The morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Bhattacharya estate, touching the polished marble floors and glinting against the delicate threads of SaraswatiChandra's half-finished designs. The estate was alive with preparations, the distant rhythm of dhols, laughter, and clinking utensils drifting faintly from the main hall. It was Ishita's wedding day, the culmination of months of ritual, decoration, and anticipation, yet SaraswatiChandra remained tucked away in his own quiet corner of the house.
Ishani had made a decision the night before. She would not attend the wedding. Not because she disliked her cousin, nor because she resented the occasion, but because her brother's absence left an irreplaceable void in her mind. SaraswatiChandra had been told, as always, that he could not participate in such celebrations, a warning backed by generations of superstition and family decree. Yet Ishani refused to be complicit in isolating him further. She stayed by his side, a silent sentinel, ready to meet any need he might have, small or urgent.
The room smelled faintly of fresh fabric and jasmine, mixed with the earthy scent of hand-sewn threads and the faint wax of candles he sometimes used for late-night illumination. SaraswatiChandra bent over his work, sewing intricate patterns onto a cream silk jacket. His needle moved with deliberate precision, forming embroidery that seemed alive, threads intertwining like vines climbing a lattice of imagination. He paused occasionally, asking Ishani's opinion, her voice calm and steady as she pointed out the curves of a sleeve or the symmetry of a motif.
"You should add a little more length here," she suggested, brushing aside a lock of hair as she leaned over. "It will balance the collar better."
SaraswatiChandra smiled faintly, touched by her presence. It was rare, even in his small victories, to feel support untainted by superstition or judgment. Ishani's choice to remain with him, to insist on being present despite family expectations, carried a weight deeper than words could convey. He nodded, adjusting the fabric with care, feeling a warmth he rarely allowed himself to experience.
Hours passed quietly, broken only by the occasional footfall of a passing servant or the faint murmur of relatives preparing downstairs. SaraswatiChandra had not eaten, absorbed as he was in his work.
"You must drink something," she said softly, "you haven't had anything since morning."
"I'll manage," he murmured, brushing his hand over the fabric, but the truth was he felt fatigue settling in his muscles, the strain of concentration mingling with the emotional weight of exclusion. Ishani's attention, however, felt like a shield against the invisible walls that separated him from the rest of the house. She left the room briefly to fetch him water, trusting him to continue his work, unaware that a sudden movement by Luna would soon change everything.
A sudden blur of silver caught SaraswatiChandra's eye. Luna, his small, silver-furred cat, had slipped through the slightly ajar window, ears pricked and eyes wide, and darted into the corridor. Without thinking, he pushed away from the table and ran after her.
"I need to catch her!" he whispered to himself, his movements agile as he chased Luna down the stairs and into the grand hall. The noise of the wedding preparations became sharper here—the laughter of guests, the murmur of attendants, the delicate chime of jewelry as relatives moved past. It was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the quiet of his sewing room, and yet he barely noticed. His focus was on Luna, darting between columns and skirts of silk.
Before he could reach her, a firm grip seized his arm from behind. A guest, someone bustling about preparing for the wedding, looked down at him with sharp irritation. "What are you doing here? Trying to steal something?"
"I… I'm just chasing my cat!" he protested, startled, struggling lightly against the grip.
The guest's frown deepened. "You cannot be here. Come with me."
SaraswatiChandra's protest faltered as he realized resistance was futile. The grip on his arm was unyielding, and despite the chaos around him, he could feel the eyes of relatives and staff turning toward him. Murmurs rippled through the hall: Who is that? Why is he here?
SaraswatiChandra, for his part, struggled briefly, trying to regain his balance, to assert control in a space that had always excluded him. The hall's grandeur, the polished marble, the ornate decorations—they seemed designed to dwarf him, yet he refused to submit entirely. Luna, sensing the tension, had hidden under a low bench, her small eyes peering out nervously.
The guest finally led him into the central space of the wedding venue. The sunlight from the high windows struck him, illuminating the embroidery on the guests' attire and the gleaming arrangements of flowers. He was visible now, unmistakably present, the weight of superstition and exclusion collapsing into the immediate reality of observation. Whispers traveled quickly. Some eyebrows raised in disapproval, others in curiosity, and a few with thinly veiled amusement.
Ishani, returning with the water she had gone to fetch, froze for a moment as she realized her brother was gone. Her eyes darted down the stairs. The shouts, the murmurs, the distinct sound of someone being dragged reached her ears. Without a moment's hesitation, she followed the sound, pushing through clusters of guests and attendants.
Ishani's breath hitched as she rounded the corner at the foot of the staircase. The polished floors reflected the chaos, the sunlight bouncing off crystal chandeliers, gilded railings, and the golden marigolds that hung from every arch. Guests paused mid-conversation, some stepping back in surprise, others whispering in curiosity. And there, in the middle of the room, was SaraswatiChandra, white attire stark against the vibrant colors surrounding him, his arm held firmly by a guest who looked both exasperated and bewildered.
"Saraswati!" Ishani called, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. She moved faster, weaving through attendants and relatives, ignoring the confused glances thrown her way. Each step brought a mix of fear and determination, her focus unwavering. She had chosen to stay with him, and she would not let this happen under her watch.