CHAPTER 10
Yamini’s heart pounded.
The mountains rose around her in a vast, endless stretch of white as the helicopter began to descend.
“This can’t be real,” she whispered.
She wasn’t entirely sure if she was referring to her surroundings or the circumstances.
She closed her eyes momentarily and opened them again, but the view remained the same.
She wasn’t dreaming.
The weight of the jewelry and the heavy bridal lehenga pressing against her also reminded her it was real.
Just hours ago, when it was barely sunrise, her tiny apartment had been invaded by a team of stylists. Stylists, she had been so sure wouldn’t come despite the call from Imran.
Before she could object, they stepped in and took over.
They dressed her quickly but efficiently, layer after layer.
First, a deep red and white silk lehenga with borders and cuffs worked in fine gold tilla embroidery that caught every shift of light.
Then came the traditional jewelry, including thick gold bangles, a layered necklace, heavy crescent-shaped earrings that nearly reached her shoulders, and a tarang headpiece, which was carefully pinned into her braided hair, adorned with small gold ornaments.
Then, over all of it, a long coat which was dark, heavy, and practical. She was also asked to wear boots.
She hadn’t protested. She'd simply gone along with it, only to show she wouldn’t back down. And to see how far the intimidation tactic would go.
Now, when the helicopter landed on the snow and the engines cut off, the sudden stillness made her heart beat louder in her ears.
The door opened, and cold air rushed in.
Sucking in a deep breath, Yamini stepped out. Snow crunched beneath her boots, the sound startlingly loud in the open expanse.
She froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty around her. Towering mountains rose on all sides, their peaks dusted thick with snow, the sky above an endless blue.
And ahead of her stood the ancient Jogra temple.
Carved from stone darkened by centuries of wind and prayers, it rose solid and immovable against the mountains with massive stone walls, a sloping roof heavy with snow, and a presence that felt older than time itself.
For a moment, Yamini just stared.
This was where generations of Jogra maharajas got married.
The place where I was supposed to marry five years ago.
Her heartbeat picked up, loud in her ears.
She was dressed as a bride at Bharat Jogra’s ancestral temple. But she knew he wasn’t going to come.
He planned to leave her waiting.
Her fingers curled at her sides into the heavy dress.
A part of her had suspected something like this would happen. But she still went along with it.
Because deep inside, she knew she had earned whatever came next. She had run from this temple once. Standing here now, dressed as a bride, felt less like fate and more like a reckoning.
She had humiliated him and his family five years ago. And now, she would get humiliated in return.
Her back straightened while her gaze remained fixed on the temple.
Fine.
This will make us even.
Just as she decided to wait inside the temple, the wind rose suddenly, nearly knocking her over.
She shielded her face and clutched the jacket closer, trying to walk towards the temple.
She had taken several steps when the wind began slowly subsiding. Hoping she was walking in the right direction, she lowered her hand and lifted her gaze.
Only to freeze in her tracks.