It was eleven at night. Anvesha was busy arranging her hand-painted tarot cards on the table. Her phone, lying beside the table, vibrated continuously. Calls from her in-laws' house. The seventh one.
"Mom, I'm coming. There's a small problem—"
"How much longer should we wait?" the voice from the other end snapped. "Today is Saptami. All relatives have arrived. The groom's procession is about to leave. And you haven't even reached home yet!"
"I'm coming, Mom, please—"
The call ended.
Anvesha placed the phone down and stood before the mirror. She wore a red Benarasi saree. Alta on her hands. Gold jewelry around her neck. But her eyes held no excitement. No joy. Instead, a strange emptiness.
Because she knew—this marriage wouldn't last.
Ten minutes remained until midnight. Anvesha closed her eyes. Beneath the bindi on her forehead, she felt a strange burning sensation. Slowly, she calmed herself. Then she opened her eyes.
In the mirror, she saw... her husband.
A handsome man. Wearing a sherwani. Holding a flower garland. Beside him stood Anvesha—in that same red Benarasi. But that wasn't her. Her face was blurry.
Then the scene changed. A courtroom. Divorce papers. And that man's face—clear now. Pen in hand, signing. Beside him stood Anvesha—was she crying? No. Her eyes held no tears. Just an empty stare.
The mirror shattered into pieces. Anvesha gasped and opened her eyes. Her heart pounded. Sweat dotted her forehead.
"The same future," she whispered, "For the fifth time. The same future."
Anvesha looked at the tarot card. The one she had drawn earlier—The Tower. Destruction. Fall. Inauspicious change.
"Baba, Ammu, I told you," Anvesha smiled faintly, "This marriage won't happen. But who listens to me?"
Her phone rang again. This time, her sister—Riya.
"Opu! Where are you? The groom has arrived! Everyone's waiting for you!"
Anvesha took a deep breath. She looked at the mirror. Her reflection seemed to whisper—"Don't go. Run away."
But Anvesha opened the door and walked out.
---
The car stopped in front of a massive house in Shamoli Crescent. From outside, she could hear the music. The lights. The celebration.
Anvesha stepped out. Her feet felt heavy, unwilling to move.
"Opu!" Riya rushed over. "Come, come! You look so beautiful!"
Anvesha said nothing. She just stared inside the house. Hundreds of people. But her eyes searched for only one—the husband she had seen in her vision. The one who would divorce her.
Anvesha pushed through the crowd. Ahead was the stage. The groom stood there, visible only from behind. Wearing a sherwani. Holding a flower garland. Anvesha's heart raced.
"I'm walking forward," she told herself, "towards where fate awaits."
The groom turned around.
Anvesha's eyes widened. For a few seconds, her heartbeat seemed to stop.
It was... that face!
Exactly the face she had seen in the mirror! The man she had stood beside in that courtroom!
The groom smiled. A sweet smile. But Anvesha could see—there was no warmth in his eyes. An icy cold stare. Businessman's eyes. Eyes that knew only calculations.
Anvesha understood—from this moment, she had begun the journey whose end she had already seen. Divorce. Tears. Emptiness.
But stories only become interesting when even a fate that has been foretold can change... right?