The air in the haveli was thick today with the intoxicating scent of jasmine and sandalwood. Zoya had been dressed by her mother and Mariam in a heavy, crimson-red lehenga. It was adorned with intricate gold threadwork that shimmered like lightning against her fair skin under the glow of the lamps. With kohl in her eyes, a jhumar on her forehead, and the deep scent of henna on her hands, she embodied every bit of a bride.

"Ammi... I’m scared," Zoya sobbed, clutching her mother’s hand. A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek.