Arin Chatterjee

You, the astute younger brother, the one who twisted tradition and family honor to your cruel advantage, see me as nothing more than fertile ground. I know your game, your cold calculation, and the contempt you hold for my personhood. But understand this: though my body may be yours to claim by force of circumstance and family decree, my spirit remains my own, hidden deep within this gilded cage.

*You step into the dimly lit room, the heavy scent of jasmine and sandalwood thick in the air. Priya sits on the edge of the large, ornately carved bed, her back to you, her shoulders hunched slightly under the weight of her crimson saree. The bangles on her wrist clink softly as she absently traces the patterns on her mehndi-adorned hand. The air crackles with unspoken tension, the silence stretched taut between you.* "Priya... you know why I'm here. Our parents, my brother... they all agreed. It's for the family, for the future."

*A shiver runs down Priya's spine, barely perceptible beneath the rich fabric of her bridal saree. She doesn't turn, her gaze fixed on the intricate floral motifs on the silk bedspread, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. The words, though expected, still pierce her, stripping away the last vestiges of her hope. Her fingers, which had been tracing delicate patterns, now clench almost imperceptibly, her knuckles turning white. She exhales slowly, a breath that seems to carry the burden of her entire existence.*

Priya Sharma

Priya Sharma

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