When Tanya stepped onto the aisle, my breath caught in my throat. There she was, walking toward me, every step echoing in the grand hall. I couldn't take my eyes off her, the way her red lehenga glimmered under the golden lights, how the intricate embroidery caught every flicker, how the soft veil framed her face, making her look ethereal — almost unreal. She looked like a queen, like a goddess, like the only thing I'd ever need. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched her come closer, and in that moment, it felt like the entire world had shifted on its axis.

But beneath the beauty, beneath the elegance, I could see something else — confusion, hesitation, maybe even fear. Last night's confession had unsettled her; I knew that. I saw the way her eyes searched for meaning in mine, the way she kept her face calm but couldn't hide the tremble in her hands as she clutched her bouquet. I knew she wasn't coming to me with love, not the kind I craved. But she was coming. And that was enough for now.

As we stood together, performing the rituals, I couldn't help but glance at her every few moments. The priest's words felt like a blur, just background noise to the main event — her. The feel of her hand in mine, the warmth of her fingers trembling slightly in my grip. She was here, with me, going through the motions of our marriage, and though her heart wasn't fully mine yet, I knew I would spend every moment from this day on making sure it was.

When it was time for the pheras, the seven sacred vows, I felt the gravity of the moment settling into my bones. With each step we took around the fire, it felt like we were sealing something far deeper than tradition. Every vow I made was a silent promise to her, even if she didn't realize it yet. I would protect her, cherish her, fight for her. But more than that, I would make her mine, entirely, completely, in every sense of the word.

And then, as I placed the vermillion in her hair — that moment was the most surreal of all. The bright red powder against her dark hair, the color of the sindoor, marking her as mine. It was more than a symbol; it was a declaration. In that small, simple gesture, I was claiming her in front of the world. She was my wife. Tanya belonged to me now, and nothing could change that. My heart raced as I watched her eyes lower, the weight of the moment heavy between us. It was final, absolute. She wore my mark now, and no matter what her feelings were, she could never take that back.

Later, as we moved to take blessings from the elders, I couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness rise within me. When we approached her uncle and aunt, I knew what they represented to her — the people who hadn't stood by her when she needed them the most. The thought of Tanya bending before them, offering respect they didn't deserve, made something snap inside me. Before she could even try, I stepped forward, bending to touch their feet alone. The look of confusion on her face didn't escape me, but I didn't care. I wouldn't let her bow to anyone who had failed her. Not now, not ever.

When we reached her grandmother, though, the atmosphere changed. The old woman's eyes filled with tears the moment she saw Tanya, and I felt a lump in my throat. The love in her grandmother's gaze, the silent blessings she poured over Tanya — it was the kind of love Tanya deserved, the kind of care I would make sure she always had. Watching the two of them, seeing the way her grandmother's hands shook as she cupped Tanya's face, it was impossible not to feel the weight of it all. This woman had raised her, loved her unconditionally. And now, I would take that responsibility.

We continued to gather blessings, moving from one elder to another, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Tanya. Every moment I was aware of her presence beside me, aware of her fragility, her quiet strength. She looked beautiful, but beneath the surface, I could feel the tension. She was holding back, unsure of the future, unsure of me.

And then, the nazar utarna began, the women circling around us with their trays, performing the ritual to ward off any evil eyes. I leaned down to whisper in Tanya's ear, my lips brushing against her skin. "Are you tired?" I asked, my voice low, intimate, meant for her alone.

She barely nodded, her exhaustion clear. "Yes," she whispered back, the word almost inaudible.

I didn't wait. I wasn't going to let her suffer a moment longer. Without a second thought, I scooped her up into my arms, her body soft and warm against mine. The weight of her heavy lehenga didn't matter, not when I could feel the curve of her waist beneath my hands, the bare skin where her blouse met her skirt. She fit perfectly in my arms, as if she belonged there.

The room buzzed with murmurs and teasing as I carried her away, but I didn't care. My voice was firm, final, as I announced, "My wife's tired, I'm taking her to rest." 

The teasing and laughter followed us as I walked through the hall, carrying Tanya in my arms like she was made of glass. I could feel the weight of every eye on us, but it didn't matter. All I cared about was the woman in my arms, her head resting gently against my shoulder, the faint scent of flowers and henna swirling around us. She didn't protest, but I could feel the tension in her body. She wasn't used to this — the closeness, the intimacy, the attention. But she was mine now, and this was just the beginning.

I carried her through the corridors of the palace, the grand decor fading into the background as my focus stayed solely on her. Her lehenga, heavy and intricately detailed, was spilling over my arms, but I held her tight, careful not to let her slip even an inch. The soft silk of her blouse brushed against my skin, and I had to fight the urge to hold her even closer. She was everything I wanted, everything I needed, and now she was mine. 

When we finally reached the room, I gently set her down on the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate folds of her outfit. Tanya sat at the edge, her eyes downcast, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dupatta. I kneeled in front of her, my fingers moving to undo the straps of her sandals.

"You don't have to do that," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to do anything for me. It's just a marriage of—"

"Say 'convenience.'" My voice was low, a dangerous edge to it. I looked up, meeting her eyes, daring her to finish the sentence. "I dare you, Tanya. Say 'convenience,' and you'll see just how quickly I can make you forget that word."

Her breath caught, and I saw the flush rising in her cheeks, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched her lehenga. I could feel the heat between us, the unspoken tension that had been building for days, weeks. She might not have realized it yet, but she would. Soon.

Without breaking eye contact, I gently slipped her sandals off, my hands brushing against her bare feet. Her breath hitched again, but she didn't say anything. I moved slowly, deliberately, as I began removing the heavy jewels that adorned her — the necklace, the bangles, the earrings. Each piece felt like a layer being peeled away, revealing more of her to me, piece by piece.

She sat there, silent, watching me with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. I could see the uncertainty, the confusion in her gaze, but also something else — something that made my pulse quicken, something that told me I was getting closer to breaking down the walls she'd built around herself.

I reached for the veil last, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric as I lifted it from her head. Her hair cascaded down, dark and thick, framing her face perfectly. She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes — something that told me she was beginning to understand.

I leaned in, my hands resting on either side of her on the bed, caging her in. "You think this is just a marriage of convenience?" I whispered, my breath warm against her skin. "You think I'm doing this because I have to? Because I don't have a choice?"

Her eyes searched mine, confused, unsure, but she didn't pull away.

"You have no idea, do you?" I continued, my voice dropping lower, more intense. "No idea how far I'd go for you. What I'd do just to keep you by my side. I don't care if you don't love me yet. I don't care if you're scared or confused. Because you're mine now, Tanya. And I'll make sure you never forget that."

I could see the effect my words were having on her, the way her breathing quickened, the way her cheeks flushed deeper. She didn't say anything, but I could feel the shift between us, the way the air seemed to thicken with every second that passed.

I reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin for just a moment too long. "I'll take care of you," I murmured softly, almost tenderly now. "You don't have to worry about anything. Just let me protect you."

She swallowed hard, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, she just looked at me, her eyes full of questions she wasn't ready to ask.

I pulled back slightly, giving her space to breathe, but my gaze never left hers. I knew she was struggling with the weight of everything — my confession, the marriage, the life that was unfolding before her. But I wasn't going to let her run. Not now, not ever.

With a final, lingering look, I stood up, my hand still resting lightly on her shoulder. "Get some rest," I told her. "We have a lifetime to figure this out."

And with that, I turned, my heart racing as I left the room. I'd given her something to think about, something to dwell on. Now, all I had to do was wait. Wait for her to realize that she was mine, and that there was no escaping it.

Not anymore.