The whole night, Ipshita didn’t sleep.
She couldn’t.

The walls of the grand Oberoi mansion felt too silent — too still — like they were holding their breath, waiting for her to shatter. The heavy tears streaming down her face glistened against the dim light of the chandelier, falling one after another as if her eyes refused to stop mourning. Her body ached under the weight of her wedding lehenga, the intricate embroidery pressing into her skin, the jewelry biting against her neck. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t bring herself to.