The car rolled to a stop in front of a two-storey house with cream-painted walls, green windows, and a balcony lined with drying clothes swaying in the soft evening breeze.

This wasn’t a palace.

This wasn’t a sprawling mansion with golden gates.

It was… ordinary. Lived-in. Warm.

The kind of house that smelled of turmeric, incense, and fresh laundry.

Sanya’s fingers tightened around her lehenga as the front door opened and people stepped out — women in bright sarees, men with easy smiles, and children peeking shyly from behind the railings.

---

A kind-looking elderly woman, dressed simply but elegantly, stepped forward holding a silver tray with a small lamp. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

“You look just like a doll,” she said warmly, circling the tray in front of Sanya before placing a red mark on her forehead. “Yuvraj chose well.”

Heat rushed to Sanya’s cheeks. She glanced at Yuvraj, who stood a few steps behind her, carrying her suitcase like it weighed nothing. His expression didn’t change — though she swore she saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

---

The traditional welcome began. Sanya dipped her feet into a silver plate of red dye before stepping inside, leaving a trail of crimson footprints across the marble floor.

The living room was simple — a sofa set with crochet covers, a glass showcase filled with old photo frames and trophies, a corner where a wall calendar hung with marked dates in blue ink.

It was nothing like her father’s immaculate, silent drawing room. This room felt… alive.

---

The Teasing

Once they were seated, the teasing began. A group of cousins and sisters-in-law gathered around, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You seem too serious, brother-in-law,” one cousin teased Yuvraj. “You’ll have to learn how to make our new bride laugh, or your marriage will be terribly boring.”

Yuvraj raised an eyebrow. “I work in a bank, not in a comedy club.”

Laughter filled the room, and Sanya had to lower her head to hide her smile.

Another cousin leaned towards her, grinning. “So, sister-in-law, what’s the plan for the first night? Candlelight or flashlight?”

Her eyes widened, her fingers twisting into her dupatta. From the corner of her vision, she saw Yuvraj’s head turn sharply towards them — his voice even but edged with warning.

“That’s enough.”

The teasing quieted, though a few giggles remained. For some reason, that quiet protectiveness made Sanya’s chest feel oddly warm.

---

The Room

Finally, his mother led her upstairs. “This is your room, dear.”

It was bigger than she had imagined — cream walls, a wooden wardrobe, a study table stacked neatly with files, and a double bed with crisp white sheets.

On the side table sat a steel jug of water, a box of tissues, and a packet of Parle-G biscuits.

She blinked at the biscuits. “Parle-G?”

From behind her came Yuvraj’s voice. “I keep them there. If I get hungry at night, they’re easy to reach.”

The simplicity of it — this small, ordinary habit — tugged at something in her. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was simply letting her into his life, as it was.

---

Night Falls

After dinner, the house slowly fell into silence. The women disappeared into their rooms, the television was turned off, and the street outside grew quiet except for the occasional hum of a passing bike.

Sanya sat at the edge of the bed, fiddling with the edge of her dupatta. Her bridal bangles clinked softly in the stillness.

The door opened after a knock — yes, a knock — and Yuvraj stepped in. He was wearing a plain white kurta and pyjama now, his hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked different — not like the groom from the mandap, but like a man ready to rest after a long day.

“You must be tired,” he said, walking to his side of the bed.

She nodded, unsure how to respond. Her mind was a mess of questions — Would he talk? Would he expect…?

Instead, he took one of the pillows and placed it on the floor.

She blinked. “You’re sleeping on the floor?”

He glanced at her, then sat cross-legged on the bedsheet he had laid out. “You’re already uncomfortable enough. This will make it easier for you. Besides, I’m used to living alone.”

She hesitated. “I… can sleep on the floor. You—”

“It’s settled,” he said firmly but without harshness, lying down and pulling a blanket over himself. “Goodnight, Sanya.”

She lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere downstairs, a clock ticked.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even friendship.

But maybe… this was how respect began.

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