The grand Rajasthan palace welcomed them with its majestic corridors and the scent of fresh marigolds. Veeresh and Poornima entered, the echoes of the wedding rituals still lingering in the air.

Veeresh’s mother, Sharada, smiled warmly and gestured to Poornima. “Poornima beta, put your hands in this red color and stamp it on the wall.”

Poornima followed her instructions carefully, pressing her palms into the crimson powder and leaving a bold mark on the wall—a symbolic gesture of her entry into the family and the palace.

Once done, she was gently guided to the puja room. She knelt down, her hands steady as she lit the diya. The soft glow reflected in her eyes as she silently prayed, her heart a mixture of reverence, apprehension, and a strange warmth she could not yet name.

Veeresh, standing nearby, watched quietly. His voice broke the silence, calm but commanding. “Finish the rituals, and then come to our room.”

Without waiting for her answer, he turned and walked to his own room, leaving Poornima alone with the flickering light and the weight of tradition. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, knowing that this was only the beginning of her life in the palace—and of the complex, tense, and unspoken bond she now shared with Veeresh.