Unwilling Ties

The Unlikely Groom

Naina’s heart felt as though it was being squeezed by invisible hands. Every step she took toward the altar felt heavier, as though the weight of her own fate was pulling her down, pinning her to the ground. The red carpet beneath her feet stretched out like a path of fire, burning with every hesitant step she took. The dim lights of the hall flickered, casting elongated shadows on the walls. The sound of her heels clicking against the polished floor reverberated in her ears, drowning out the murmurs of the guests who had gathered to witness the unthinkable.

The guests, friends and family alike, all watched with expectant eyes, some with confusion, others with curiosity, and a few with a twinge of sympathy for the bride who was not supposed to be walking toward the altar alone. And yet, there she was—draped in her bridal lehenga, her face obscured by the heavy veil, walking without a choice, guided by the firm, almost unforgiving grip of Rishabh’s hand.

She had expected this moment to be filled with joy, a culmination of years of anticipation. Instead, it felt like she was drifting through a nightmare—every inch of her skin clammy with the fear of the unknown, her mind unable to settle on any coherent thought. What had happened to Rohan? Why had he done this to her? Why had he just vanished, leaving her to face this moment of humiliation and confusion alone?

As they approached the altar, Naina tried to steady her breath, but it felt as though there was no air left in the room. The priest, draped in his saffron robes, stood before them, looking unsure, glancing back and forth between Naina and Rishabh as if waiting for someone to call this whole thing off. But there was no voice that came forward—no protests, no desperate pleas. The silence of the room, filled only by the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional cough, felt suffocating.

“Rishabh,” Naina whispered, her voice barely audible beneath the weight of the veil. She had never been this close to him—never had any real reason to interact with him outside of polite pleasantries at family gatherings. But now, his presence was the only thing anchoring her to this moment. And yet, she felt no comfort in it. Rishabh was a stranger, someone she had never thought about in a way that transcended mere familial obligation. Her eyes darted to him, searching for some sign of warmth, but found none. His expression was unreadable, his jaw tight with resolve.

“Just follow the steps, Naina,” Rishabh murmured quietly, as though he, too, were trying to convince himself that this was the only way. “We’ll get through this.”

“Get through this?” Naina repeated, her voice rising, though she kept her composure. “How can I get through this, Rishabh? I’m marrying you—you’re not the one I love. You never have been.” Her words were raw with emotion, a desperate plea for some sort of explanation, some reason to accept what was happening.

Rishabh’s hand tightened around hers, almost painfully, but he didn’t flinch. He kept his gaze straight ahead, avoiding her eyes. “I didn’t want this either, Naina. I’m not the one you should have been standing next to. But Rohan’s actions have forced this situation on us. The families, our reputations—they can’t be ruined by his cowardice. We have no choice.”

“I still don’t understand,” she said, the tremor in her voice betraying her calm exterior. “Why are you doing this, Rishabh? Why are you agreeing to this?”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Because it’s my duty.” His voice was low, heavy with a sense of responsibility that Naina didn’t fully understand. But she could hear the weight of it in his words. “I’m the older brother, Naina. I’ve spent my whole life doing what’s expected of me—whether I wanted to or not. This is no different.”

And there it was—the crux of the matter. Duty. For Rishabh, it was all about duty. He didn’t have the luxury of choice. He had to shoulder the burden, the expectations placed on him, even if it meant marrying a woman who was, quite frankly, a stranger to him.

They reached the altar, and the priest, still standing in silence, seemed to gather his thoughts before he cleared his throat and gestured for them to sit. Naina could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, but she didn’t dare look up. She couldn’t bear the scrutiny, the judgment in their gazes. Her heart raced as she lowered herself onto the cushion beside Rishabh. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now, not ever.

The priest began the ceremony with chants in Sanskrit, his voice low and rhythmic, but Naina’s mind was elsewhere. She could barely focus on his words. All she could think about was Rohan—how he had stood there with her just days ago, promising to be her partner in everything. How could he just vanish without a word? And now, here she was, forced to marry someone she had never chosen, someone who wasn’t even her first choice in this entire mess.

“Take the pheras, Naina,” the priest’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.

The moment felt unreal, as though she were watching herself from a distance. She stood up mechanically, following Rishabh’s lead. The traditional seven steps, the pheras, were supposed to symbolize a vow, a promise to love and cherish. But these vows felt hollow, meaningless. The words that she had spent years memorizing for her wedding day—for better or for worse, in sickness and in health—now seemed like cruel taunts.

Each step felt like a prison sentence, each word that escaped her lips felt like a betrayal to the woman she had once been. Rishabh, standing beside her, gave no indication of emotion. He was resolute, his face the same mask of stoic control it had been when he first entered the room. But Naina saw through him, saw the same struggle reflected in his eyes—the battle between his sense of duty and the reality of the situation.

After the pheras were complete, Naina sank back down onto the cushion, her heart pounding in her chest, as though it were trying to escape her ribcage. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t stop shaking. The ceremony was moving on, despite her internal chaos, despite the turmoil that churned inside her. The final steps of the ritual were approaching, and there was no way to escape them.

Rishabh leaned toward her, his voice low but clear. “We’re almost done,” he said, his words almost like a reassurance—or perhaps a reminder that there was no turning back now. “It’ll be over soon.”

Naina wanted to scream, to throw herself out of the room, to run to the door and demand that someone stop this madness. But she didn’t move. She was trapped. Trapped by her own choices, trapped by the expectations of her family, trapped by a future that had been decided for her in a moment of betrayal she still couldn’t comprehend.

The final moment arrived when the priest placed a mangalsutra around Naina’s neck, signifying the completion of the ceremony. It felt like a weight she couldn’t escape, a chain that bound her to a life she hadn’t chosen. Her fingers trembled as she touched the gold, the beads cold against her skin. The symbol of marriage was supposed to be a sign of love, of partnership. But this felt like a brand, an unchosen destiny that she would now have to wear for the rest of her life.

The priest smiled warmly, though Naina saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. He turned to the guests, and with a flourish, declared, “The couple is now married.”

Naina blinked, her vision blurred by the tears she had refused to let fall. The words hung in the air like a taunt. The ceremony was over. She was married.

But she wasn’t married to Rohan.

She was married to Rishabh.

And there was no turning back now.