Sharma Niwas

From the door of Ira's room, Richa paused. Her daughter's laughter echoed softly with Isha's playful words, and for a fleeting second, it melted her heart. But the smile on Richa's lips faltered as her hand unconsciously clenched into a fist. She knew... she knew Ira was not ready for this new journey. Yet what could be done? Since childhood, Ira had been told that one day this moment would arrive. Today, that inevitability stood before them.

Richa stepped inside, her face warm with a mother's smile, though her heart felt heavy.
"They are calling you downstairs, Ira..."

Ira stopped mid-laugh, turning to her mother with wide eyes.
"Calling me? Why? Maa, what—"

"Roka."

The word hit her like a stone thrown into still water. Her breath caught, her hand froze over the dupatta she was folding.
"Roka?" she whispered, confusion lacing her voice.

Before her silence could stretch further, Isha burst out with childish defiance.
"But Maa! Dadi told me to tell Didi not to come downstairs. She said it's a bad omen before the puja."

Richa's smile deepened, bittersweet. She stroked her younger daughter's cheek gently.
"Only one person can bend your Dadi's rules, Isha."

"Did Sugandha Dadi ask for Didi?" Isha's eyes widened.

Richa nodded. "Yes. She wants Ira there. They wish to do a small Roka ceremony for her."

Ira's heart gave a heavy thud, so loud she felt it echo in her ears. It was here. The day she had dreaded, the day that had haunted her every dream—it had finally arrived. Now, there was no stepping back.

Her throat dried. She pressed her palm against her chest as though she could cage her racing heart. No, no, I am not ready... how can I go stand in front of strangers? No—not strangers anymore, but family. My family. But still unknown. He is unknown. Aariv Veer Agnivansh. Chief Minister of Rajasthan. Soon-to-be King of Jaisalmer. My husband-to-be... and I don't even know his voice, his smile, his shadow. What if I fail in front of them? What if they see me and feel disappointed?

Isha, seeing her sister's pale face, rushed to her side and placed a hand over her trembling one.
"Di..." she whispered, her childish eyes filled with worry.

Ira forced a smile for her sake, though her insides twisted. "I am okay. I promise." She drew in a breath, her voice shaking but steadying itself. "Just... give me five minutes. I will be ready by then."

Richa studied her daughter with the eyes of a mother who knew too much. She could read the nerves behind Ira's smile, the fear buried in her tone. Ira had never liked strangers, never liked unfamiliar faces or voices. But Richa also knew—this time, she couldn't protect her daughter. Because the strangers were no longer strangers; they were destiny.

Still, she nodded softly, placing her hand on Isha's back to guide her out. Isha protested, unwilling to leave her sister alone.
"I want to stay with Didi..."

But Richa pulled her away gently, whispering, "Let her breathe, Isha."

The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Ira alone in the stillness.

She pressed her trembling hands together, clutching her heart as if it might shatter. Her lips moved in a whisper to herself, Everything will be fine. I will be fine. Nothing will break me.

Her gaze drifted to the small idol of Ganpati Bappa placed lovingly on her study table. She folded her hands tightly, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Bappa, give me strength. Show me the way... I am walking into a life I don't know. Into a man I don't know. Into a world I don't belong to. But if this is what you wrote for me, give me courage to face it."

Her phone screen lit up suddenly. Varsha calling.
Her best friend. Her soul-sister. For a second, her heart longed to pick up, to cry, to tell someone her fears. But she turned the screen face-down. "Not now," she whispered. "Not when I need to be strong."

She stood before her mirror. Her eyes had lost their shine, dulled by the weight of her fate. Yet she pulled her dupatta gracefully around her shoulders. She may be breaking inside, but she would look presentable outside. She would walk with dignity—even if her heart trembled.

When she opened the door, Richa and Isha were waiting. Both looked at her with silent questions.

"I am ready," Ira said quietly.

But inside, her soul whispered, Am I really?

Her eyes flickered to her mother, voice barely audible.
"Chale, Maa..."

And as she walked, every step felt like the closing of a chapter she wasn't ready to finish.

Both Richa and Isha stood close—one on each side—as if shielding Ira from the unknown world waiting below. Ira's steps were slow, hesitant, every thud of her sandal on the marble staircase echoing in her chest like the beat of a war drum. Her palms were damp, her heartbeat frantic, as though some invisible creature lurked in the main hall waiting to devour her.

I don't know them... I don't know what future waits for me downstairs.

Where is Rishab bhai when I needed him the most?

Yes, she had seen Veer Dadusa before, had faint memories of his royal presence. Yes, she had met Sugandha Dadisa, Meera aunty, and Yukta aunty earlier that morning. But faces and names don't make bonds. They were still strangers. Strangers who, within moments, would become her family.

And him—her husband-to-be. A man whose name resonated across Rajasthan like thunder: Aariv Veer Agnivansh. To the world he was a ruler, a Chief Minister, the future king. To her, he was nothing but a shadow. A stranger. She had avoided him her entire life—even his fleeting appearances on TV made her uneasy. She used to run from the room when his image appeared, as though he might step out of the screen and into her world. Ridiculous... but true. She never dared to study his face properly, just a glimpse here and there, nothing more.

And yet now... he was waiting for her.

Her breath trembled as she stepped onto the last stair.

The entire hall seemed to fall silent. Conversations hushed, the air stilled—as if time itself bowed in reverence to her presence.

Pranay's old eyes softened the moment he saw her. His lips curved into a small, encouraging smile for his precious granddaughter.

Pooja, however, could not mirror it. Her motherly gaze was lined with worry, her heart heavy with unspoken fears.

Piyush looked at his daughter with a gentle gaze.

Across the room, Sugandha and Meera exchanged a quiet nod. Their thoughts were the same: This girl... she is divine. Her aura was untouched, her presence like a cool breeze after a long desert storm.

But not everyone's thoughts were alike.

Atharva, the Cabinet Minister, sharp-eyed and authoritative, leaned back slightly, studying her with a calculating gaze.
Aarav, the businessman, calm yet commanding, folded his arms, his eyes narrowing just a fraction.

They had seen countless faces, met women of every status, beauty, and background. But when Ira stood in front of them, they both felt something they weren't expecting—fear.

Not for her... but for what awaited her.

Because standing there was a girl who looked like she had been sculpted out of purity itself. Her eyes—blue, wide, and doe-like—shimmered with innocence, so striking they could blind anyone who dared to meet them too long. Her beauty wasn't the sharp, worldly kind. It was something untouched, celestial. Her face glowed with a freshness, a softness, that made her look less like a bride-to-be and more like an angel misplaced on earth.

And they knew their son.

Aariv Veer Agnivansh.
A man whose touch could turn things into ashes.
A man whose glare could set hearts ablaze with fear.
A man carved not of tenderness but of fire.

They exchanged a silent thought, heavy with dread—
Can this innocence survive the storm that is Aariv?

The hall exhaled softly as Ira's dupatta brushed against her arms, the delicate fabric swaying with her steps like the whisper of destiny itself. Her hands folded nervously before her, but her head remained slightly bowed, the picture of grace.

Every pair of eyes was on her.
Every heartbeat in that hall waited for what would happen next.

And Ira—pure, trembling, angelic Ira—stood on the threshold of her new world, silently praying to Ganpati Bappa to give her strength.
***************

The room was hushed, every gaze fixed on Ira as she stood—blue doe eyes lowered, hands folded softly before her, her dupatta cascading like liquid silk over her shoulders. She looked fragile, like a lotus trembling on still water.

Meera stepped forward first. Her eyes softened the moment they met Ira's. Slowly, she cupped Ira's face in her palms, the gentleness in her touch melting Ira's nervousness for a heartbeat.

"Beautiful as ever," Meera whispered, her voice warm, almost motherly.

Ira looked up, startled. In those eyes she saw no judgment, no distance—only love. She gave a faint nod, her lips quivering with the hint of a smile.

Behind her, Richa's chest tightened. Watching this moment, she felt her heart finally loosen its grip—someone in that vast palace will care for her child.

Meera's smile deepened as she held Ira's hand and guided her to the seat placed at the center. She bent down and gently kissed her forehead, whispering,

"My son... is so lucky to have you in his life."

Ira's lashes fluttered, a soft blush painting her cheeks. She lowered her gaze again, her beauty glowing like a secret flame.

At that moment, Sugandha came forward, her hands steady as she held the pooja thali, the flame of the diya flickering golden against Ira's serene face. The hall seemed to glow in that same light.

Meera carefully adjusted Ira's dupatta, pulling it over her head like a protective shield, letting it fall against her forehead. The gesture was small, but its meaning was immense—acceptance.

From the side, Piyush and Pranay watched their little girl. Their eyes glistened, proud yet heavy. Their little girl... stepping into womanhood, into a new chapter.

But behind them, Pooja's eyes were sharp. Her lips pressed together, disapproving. This isn't how our rituals go. Yet, seeing Sugandha and Meera's determination, she stood silent, swallowing her protest.

Slowly, Meera and Sugandha performed the small Roka. They placed a tilak on Ira's forehead, their fingers trembling with emotion. The red mark against her porcelain skin made her look like a goddess—sacred, ethereal.

They handed her the ancestral jewelry piece by piece, each shimmer of gold catching in the light, each ornament a silent vow of belonging. Ira's fingers trembled as she accepted them, bowing her head in respect.

Then came the men.

Veer stepped forward first, his regal aura commanding silence. Ira bent low, touching his feet with both hands. His large palm rested briefly on her head, his voice low but firm:
"Stay blessed, child. May you always bring light wherever you go."

Next was Atharva. His presence was magnetic, powerful. Ira's hands trembled as she bent to touch his feet—but before she could, he stopped her gently, his hand lifting in a firm yet tender gesture.

"No, beti," his voice was deep, soothing, paternal. He placed his hand softly on her head. "Daughters never touch their father's feet. They only win their father's blessings."

Ira's blue eyes lifted, shimmering with unshed tears. That one sentence cut straight through her walls. Her lips curved into the faintest, grateful smile.

And then, Aarav came forward. Calm, composed, yet slightly intimidating. Ira bent low, and this time he allowed it. When she rose, his eyes lingered on her, searching—measuring. But his words were simple, almost commanding in their restraint.

"Be strong, Ira. Strength is what will make you shine in our family."

Her heart pounded harder at his words.

From the side, Richa's eyes filled with tears. Watching her daughter accepted so warmly, her chest swelled with both pride and sorrow. She dabbed the corner of her eyes with her dupatta, whispering a silent prayer of thanks.

Isha, unable to contain her emotions, held her hands close to her chest. Her big eyes glistened, her lips stretched into a trembling smile. Finally—finally—she was at peace. Her Ira was in safe hands.

And Ira... sitting there with her dupatta covering her forehead, tilak glowing between her brows, blue eyes shining like the desert sky, looked nothing short of celestial.

She wasn't just a bride-to-be. She was Agnivansh's soon-to-be queen.
***********

Ira lay sprawled on her bed, her soft dupatta slipped carelessly over the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her chin, the other lazily stretched above her head. The room was dim, only the faint yellow glow of the bedside lamp keeping the silence company.

Her blue eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the carved ceiling. Thoughts swirled—like restless waves in the desert wind.

"Am I ready? Really ready... to step into this new life?"

Her chest rose and fell heavily. Every breath felt like a burden she wasn't prepared for.

Till yesterday, she was simply Ira Sharma—a girl with ghungroos tied to her ankles, twirling on the marble floor, losing herself in the rhythm of Kathak. Dance was her world, her language, her prayer.

And suddenly, in just one day, everything changed.

Her lips trembled as she whispered into the stillness, "Now I am someone's daughter-in-law... someone's wife-to-be."

A soft heaviness settled on her shoulder, invisible yet suffocating—the weight of expectations.

"Will I ever be able to fulfill them? Can I be the wife they want me to be... the bahu they expect me to become?"

Her gaze shifted to the small Ganpati idol on her study table, the same one she had prayed to in the morning. A faint shiver ran down her spine. Would she still have this freedom to sit before him whenever she wanted? To dance when her heart longed? Or will her world be caged behind palace walls?

Her thoughts slipped to the one shadow she had avoided all day—her soon-to-be husband.

Aariv Veer Agnivansh.

Even thinking the name sent a tremor through her chest. She had never seen him properly, never spoken a word. To her, he was an enigma carved from stone.

They said he was ruthless.
They said he was disciplined, cold-hearted.
They said people feared him.

Her heart thudded. But words... words can be fake, can't they?

For a fleeting second, she dared to hope. What if he's not the monster everyone paints him to be? What if... he is just a man?

Her lashes fluttered shut, and she let out a shaky sigh. The air in the room grew heavier with silence.

And then—

Crriiing.

Her phone buzzed sharply against the bedside table, the sudden sound jolting her from her storm of thoughts. Her heart skipped, her breath caught. For a moment, she just stared at the glowing screen, afraid of who it might be.

The phone screen lit up with a single name—

Siya.

Ira's heart skipped a beat. For months now, Siya had been her quiet comfort, a friend who sent silly reels, late-night memes, and voice notes that often ended in laughter. Their chats had felt natural, light, and safe.

But tonight... tonight, the name on her screen looked heavier than usual.

Her thumb hovered above the answer button. Why does this feel different? she wondered. Perhaps because now Siya wasn't just a friend anymore. She was Siya Agnivansh. His sister. The sister of the man Ira was about to marry.

Her chest tightened. From today, every word I say to her will matter more. Every silence will mean something. Every laugh will echo differently.

The phone kept buzzing, pulling her out of her spiral. Ira exhaled shakily, forcing her fingers to move. She slid her thumb across the screen and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello..." her voice came out softer than she intended, almost hesitant.

On the other side, Siya's familiar chirpy tone immediately spilled through the line, a burst of sunshine against Ira's gloom.

"Iraaaa! Finally, I was waiting for you to pick up. Guess what? The whole house is still buzzing downstairs. You have no idea how much chaos you've created here already!"

Despite herself, Ira smiled faintly, clutching the bedsheet beside her. Siya's energy always had that effect on her.

But still, her heart whispered, She is his sister. HIS blood. HIS family.

And that thought alone sent another nervous flutter down her spine.

The phone screen lit up with a single name—

Siya.

Ira's heart skipped a beat. For months now, Siya had been her quiet comfort, a friend who sent silly reels, late-night memes, and voice notes that often ended in laughter. Their chats had felt natural, light, and safe.

But tonight... tonight, the name on her screen looked heavier than usual.

Her thumb hovered above the answer button. Why does this feel different? she wondered. Perhaps because now Siya wasn't just a friend anymore. She was Siya Agnivansh. His sister. The sister of the man Ira was about to marry.

Her chest tightened. From today, every word I say to her will matter more. Every silence will mean something. Every laugh will echo differently.

The phone kept buzzing, pulling her out of her spiral. Ira exhaled shakily, forcing her fingers to move. She slid her thumb across the screen and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello..." her voice came out softer than she intended, almost hesitant.

On the other side, Siya's familiar chirpy tone immediately spilled through the line, a burst of sunshine against Ira's gloom.

"Iraaaa! Finally, I was waiting for you to pick up. Guess what? The whole house is still buzzing downstairs. You have no idea how much chaos you've created here already!"

Despite herself, Ira smiled faintly, clutching the bedsheet beside her. Siya's energy always had that effect on her.

But still, her heart whispered, She is his sister. HIS blood. HIS family.

And that thought alone sent another nervous flutter down her spine.

Siya's cheerful voice brought a small smile to Ira's lips. Always so bright... so happy... Siya never changes. For a moment, her heaviness lifted.

But then Siya added, in that same sing-song tone,
"Wait, let me video call you. Some people want to talk to you!"

Ira froze.

Her heart skipped, then hammered against her ribs.
Video call? Now?

Her throat went dry, her palm immediately turning clammy as she clutched the phone tighter. The words slipped out in a whisper only she could hear—
"No... no, not now... I'm not ready..."

On the other side Siya laughed, completely unaware of the storm in Ira's chest.
"And you better pick it up, Ira, or else I'll march everyone straight to your room!"

Ira's eyes widened. Her stomach knotted. She sat upright on her bed, glancing at the mirror across from her. Her hair was slightly loose, her dupatta slipped to the side, and her blue doe-eyes still carried that softness of confusion and fear. She didn't look like a bride-to-be. She looked like a child caught unprepared.

What if it's him? The thought shot through her like lightning.
What if Aariv is there? What will I say? What if he speaks? What if he looks at me?

The phone buzzed again, the screen flashing with Incoming Video Call – Siya.

Her hands trembled. For a second, she considered pressing decline. But then Siya's words echoed again, playful but with a dangerous promise— "I'll bring everyone there."

Ira squeezed her eyes shut, took a shaky breath, and whispered to herself—
"Ganpati Bappa... please... give me strength..."

And with a trembling thumb, she accepted the call.

The screen lit up—faces began to appear.

The screen blinked, Siya's glowing face filling it, sunshine spilling through her smile.

"Finally! There you are," she clapped her hands, bouncing with excitement. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Wait... let me officially introduce you to your..."

Ira's heart froze. Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
No... not him, please, not now...

But Siya, dramatic as ever, burst into laughter.
"Met Kiaan bhai and Vihaan bhai—your dewar!" She pulled the camera back, "And here's Myra, your little sister-in-law!"

The screen shifted. Three faces came into view.

Kiaan leaned forward first, his usual grin plastered on. But the moment his eyes landed on Ira, his words caught for a heartbeat. Her blue doe-eyes, wide and nervous, shimmered under the soft yellow light of her room. Her beauty wasn't loud; it was quiet, pure, almost disarming.

He quickly covered his pause with laughter, "So you're the famous Ira bhabhi we've been hearing about! Finally, we get to see you." But in his eyes, the sparkle wasn't just mischief—it was wonder.

Ira managed a small, hesitant smile. "Na... namaste..." her voice came out fragile, like a soft flute note.

Before she could lower her gaze, Vihaan came into the frame beside Kiaan. Unlike his brother, his reaction wasn't loud, but it was telling. His usually composed face softened, his eyes fixed for a moment too long on her innocence, her untouched grace. His lips curved into a small, respectful smile.

"Namaste, bhabhi," his tone was low, controlled, but his voice carried warmth. "It's... nice to finally meet you." He blinked slowly, breaking his gaze, hiding the awe under calmness.

And then Myra, younger and uninterested, plopped into view, hair slightly messy. She waved lazily.
"Hi."

Her tone was clipped, but even she couldn't hide how her eyes flickered up and down at Ira—almost suspicious, almost curious.

Ira gave her a gentle smile. "Hello, Myra."

At once, Siya jumped in, laughing, filling the silence.
"See, Ira? They're already stunned. Kiaan can't stop grinning, Vihaan's pretending to be serious, and Myra—well, she's just being Myra." She nudged Myra playfully, who groaned and pushed her away.

Kiaan chuckled, still unable to shake off the softness in his eyes. "Bhabhi, no formalities, okay? We're family now. And..." his grin widened, "...trust me, we're much more fun than what Siya told you."

Vihaan added, his voice steadier, though his gaze betrayed something unspoken, "You don't have to be nervous. We're... really glad you're going to be a part of us."

Ira's chest tightened. Their words were kind, yet their eyes—those lingering glances—made her even more conscious of her own beauty, something she had never paid attention to. She tugged at the corner of her dupatta, her smile trembling but sincere.
"Thank you... it means a lot."

On the other side, Siya clasped her hands dramatically.
"See? Easy! Now you're officially introduced to your mad little team." Then with a sly grin she added, "Don't worry, Ira, we'll protect you from you-know-who."

At once, Ira's heart stumbled in her chest. You-know-who. The name she hadn't even dared whisper tonight. Her blue eyes flickered with fear as she quickly looked down, hiding behind her lashes.

NEXT DAY...

The dance academy hall was slowly emptying. Tiny feet pattered out, the laughter of little girls still echoing faintly against the high ceilings. The faint jingling of ghunghroos lingered in the air.

Ira knelt down, fingers moving delicately as she untied the ghunghroo knots around her ankles. She winced a little at the marks on her skin but smiled softly—dancing was always her escape. She picked up the anklets with reverence, placing them in her bag near the jharokha, the sunlight painting her in warm gold.

Behind her, Rishabh's voice broke the silence.
"Iru..."

She turned, her blue doe-eyes lifting to meet her elder brother's. He stood there, leaning slightly against the wooden pillar, his gaze unusually serious.

"Come, get ready. I'm taking you and Isha for engagement shopping." His voice was calm, but something in his eyes gave him away.

Ira nodded gently, adjusting her dupatta, when he stepped closer. His tone softened, almost breaking.
"But... if you're not happy, Iru..." His voice cracked. "Tell me. I'll talk to everyone. I'll stop this. I won't let them..."

He couldn't finish. His throat tightened. His fists clenched at his sides, then loosened as he forced himself to stay calm in front of her.

Ira looked at him for a long moment, her heart warming at his protectiveness. A small smile tugged her lips. 

Slowly, she reached out and took his rough hand into her delicate one, her touch trembling but steady with love.

"Bhai..." her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I know... I know you're always there for me. You always have been. And that's why I'm not afraid."

Her eyes shimmered, holding back unshed tears. She looked away for a second, then back at him, her lips curving in a bittersweet smile.

"But we cannot change our destiny, can we? This... this path, this marriage... it was written for me before I was even born."

Rishabh's jaw tightened. His eyes grew wet, the protective elder brother in him raging against helplessness. 

He lifted his free hand and cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

"You're my little Iru... my doll. How can I watch you go into a storm I don't trust? Aariv Agnivansh... people say his name like he's a god, but I've heard enough to know he's ruthless. And you... you're so pure, Iru."

Her blue eyes blinked at him, a tear finally slipping down her cheek. She placed her hand over his.
"Then maybe... maybe my purity is meant to soften his ruthlessness. Maybe my fate is to step into his storm, Bhai... and survive."

Her words were soft, but they hit him like arrows. He blinked hard, looking away for a second, trying to hide his emotions. But his grip on her hand only tightened.

"Just promise me one thing," his voice shook. "If he ever hurts you, if he ever breaks even a strand of your spirit... you'll come back to me. To your bhai."

Ira smiled faintly through her tears, her voice steady despite the storm in her heart.
"Always, Bhai. You'll always be my safe place."

For a long moment, the siblings just stood there, his thumb wiping the tear on her cheek, her head leaning lightly against his shoulder, both silently preparing for a future neither of them could control.
*********************

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