The moment my feet touched the island, I knew something had shifted.
Not the place.
Karan.
He wasn't the man I had boarded the jet with.
"Wooohoooo! Hurahuu! Hurahuu!" he shouted, arms thrown wide, spinning like he'd just been released from a lifetime sentence.
I stood frozen behind him, my smile stiff, my chest tight with unease.
Why did his happiness scare me more than his silence ever had?
Before I could think that through, Karan started undressing.
Shirt.
Pants.
Shoes.
Everything-except his underwear.
Right there. On the helipad.
Heat rushed to my face so fast I was sure it was visible from space. Second-hand embarrassment slapped me hard.
An adult man. Thirty-two years old. Married. On his honeymoon. Half naked. Screaming 'hurahuu' while neatly folding his clothes and packing them back into a suitcase.
This was not normal.
This was not romantic.
This was unhinged.
"Karan," I finally snapped. "What the hell are you doing?"
He glanced over his shoulder, completely unbothered. "Oh-sorry. You wanna get naked too? Need help?"
'Not me,' I thought grimly. 'You need therapy.'
Before I could respond, he sprinted toward the nearest tree like a child who had just discovered treasure. He tore plant skin, twisted it expertly into a rope, added leaves-
And returned wearing a skirt.
A leaf skirt.
My jaw dropped.
"AAYNA!" he yelled. "Come here! Hurry!"
"What is wrong with you?" I demanded, walking closer while every instinct screamed at me to stay exactly where I was.
"Nothing," he said happily. "This is our honeymoon destination."
That didn't calm me.
It disturbed me more.
"There are only about five hundred people on this island," he continued cheerfully. "You are their queen. And I am their-"
"King," I finished bitterly. "Fantastic. But why are you half naked?"
He stepped closer.
Too close.
For the first time since the wedding, there was no space between us. No formality. No distance. Just him-his bare skin, his confidence, his complete lack of hesitation.
He wrapped the rope gently around my waist, measuring me. His fingers brushed my side.
Accidentally, I told myself.
My body didn't believe me.
"You're hot," he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.
My breath hitched before my brain could stop it.
"Karan. Focus," I warned, my voice softer than I intended. "Why are you getting naked?"
"Because people here don't wear clothes," he replied simply. "It's considered rude. And since we're king and queen, we should lead."
"Naked?" I whispered, horrified.
He met my eyes-slow, intense-and tapped the leaf skirt at his hips.
"Not this part."
My throat went dry.
"So... only that part is covered?" I asked quietly, even though no one else was around.
My body felt strange-tight, alert-like it was bracing for danger and curiosity at the same time.
"Karan," I snapped, fear finally winning. "Call the jet back. We're leaving."
"Every woman here is bare-chested," he said calmly. "No one stares. No one judges."
Then-without asking-his hand gestured toward my chest.
My stomach flipped violently.
"You've gone insane," I said, but my voice betrayed me. It wasn't just anger anymore.
"Wait," he said softly. "Let me show you."
He pulled out his phone.
Photos filled the screen.
Karan-smiling, powerful, surrounded by men and women. The women stood bare-chested, their skin glowing, necks painted with white flowers, faces proud, unashamed, untouchable.
They didn't look exposed.
They looked free.
I swallowed hard.
Something inside me cracked-not fear, not desire, but confusion.
What scared me wasn't the island.
It was the realization that a part of me wanted to understand why he belonged here so easily.
"You're the same man who wanted me in proper traditional clothes, right?" I asked slowly.
"That Karan?"
He didn't look guilty. Not even apologetic.
"Aayna, that place was different," he said calmly.
"This is different."
Then-shockingly-he folded his hands in front of me.
"Please," he said. "Remove these layers. I'm requesting you."
I stared at him, genuinely stunned.
"What is wrong with you, Karan?"
"I can't," I said firmly. "I can't be like this."
"They'll think you're diseased," he replied.
I blinked. "What?"
"Why would they think that?" I asked, my voice rising.
"Because only diseased parts are supposed to be covered."
And before I could process that-
He dropped to his knees.
Actually fell.
"Karan, stop this," I said sharply-but he grabbed my legs, desperation written all over his face.
I couldn't believe it.
How could a man change so completely the moment his feet touched a piece of land?
"They'll marry me off to someone else here," he said quickly, almost frantically, "if you look... unhealthy."
"I am not unhealthy," I snapped.
"Not fit to bear children," he added bluntly.
"I can," I shot back.
"I know," he said instantly. "But they won't. Not if you hide your chest."
His forehead rested against my feet.
My chest tightened-not from exposure, but from something darker.
"Why did you bring me to such an island?" I asked quietly.
"Because I promised them," he said. "I promised I'd make them meet you."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" I demanded.
"Because I thought you liked being... uncovered," he replied.
"You wore that transparent dress the first night you entered my room."
"Karan," I said sharply, "you're my husband. I can be like that with you."
"There were servants," he said.
"It was night. There were no servants," I snapped.
He exhaled, defeated.
"You're right. I shouldn't expect you to go bare."
Relief barely touched me before he added-
"At least be barefoot. And change into this skirt."
He held it out like a peace offering.
"...Fine," I said. "That much, I can do."
The moment I changed, drums began to beat.
Deep. Loud. Approaching.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Oh god," he whispered. "They're coming."
"What?" Panic surged. I grabbed a stone instinctively.
"Are they dangerous?"
"No," he said quickly.
"It's just you and your... unhealthy mammary glands."
"Karan, stop," I snapped.
"You're right," he said immediately. "I'm sorry."
Then-without missing a beat-
"What excuse should I give them?" he asked.
"Their king-who could marry anyone-why did he marry an unhealthy woman?"
"Say I'm shy," I hissed. "Different culture."
"Just like men show their biceps proudly," he said urgently,
"women show their mammary glands proudly."
The drums grew louder.
"I'll say you were poor," he continued.
"And ill. And I showed mercy."
"Oh my God, Karan," I muttered.
And before my fear could fully argue-
I removed the top layer.
"That too," he said softly.
I froze. Then removed the rest.
"Straighten your shoulders," he said gently.
I shot him a look that promised consequences.
"Wait!" he said suddenly.
"I'll make you a garland. It's considered romantic here."
"You could've mentioned that earlier," I snapped.
"I have needle and thread," I muttered. "I can-"
But he was already plucking large red flowers, weaving them deftly.
When he placed the garland on me, it didn't feel like decoration.
It felt like armor.
Everything was covered.
Everything was controlled.
Karan stuffed our clothes into the bags.
"If no one wears clothes here," I asked dryly, "why did you bring so many?"
He didn't look up.
"There aren't any clothes in there."
I frowned.
"Those are snacks. Power banks. And my underwear."
My eyes rolled on their own.
As I looked up, people approached us-men wearing leaves with drums hanging from their necks, women bare-chested, smiling freely, unafraid of being seen.
They surrounded us.
Drums thundered. Feet moved in rhythm. Bodies swayed-not as performance, but memory.
They danced around us, chanting words I didn't understand, calling him king and me queen in a thick, unfamiliar accent.
Karan wasn't wrong.
This wasn't random celebration.
This was ritual.
Every step had been rehearsed. Every movement repeated over generations.
They celebrated him like he had always been theirs.
I stood beside him-adorned, protected, accepted-
and yet strangely invisible.
For the first time, I wondered if coming here hadn't changed Karan at all...
But had only revealed the part of him the world had never been allowed to see.