My hand finds the gold chudi on my wrist and twists it around anxiously. I sit on the bed with my lehnga spread out around me like a glittering pool of gold.

After the wedding celebrations came to an end, Abbu and Afshi performed my rukhsati, which naturally ended in tears. The entire journey from the wedding hall to my new bedroom was a blur. Afshi had guided me through the twisting corridors of the mehel, and I only caught glimpses of the grandeur. She was insistent on carrying out every Surajistani wedding tradition possible, so she forced me to sit in the center of the bed and artistically arranged my lehnga around me.

Afshi drew me into a hug and apologized for not being able to stay longer. I wouldn't want her to, anyway, for her own safety and sanity. Her current caretaker is a cruel woman who enjoyed making Afshi's life miserable. I'm almost positive Afshi didn't ask her for permission to come to my wedding.

I pick at the gulab rose petals scattered on top of the bedcover. One by one, I shred the petals, like Rafay is shredding my patience by making me wait, and form a pile from the pieces. The only sound in the room is my chudiyan clanging together as I make a mess.

Speaking of the devil, he pushes through the majestic door as I tear up the last petal. Rafay's back is turned to me as he swiftly slides the lock into place.

Anger, terror, trepidation, and unease are just a few of the emotions wreaking havoc on me. I fixate on his every movement, refusing to blink for fear of missing even the slightest motion.

He stalks closer, unbuttoning his off-white and maroon-embellished sherwani. Each step he takes amplifies the pounding of my heart, but not in a reassuring manner.

As Rafay approaches the edge of the bed, I'm certain my heart is in a state of tachyarrhythmia. My heart feels like it is going to burst violently out of my chest any second.

He places his hands on the cream bed cover and leans forward until his face is inches from mine. Despite my nerves, I meet his intense gaze head-on, refusing to show any sign of weakness or vulnerability.

A slow smirk creeps across his face as he notices my defiance. He swiftly takes his sherwani off and tosses it to the side, uncaring of the fact that it probably cost more than the wedding itself.

I'm forced to break my gaze when warmth floods my cheeks. Working in the medical field has desensitized me to nude figures, but the unexpected intimacy of this moment still catches me off guard.

I keep my eyes trained on the gold detailing of my red kameez, listening to his every move.

Suddenly, Rafay presses a finger under my chin and forces my head up. "Look at me," he says softy. His structured and prominent abdominal muscles ripple as he places a knee on the bed in an effort to get closer. He tilts his head slightly and lowers his face, his nose skimming mine.

My throat tightens as his breath mixes with mine, a surge of revulsion rising within me. Nerves and disgust wage a silent battle in my chest, each vying for dominance. When his lips graze mine, it is disgust that emerges victorious. After enduring the traumatic events of the past month, the mere thought of intimacy with him is enough to tip me over the edge.

I simultaneously lean away and push at his hardened shoulders in an attempt to create some distance between us. "Get away from me." I don't even know why I listened to Afshi's insisting, when I absolutely didn't want this night to end with us tangled in each other's arms, naked.

I dodge his body and get off the bed, nauseous, angry, and panicked. I all but run to the bathroom, locking the door and pressing my back against it. I let it take my weight, breathing heavily and pressing my fingers into my temple.

To call this a bathroom would be unjust. It's at least twice the size of my old house and ten times more resplendent. It bears resemblance to Pari's beauty parlor. The giant mirror opposite me has a beautiful, vintage-looking, bronze frame carved with intricate swirls. Above it hangs a grand chandelier, the light reflecting off the mirror and casting a rainbow across the bathroom. The sink looks more like a fountain, with its floating, transparent bowl and sleek gold faucet.

Slowly, I start to scrub my face clear of cosmetics, tears, and exhaustion. The first two melt off, but the third remains, despite my vigorous scouring. Hair pins clatter on the ground as I claw at my hair to relieve the pressure exerted by my heavy dupatta.

fter a prolonged bath, which lasted longer than intended due to my struggle with the hot water faucet, I tie my thick, long hair into chuttya and take one last look before stepping back into the bedroom. I look like myself again. While I enjoy dressing in fancy attire, I prefer my simple, cotton kapray. No fuss, no hastle.

I cautiously turn the door handle and pull it open as quietly as I can. My eyes scan the room for any sign of Rafay, but there's no sign of him anywhere. I dump my shaadi outfit in a corner, wanting it out of my sight, as it reminds me of the taxing day I've had.

My eyes close the second my head hits the silky pillow. The warm sheets, combined with the softness of the bed, pull me into a deep slumber.

* * * * *

A pounding headache is what harshly awakens me. I sit up from the bed groggily, disoriented and confused.

Where am I?

The memories of yesterday come rushing back like a freight train and hit me so hard that I fall back on the bed with a groan.

Oh, that's right, I got married.

I stare at the elaborate crown molding of the ceiling and recount the events of last night. The parlor encounter, vows, and wedding night all seem like they took place weeks ago.

I think about how my father is all alone at home—his home, and no longer mine—making the world's best karak chai and having to drink it by himself. Afshi is probably at Dilara's Diner, working until her hands and feet bleed, like they often do. Zohair—

I stop my train of thought and remember seeing him at my wedding. I noticed him staring intensely multiple times throughout the night. He had an odd look on his face the entire night, as if he was hiding something. I didn't dare approach him, in case he was plotting to make a scene.

The distant clanging of pots and dishes is what gets me out of bed and cues my stomach to start growling. I wander into the lavish bathroom and get ready to face the unavoidable nightmare waiting for me downstairs.

When I exit the bedroom, I have no idea where to turn for the kitchen. I don't remember any of the corridors Afshi went through last night to get me here. I turn left and right, thoroughly confused. As I'm immersed in my disorientation, I feel a tug on my kameez.

My gaze falls on a little boy with hazel eyes and neatly groomed brown hair. A faint scar mars his left cheek, starting from the outer corner of his eye to the crevice of his nose.

Despite doing a pediatrics rotation in medical school, I am quite awkward around children. I nervously pat the top of his head. "Hello there, are you lost?" I ask, and then cringe as I remember I'm the one who's lost.

He laughs, the sweet, joyful sound cutting through the, otherwise, silent hallway. "No, but I think you might be."

I smile apologetically. "Do you mind showing me where the kitchen is? I'm a little hungry."

"That's why I'm here. My mother said to call you down for breakfast," he replies happily. "I'm Casmir, but you can call me Cas."

"Mahroosa," I say, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Follow me!" he runs down the corridor to my left and disappears around the corner. Does he expect me to run too?

I settle on speed-walking, since I don't want to seem like I'm joyfully skipping down the halls, when I'm anything but joyous. When I turn around the corner, I see a grand, spiraling staircase leading down into a vast foyer. The stairs and floors are made of a cream marble with metallic gold accents painted in.

The walls are a light caramel brown color and have golden sconces placed between towering windows that look out to a lake and mountain range. Out of the parts of the mehel I've seen so far, this is my favorite.

I see Cas appear in the foyer and gestures, with a wide grin, for me to hurry up. I walk down the grand stairs, feeling very out of place. I don't belong in a setting this luxurious. I'm used to the dirty streets of Surajistan, bustling atmosphere of the bazaars, and my small, but comfortable home.

The corridor directly beneath the staircase opens up to a beautiful and luminous kitchen. The storage cabinets and drawers boast a silky white hue, accented by glistening gold handles positioned elegantly in the bottom right corner and center, respectively. The countertops are crafted from a pale gray marble, adorned with the same golden embellishments as the floor. Unlike the warm-toned foyer and the rest of the mehel, the kitchen exudes a more neutral ambiance. At its heart lies a spacious island, akin to the size of four horses. Marble counters, with cabinets and drawers, surround the island fully on three sides, leaving half of the last side as an open entryway

The family room was clearly visible from the kitchen, which is a concept I like. I never enjoyed having a distinct separation between two rooms in my house because it prevented me from being able to cook and talk to my father or Afshi at the same time.

I slowly walk into the kitchen, hesitating. Cas is already here, drinking aam ka juice out of a metal cup and sitting on the chairs behind the counter. A young woman, with her back turned to me, scolds him for making a mess.

Cas spots me and waves happily, ignoring the woman's chastising. She whirls around and it takes me quite some effort to keep my expression indifferent.

She looks awfully young to be a mother. Her youthful, rosy cheeks and big, innocent brown eyes lead me to believe that she's probably no older than twenty-one. She looks me up and down, and then gives me a heart-warming, dimpled smile.

I stumble in surprise as she bounds over and throws her arms around me, hugging me as if I'm her long-lost sister. "It's so nice to finally have another female in the house!"

She tugs my hand and forces me to sit next to Cas on the stools behind the counter. "I can make anything you want, just name it! Halwa, puri, aloo cholay, anda, paratha, chicken ka saalan, mango lassi—"

"Anything is good for me," I cut in, before she can recite her whole mental menu. She nods her head in acknowledgment, her shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair swaying.

"Okay!" she says cheerfully and begins to take pots and pans out of the cabinets. "Oh, I didn't even introduce myself! Forgive me, my name is Rukhsaar, and I'm guessing you've already met Casmir."

"Mahroosa," I reply with a small smile. Her happiness is contagious. "And yes, he was my personal guide this morning. I would definitely recommend him to anyone." Rukhsaar throws another dimpled smile at me as she sautees some onions in a pan.

A high-pitched giggle erupts from the hallway I entered from, interrupting our conversation. The three of us turn to find the source of the sound.

A beautiful woman, scantily dressed in just a men's sherwaani, clumsily makes her way down the stairs. A sherwaani that looks vaguely familiar, with hints of maroon embroidery and gold kaam. My eyes widen as I see her naked tan legs and messy brown hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rukhsaar throw a napkin over Casmir's head, shielding his eyes from the indecency.

That feeling of nausea from the previous night begins brewing in my stomach again and I have to press a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick.

Words to be Defined

Rukhsati: A South Asian wedding tradition of "sending off/giving away" the bride to live with the groom

Gulab: pink

Chudiyan: bangles (plural)

Sherwani: Groom's shirt, often decorated with embroidery and embellishments (South Asian attire)

Tachyarrhythmia: abnormal racing of the heart

Kameez: shirt

Chuttya: braid/plait

Kapray: clothes (in general)

Shaadi jhora: wedding outfit

Aam ka juice: mango juice

Anda: egg

Paratha: A South Asian flatbread often eaten with saalan (curry)

Chicken ka saalan: chicken curry (South Asian)

Mango Lassi: a sweet yogurt/milk-based drink made with mangoes