The scent of tuberoses still hung heavy in the air, a sweet, suffocating reminder of the grand ceremony that had ended just hours ago. My hands were still stained with the deep red of henna, the intricate patterns mocking me under the dim light of the hotel suite.
Arjun was in the washroom, the sound of running water echoing against the silence of our new beginning.
I looked at the heavy gold bangles weighing down my wrists. To the world, this was a union of two powerful families—a "perfect match." To me, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage. For months, I had tried to tell myself that love would follow the commitment. But as I sat on that bed, draped in silk and tradition, the truth finally hit me: I couldn't breathe.
The Choice
I didn't plan it—at least, that's what I told myself. But my passport was already in my small handbag, and a pair of flat shoes was hidden under the layers of my heavy lehenga.
I stood up, my jewelry clinking softly. Every step felt like breaking a bone. I scribbled a single note on the hotel notepad:
"I am sorry. I thought I could be the person everyone wanted me to be, but I realized tonight that I would disappear if I stayed. Please don't look for me."
The Escape
I slipped out of the heavy outer skirt, stepping into the simple cotton dress I had worn underneath. I threw a dark shawl over my shoulders to hide the remaining glitter of my bridal makeup.
The hallway was empty. The elevator ride felt like an eternity. As I stepped out into the cool night air, the city lights blurred through my tears. I didn't have a destination yet, but for the first time in twenty-four years, I had a direction: Away.
Behind me, in Room 402, the water stopped running.