The palace gleamed like a bride itself—draped in golden lights, adorned with roses that filled the air with their fragrance. The heart-stirring rhythm of songs floated through the halls, women swirled gracefully in ghoomar, and priests echoed mantras that seemed to bind the atmosphere in sanctity.
From the grand staircase, the groom descended, each step weighted with dignity, before taking his place in the sacred pavilion. The priest, poised and ready, turned and instructed, "Call the bride."
But in that very moment, the bride's aunt, her face pale with worry, stepped forward and whispered the words that struck like thunder—
"The bride… she is not in her room."
At those words, the Shekhawats and the Malhotras were struck with dread, worry etching itself across every face.
The bride's mother clung to her husband, tears spilling as she sobbed, "Mayank ji, where has Sananya gone? 😭😭"
(Mayank ki pocket mein nikal lo 😔✋)
Gently, her husband steadied her trembling shoulders, his voice firm yet hopeful, "Manvi must be here only. Let's search for her—we'll find her."
Together, the families spread out, calling her name again and again. But each ring to her phone met with silence, as though she had vanished into thin air.
Two long hours passed in restless searching, yet not a single trace of Sananya was found. Back in the pavilion, Adheer's patience frayed to its final thread. With a storm darkening his eyes, he rose abruptly, stepped out, and in a fit of fury, ripped the turban from his head and flung it aside.
"I want her here at any cost, whether she agrees or not," he orders his men. __________________________________
A woman slapped the girl, yanking her hair violently, her voice sharp and accusing: "Why won't you marry?"
The girl's body shook as she wept, her words barely audible, "Please… don't do this. He is so much older than me, Choti Maa."
Her step-aunt sneered, venom in every word, "She devoured her mother the moment she was born… now she will devour us too."
The girl's sobs grew louder as she turned to her father, pleading, "Papa… please… make them understand."
But he remained silent. Without a word, he turned his face away and walked off, leaving her alone.
Her stepmother's cruel words cut deeper than any slap: "See, no one wants you in this house. You are a burden to us. I wish you would die alone with your mother."
She threw the wedding attire onto the girl's face and ordered sharply, "Get ready in twenty minutes and come downstairs. It's your wedding." Then she walked away, leaving the girl trembling.
Kaya hurried to prepare herself. When she finally looked into the mirror, the reflection staring back was broken—her eyes filled, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
Just then, Shanti Amma, the loyal housemaid, came and sat beside her. Gently, she placed Kaya's head on her lap, stroking her hair to calm her trembling spirit.
"Amma… why only me? Why did everyone leave me? Was it my fault that Mom died?" she cried.
Shanti Amma held her close, her voice soft but firm, "No, my child… it is not your fault. The fault lies with these people who cannot see your worth."
Her step mother tells her to get ready in 20 minutes and come downstairs, it is her wedding , she throws the wedding attire on her face and goes downstairs.
"I don't want to get married," she whispered, her voice trembling as she confided in Shanti Amma.
Shanti Amma's eyes softened with concern, her hand resting gently on Kaya's shoulder. "I don't want you to get married either, beta. You should run… run far away," she urged.
Kaya's eyes widened, a mix of fear and hope. "But… how?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
With a quiet determination, Shanti Amma led her to the back door, opened it, and guided her safely into the waiting car. The engine roared to life, carrying Kaya away from the walls that had caged her, and toward a chance at freedom.
__________________________________
Adheer's men scoured the city, leaving no street unchecked in their relentless search for Sanaya. By his command, even the Center Minister had sealed off all roads, halting every vehicle that might aid her escape.
Meanwhile, Kaya ran through the darkened night along a deserted road, her breaths ragged, her heart hammering, as she tried desperately to flee from her stepmother's goons.
Tears blurred her vision as she lifted her voice to the heavens, her plea raw and trembling:
"Hey Shri Krishna… why is it always me? Why do you do this to me? I don't want this… this marriage… now my life rests in your hands."
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