The haveli swallowed her the moment the heavy wooden doors closed behind the last relative. Music from the wedding still drifted faintly from the outer courtyard, mixed with laughter and the smell of leftover sweets, but inside the zenana wing everything had gone quiet. Oil lamps flickered along the long corridor. The air was thick with attar, fresh marigold, and the heavier scent of warm ghee from the kitchen that never seemed to sleep.

Riya stood in the centre of the suhaag chamber in her red lehenga, the weight of the heavy dupatta already making her neck ache. Her hands were still stained yellow from the earlier haldi. She had been told to wait. That was all. Wait for her husband.