One Week Before Forever

3. A House of New Winds

Meera was still staring blankly at the window when the door burst open again. Without warning, Padma stormed in and slapped her across the face. The sting wasn’t new, but it still shocked Meera.

“You’re getting married to Ayaan. Tonight. No questions!” Padma shouted, her voice echoing in the small room.

Meera stared at her, her cheek burning. “What…?”

Padma didn’t explain. She simply dragged Meera toward the wardrobe and threw a red bridal lehenga on the bed. “Wear this. Fast. The guests are still outside. If anyone finds out Alya’s missing, everything will be ruined!”

As Padma left, slamming the door yet again, Meera stood trembling beside the bed. Her fingers touched the fabric. It was beautiful—embroidered in gold and heavy with jewels. She had never worn anything so exquisite in her life.

Her heart pounded. What if Ayaan found out she wasn’t Alya? What if he hated her? What if he was cruel?

But… what if this was her only chance to escape this house?

She changed into the attire quickly. Her hands shook while tying the dupatta. As the makeup artists arrived and powdered her pale face, her mind was in a daze.

Her life had always been cursed. Her parents had died in a fire when she was barely one year old. Padma, her mother’s sister, had taken her in reluctantly—and reminded her of that favor every single day.

Love was something she had only read about in stolen books. Happiness was a distant dream. She had been nothing more than a ghost in her own life.

And now, she was being handed to a stranger like a pawn in a game she never agreed to play.

The ceremony was short, rushed, and awkward. The priest chanted quickly, perhaps sensing the tension in the room. Meera kept her head down the entire time. Ayaan didn’t speak much, just went through the rituals silently.

When the final vows were done and the sindoor touched her forehead, Meera knew her life had changed. Whether it was for better or worse—only time would tell.

It was well past midnight. The guests had started leaving, and Meera was finally escorted to Ayaan’s room. It was spacious, elegant, and smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish.

She sat nervously on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting the corner of her dupatta. The mirror across the bed reflected a woman she barely recognized—a bride in red, terrified but trying to be brave.

She heard footsteps and stiffened. The door creaked open.

Ayaan entered, slowly removing his sherwani jacket. He didn’t look directly at her at first. Instead, he walked toward the window and opened it slightly to let the air in.

Finally, he turned to her. His expression wasn’t angry. It was… curious.

“You’re not Alya,” he said softly.

Meera froze. Her heart sank. The secret was out.

“I figured it out during the pheras,” he continued. “Alya has a tiny mole near her right eye. You don’t.”

Meera's lips trembled. “I… I didn’t plan this… They forced me…”

Ayaan nodded calmly. “I guessed that too.” He pulled a chair near the bed and sat down, facing her.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“Meera,” she whispered.

Ayaan leaned back. “Interesting. You look more honest than Alya ever did.”

Meera looked at him, surprised.

“I was never in love with Alya,” he said plainly. “It was arranged. Our families insisted. But I knew something was… missing.”

There was silence for a while. Meera spoke hesitantly, “I’ll leave tomorrow. I know this marriage means nothing to you.”

Ayaan raised an eyebrow. “Who said that? You think I’ll let them discard you like a used pawn again?”

Meera blinked. “But I’m no one.”

“You’re someone now. You’re my wife.”

That night, Ayaan didn’t touch her. He simply covered her with a blanket and turned off the light. Meera stayed awake for a long time, her heart oddly warm with a new feeling—respect.

Maybe she wasn’t just a jinx anymore. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end of her life—but the beginning of a new one.

Outside the window, the rain had finally stopped. The clouds were parting. The first glimpse of moonlight broke through—and for the first time in years, Meera smiled.

The morning sun spilled into the room through sheer ivory curtains, casting soft golden patterns on the walls. Meera blinked open her eyes, her senses adjusting to the unfamiliar space. The events of the previous night rushed back to her like a crashing tide—the rushed wedding, Ayaan’s piercing calmness, his refusal to ridicule her, and the strangely comforting silence that followed.

She sat up slowly, the bridal jewellery still clinging to her like old memories she hadn’t had the chance to take off. Her fingers hesitated at the mangalsutra hanging around her neck—it was real, the marriage was real. But her identity in this house? That remained a delicate illusion, balancing on threads of circumstance and secrets.

Just then, there was a knock.

“Come in,” Ayaan’s voice called from the hallway.

A house-help entered with a tray of breakfast. She smiled politely at Meera, placing it gently on the side table. “Bhabhi, sir said to make sure you eat well. You must be tired,” she said softly, bowing slightly before leaving.

“Bhabhi.” The word echoed in Meera’s ears, unfamiliar and surreal.

Later that day, Ayaan came in, dressed in a crisp blue shirt and grey trousers, his phone in one hand, hair still wet from a shower. Meera stood up instinctively.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said, noticing her discomfort. “This isn’t a… royal palace.” He gave a faint smile, something about it disarming her.

“I… wanted to thank you,” she said hesitantly.

“For what?”

“For not… reacting last night. For not humiliating me.”

He walked toward the window, a habit she was beginning to notice. “I didn’t marry you out of kindness, Meera. I married you because fate decided to rewrite a chapter I didn’t realize needed change.”

Meera frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ayaan turned to her. “Alya wasn’t meant to be my partner. I realized that too late. And perhaps, you weren’t meant to be buried in a house that treated you like debris.”

Silence hung between them, heavy yet comforting.

“Would you like to stay?” he asked, his tone casual but sincere.

She looked up, startled.

“Stay as my wife. Not because you have to. But because maybe… we can try to give this story a chance?”

Meera stared at him, her eyes pooling with an emotion she hadn’t felt in years—hope.

Meanwhile, Padma and Arvind were beginning to feel the consequences of their hasty decision.

Rumours had started floating around in the community. Alya’s elopement had become fodder for gossip, and the only thing saving their face was the convenient lie they had circulated—that Alya was now “Meera” and had changed her name post-marriage due to traditional beliefs.

But Meera’s absence had created a vacuum in the household. The tasks she used to handle—chores, errands, managing the younger cousins—had begun to pile up.

“What a foolish decision we made,” Arvind muttered one evening, watching Padma struggle with daily arrangements.

Padma’s eyes blazed. “Don't you dare pin this on me. That girl was nothing more than a burden. Let her rot in that marriage. For all you know, Ayaan will throw her out soon.”

But deep down, they were both uneasy. Ayaan’s silence post-wedding was making them nervous.