The bedroom was aglow with the soft flicker of diyas, their warm light casting dancing shadows against the cream walls. The scent of jasmine and rose hung heavy in the air, remnants of the haldi ceremony still clinging to the silk sheets.

Ruhani sat perched on the edge of the bed, herbridal lehenga a pool of crimson and gold around her. At twenty-four, she had the kind of curves that made traditional wear look like it was sculpted specifically for her those full hips, a narrow yet curvy full waist, breasts that strained slightly against the heavy embroidery of her blouse. But her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the mattress, her dark eyes darting toward the door every few seconds.