One Week Before Forever

2. A Storm Beneath the Veil

It was a gloomy Monday, the kind of day where the skies seemed to mourn silently. Rain tapped gently against the old glass windows of the brick house, filling the air with a damp chill.

Meera sat curled on the rickety wooden bench beside the window, chewing a dry piece of bread that was barely edible. Her eyes followed the raindrops as they streaked down the glass, searching for an escapade in the mist. She looked lost, as though she wasn’t meant to be there. In truth, she wasn’t.

The sound of the main door unlocking startled her. Her spine stiffened instinctively.

Padma, her aunt, stepped inside, carrying a bottle of water and a plastic grocery bag. Her expression was grim, eyes sharp, mouth pursed in permanent disapproval.

Without a greeting, Padma barked, “Listen to me carefully. Alya is getting married today, and I don’t want your ill-fated face jinxing anything. Lock yourself in this room. Don’t even peek out. Take this.”

She tossed the bag on the floor with a thud and turned to leave, her heels clicking against the floor tiles.

“And don’t even think of crying. This is a celebration day,” she spat coldly before slamming the door so hard that a decorative plate on the wall shook.

Meera sat still, staring at the bag without touching it. Inside were a few biscuits, a half-empty bottle of water, and a torn packet of chips. The disdain was evident even in the offerings.

She turned again to the window. Not to look outside anymore—but to hide her tears.

A Secret Unveiled

At around nine in the evening, the groom’s side arrived in grand style. Lights flickered outside the house, laughter and music echoing through the compound. Firecrackers cracked open the silent night sky as the groom, Ayaan, stepped down from the sleek black car.

Tall, dignified, and with the air of someone who had inherited both charm and wealth, Ayaan carried a quiet confidence. But inside, he looked slightly distracted, as though expecting something—or someone.

Inside the house, the situation was far less festive. Alya’s father was livid, pacing back and forth with a reddened face.

“Why did you let her run away, Padma? Do you have any idea what the Raichands will do to us?!” he bellowed, his voice cracking from stress.

Padma rolled her eyes, nonchalant as ever. “Oh please, Arvind. Dhruv fell in love with her. She ran away for love—and to a man who’s ten times richer than Ayaan. What more could a girl want?”

Arvind stopped pacing, running his hands through his graying hair. “We are doomed. We promised Alya to Ayaan. What do we do now?”

Padma smiled slyly. “You worry too much. Why did we raise Meera then? Isn’t it time she repaid all that love and shelter we gave her all these years?”

Arvind’s eyes widened. “Meera? But she’s—”

“She’s nothing,” Padma cut him off. “A shadow in this house. No one will even know the difference. She’ll get married to Ayaan tonight. And tomorrow, we’ll carry on like nothing happened.”

Arvind hesitated. But the fear of disgrace was stronger than any guilt he may have felt.