trembling hand on her head. "Be happy," he murmured, though the words felt empty.
Then came the final ritual.
With a deep breath, Myra reached into the silver bowl and took a handful of rice. Her fingers trembled as she turned away and flung it over her shoulder.
She didn't need to see it land to know what it meant.
She was repaying her Mother for everything she had given her.
Leaving behind the girl she had been.
Leaving behind her home.
But as the grains scattered on the ground, she silently vowed—I may leave this house, but I will never belong to his.
Ranvijay led her to the decorated car, where rose petals lay scattered over the plush seats. As she stepped in, she took one last look at the house she had lived in all her life.
Then, without a word, the door shut, and the car rolled away.
She did not look back.
But she knew her stepmother was smiling
The grand palace loomed ahead, its towering structure bathed in golden light. Guards opened the gates, and the car rolled through the entrance, stopping before the marble steps.
Servants and family members awaited their arrival, the griha pravesh ceremony prepared. Myra's feet were dipped in alta, her red-stained footprints marking her first steps into a home that felt more like a gilded cage.
Ranvijay's grandmother, Dadi Sa, held Myra's face between her hands, her old eyes brimming with joy. "Welcome home, bahu."
Myra forced a smile, nodding as the elder woman showered her with blessings.
The night dragged on with endless rituals, teasing relatives, and whispered congratulations. Myra played along, her mind racing for a way out, her heart still aching from the goodbye she had been forced to say.
And then, finally, she was led to his room.
The bridal chamber was nothing short of a dream—velvet drapes cascading from the ceiling, golden lamps casting a soft glow, fresh roses adorning every surface. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine filled the air, but to Myra, it was suffocating.
She stood in the middle of the room, stiff and unmoving, as the door clicked shut behind her.
She wasn't alone.
Ranvijay entered, his presence an unshakable force. Gone was the groom's ceremonial attire—he now wore a simple black kurta, his sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. His dark eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto her.
The silence stretched between them like a blade.
"You tried to run," he finally said.
Myra met his gaze, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "You forced me into this."
He exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "I gave you a choice."
Her fists clenched. "You call that a choice? What kind of man takes a woman's freedom and calls it protection?"
Something flickered in his expression—anger? Amusement? She couldn't tell.
He lifted his hand toward her face, and instinctively, she flinched. But instead of touching her, he reached for the locket around her neck.
Her breath hitched as his fingers grazed the golden pendant.
"You talk to this often," he mused, voice lower now. "To your mother."
Myra's throat tightened. "She's the only one who ever truly cared about me."
Ranvijay's jaw tensed, but his hand dropped away.
A heavy pause.
Then, he stepped back. "Rest. You must be exhausted."
Myra blinked, startled. That's it?
He turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, he hesitated. Without looking back, he spoke—his voice quiet but firm.
"You may hate me now. You may fight me. But one day, Myra…" He glanced over his shoulder, his dark gaze locking onto hers. "You'll realize you were always meant to be mine."
The door closed behind him, leaving her alone in the vast, empty room.
Her fingers curled around the locket, her pulse hammering against her skin.
Her wedding night was not filled with love.
It was filled with war.
And she refused to lose.
The door clicked open again, and Myra's heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed by the intrusion. She quickly wiped the trace of emotion from her face and turned to face him, her posture rigid, her gaze unwavering.
Ranvijay stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of the hallway lights. He had been gone for only a few minutes, but his return seemed to have taken an eternity. His eyes scanned the room before landing on her, as if making sure everything was as it should be.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The quiet seemed to settle around them again, thick and heavy.
"You should rest," he said again, his tone more insistent this time, but it lacked the softness from before. His eyes flickered briefly to the locket hanging around her neck, and he took a step closer. The energy in the room shifted again, but there was something more deliberate in his movements now.
Myra didn't speak. She stood still, her breath shallow, unsure of his intentions. Had he come back to torment her, or was it something else?
Ranvijay's gaze softened, but only slightly. "Dadi Sa would be suspicious if we didn't… act like a married couple tonight," he said, his voice low but steady, laced with the faintest hint of tension.
A chill ran down Myra's spine. The mention of Dadi Sa reminded her of the weight of the situation, of the impossible situation she found herself in. Her heart clenched in her chest, but she held herself firm, refusing to show any sign of weakness.
"You don't need to worry about her," she said, her voice tight with barely contained frustration. "You can go now."
Ranvijay tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement crossing his features, though it was tinged with something else. A possessive, subtle challenge that only made Myra's pulse quicken. He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just a few inches away from her.
His presence was overwhelming, as if he filled every inch of space, every corner of her thoughts. "I don't want to see you suffer, Myra," he said softly, the words laced with something deeper than the command he'd shown earlier. "But I can't let Dadi Sa think you're unhappy. For her sake, we have to pretend."
Myra's breath caught, and she looked up at him, the raw honesty in his words catching her off guard. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. Was he trying to make her feel something? Was he pretending, too?
His hand brushed against her arm, gentle but firm, and she flinched instinctively. His touch lingered, but it wasn't the kind of touch that made her feel vulnerable—it was possessive, as if he was staking a claim.
Ranvijay studied her, his dark eyes searching hers with an intensity that left no room for evasion. "You'll come to understand, Myra. One day."
His voice was softer now, more vulnerable in a way, though he didn't let it show on the surface.
Myra's pulse thudded in her ears as she tried to push him away—both physically and emotionally. She couldn't let him break her, couldn't let him see the crack forming in her heart. But his words, his touch… they unsettled her in ways she couldn't explain.
He stepped back then, though his eyes never left hers. "Accept it sweetheart this is your destiny " he said quietly. "But we both know what's expected of us."
There was no mistaking the unspoken truth behind his words. She wasn't free—she never would be. The chains were invisible, yet they were as real as the air between them.
He turned to leave once more, but before the door could close, he glanced back at her. "Rest, Myra. You need it."