Three brothers.
All dressed as grooms.
But the bride - only one.
No, no other bride is missing.
Nothing has gone wrong.
This was the arrangement from the beginning.
No confusion.
No pressure.
No resistance.
They understand exactly what they will share:
The same lips.
The same skin.
The same body.
Still - no jealousy.
Only understanding.
And the woman they are waiting for is me.
Today, my parents seem happier than ever. Even Divya, my best friend, is smiling more than I am—while I stand here, the bride, feeling like the least involved person in my own wedding.
"You're getting married-and that too to three men. You should be thrilled. Look at the upgrade-from your ex, that loser Rohan, to three handsome husbands." Divya said.
She meant it as encouragement.
But my mind didn't register it that way.
What I heard was-
You couldn't even manage one decent man.
Divya saw choice—the freedom men had claimed for centuries in most part of the world.
I saw obligation—the life my parents had already decided for me.
A life where everything-attention, space, even love-would have to be shared and adjusted.
I never tried to know them. I believed if I fought hard enough, this marriage would never happen.
Now, things are different.
I'm already here—marrying them, following every word the priest says.
The three brothers stand a few feet away, dressed in red, repeating the priest's words.
"I promise Aayna, in the presence of the sun…"
And that's when it hits me.
I am taking one of the biggest steps of my life… and I don't even know their names.
The thought should unsettle me.
Instead, I laugh—quietly, inside my own head.
Then it settles—
If I have to marry them, I should know who they are.
And I know exactly who would have that information—Divya. She's a tech expert. If something exists online, she can find it.
She's also close to my parents.
When I was still fighting this marriage, they sent her to talk sense into me. Iam sure, she already knows everything about them.
My eyes started searching for her in the crowd. I spot her a short distance away, standing with two of the brothers, laughing—completely absorbed in their conversation.
She looks like she belongs here.
I don't.
I call her over. She sits beside me.
I lean closer, hesitating for a moment before whispering in her ear.
"How much do you know about them?"
It feels strange—asking my best friend about the men I'm about to marry.
"Not much," she shrugs. "More than you, though."
I give her a look.
She sighs, still smiling. "You really didn't check anything, did you?"
"What do you want to know? I've made their profiles."
For a moment, I feel sorry for myself.
For standing here, knowing almost nothing about the life I'm stepping into.
She pulls out her phone immediately.
As she scrolls, my gaze drifts back to them.
They stand close together—almost the same height.
The first one feels older.
Not just in age, but in the way he carries himself. Quieter. Heavier. Like he notices more than he says. He has beautiful eyelashes—more noticeable from the side.
The second is sharper.
He's lean, with a quiet kind of presence. A soft smile, a sharp jawline.
A little shy. He doesn't speak much—lets his older brother do that.
His hand rests on his other brother's back, almost protective.
The third looks like him—but softer.
Almost… prettier.
He has blue eyes and brown hair.
His eyelashes remind me of one brother, his jawline of the other.
He's the opposite of them—cracking jokes, laughing easily, full of energy.
It almost feels like he was given the best features, while the others settled for what remained.
It's hard not to notice him a little longer than the others.
A burst of laughter cuts through our conversation.
I recognise it immediately.
My parents.
They're speaking to a group of guests.
"We live in Delhpur," my father says, loud and proud, "but our blood belongs to the Khano tribe. We value our roots—so we married our daughter into it."
The guests nod.
My mother leans into him, smiling like this is something worth celebrating.
Their laughter.
Their pride.
Something in me tightens.
I don't want this marriage.
But I chose this.
Because deep down I want their inheritance.
Some might call it greed.
But I worked for it. I endured enough to know—it's mine, and I won't let it go.
My relationship with them was never simple.
Not love. Not hate.
Something in between.
Unreliable.
There were moments I believed they loved me.
And longer ones where I felt like I didn't belong at all.
Once, I even wondered if I was really their daughter.
I was.
The mirror made sure of that.
That thought should have comforted me.
It didn't.
It just left me with no explanation.
And then there were the photographs-old, fading images of them, scattered across the house on cluttered shelves.
They didn't comfort me. They just sat there, quietly reminding me that I belonged to them... even when it never quite felt like I did.
Things got worse after Rohan.
My parents didn't argue.
They laughed.
"He doesn't love you," my father said calmly. "Give me ten minutes. I can buy him."
I wanted to prove him wrong.
I couldn't.
Rohan passed— as a gold digger.
After that, they realised I might slip out of their control—that I might start choosing for myself.
So they began looking for a family to marry me into.
To keep their hold on me.
I agreed.
I was heartbroken—and I had lost faith in love.
What I didn't expect…
was three husbands.
When I first found out about their plan, I was stunned.
"What?"
My eyes widened as my mother showed me their picture.
"Three brothers?"
"I know I couldn't find one decent man," I said, anger rising, "but that doesn't give you the right to marry me off to any number of people."
They belong to the Khano tribe. In our tribe, polyandry is common.
I knew about it, but my mother had only one husband. So for most of my life, until recently, I assumed that my parents were progressive.
I thought that was why we lived in a different city, away from tribal customs.
Then, that illusion broke.
I found out about another man—my father's brother, and my mother's first husband.
He had died when I was three.
I have no memory of him.
I only know because I once overheard my parents talking.
I never asked about him.
I didn't want to stir up their grief—losing a brother and a husband so early couldn't have been easy.
"You're almost thirty," my mother snapped. "What should we tell people? Every time we go out, they ask why you're not married. They think something is wrong with you."
I stare at her.
"So what?" I say. "You'll marry me off to three men?"
"Every woman does," my father cuts in. "Your mother had two husbands. My mother had five."
I swallow.
"Dad, I'll marry anyone," I say quickly. "Rich or poor, it doesn't matter. I'll even stay single and handle the business—but I can't marry more than one man. Please."
"I do business with the Khano tribe," he says coldly. "If they find out my own daughter rejects our traditions, we lose everything."
"Dad, please—"
"If you really don't want this, it's your choice.
If you don't want to honour our traditions, that's fine.
But then you are no longer our daughter.
Leave my house.
No business. No money.
Without me, you're nothing."
Silence.
He wasn't wrong.
"Mom…" I turn to her.
"We've already agreed," she says. "There's a deal involved. We can't back out now."
I knew it.
Something was missing.
It was the deal.
"You sold me?" I let out a small laugh.
My father steps forward.
"This deal ends in three years. Until then—no drama.
Three years. That's all."
Something in me goes quiet.
Nothing was left.
To them, my life was just a move in their game.
"Fine," I say. "Then let's sign a contract."
My mother grabs my arms.
"A contract? With your own father? Do you make deals with your family?"
She pauses.
The hypocrisy settles in.
She steps back, looking away—
like she doesn't want to face what just crossed her mind.
I face my father.
"You can't do this without terms," I say, not breaking eye contact.
My father considers it.
Then nods. "Done."
That was it.
After that, I stopped arguing.
"All the rituals are over. You may proceed to the dining area," someone announced.
I got up from my seat.
I knew exactly what this was-a marriage of convenience.
Survive for three years.
Play my role well.
And then leave.
Without guilt.
As I stood up, Divya said casually, bringing me back into the present, "shall I tell you about their finances, their parents, their ex-girlfriends-or something else?"
The question hit a nerve.
I was marrying them so I wouldn't lose my parents' property.
But a sudden, ugly thought rose inside me-
Were they marrying me for mine?
The idea unsettled me more than I expected.
"Finances."
I said immediately and sits back on my chair.