The Playful Bride

The wedding gown glowed a glorious red in the sun streaming through her window. She didn’t look into the mirror at her reflection. She wanted to surprise herself so she waited for the ladies to finish doting over her beauty, her saree, her beautiful jewels, her once-wispy-now-voluminous hair.

The sounds emanating from downstairs did nothing to calm her frayed nerves, but nonetheless, she was so excited. The game she played as a kid with her friends was now coming true. She was getting married, she would have a husband, kids, a house; her life would be gorgeous now!

Her elder sister was silly to be worried about her. Just because her marriage didn’t work out, she thought nobody else’s could. Her marriage was going to be as beautiful as her wedding. She knew it.

As they signalled her to get up and come down, she slowly swivelled her chair around, her feet barely reaching the floor. Her reflection smiled back at her, her rogue-covered cheeks smiled enough for her skin to almost crack. Her beautiful saree simmered silver and red, quivering as she gleefully clapped.

Finally, it is time, my time, she thought as she touched her saree one last time before she left. Then, she jumped off the chair, placed her doll on the table and led her 10-year old self out of the dressing room. She was lucky at least sati was now illegal.

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