Deb stood frozen, unable to meet his reflection in the ornate mirror. The weight of the crimson benarasi saree on his shoulders felt heavier than the gold jewelry Swagata was fastening around his neck. The intricate design of the mangalsutra glinted against his smooth, freshly waxed skin.
"Stop slouching, Debosree," Swagata snapped, her tone sharp as she tugged at the pleats of his saree, perfecting every fold. "A bride must hold her head high. You’re about to become my brother’s wife. Act like it."
He swallowed hard, his lips trembling under the weight of the deep maroon lipstick Swagata had meticulously applied moments earlier. The kajal she had smudged around his eyes made them look larger, more vulnerable—a fact she seemed to delight in as her fingers lingered on his chin, tilting his face up.
“Look at yourself,” she commanded, stepping aside so he could see the full transformation.
In the mirror, he no longer saw Deb, the man who once commanded his own life. Instead, Debosree stared back, a vision of bridal perfection, her shy, kohl-lined eyes betraying the storm within.
“You look beautiful,” Swagata whispered, her tone softening as she leaned in close, her fingers brushing against the heavy necklace that rested against his chest. “But beauty isn’t enough, Debosree. Tonight, you must prove your devotion to my brother. He deserves nothing less than an obedient wife.”
Tears threatened to spill, but he nodded, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Yes, Swagata Didi.”
“Good,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “Now smile. It’s your wedding day.”
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