Chapter 14 Faces and Expectations

The house transformed by evening.

Soft lights glowed across the halls, trays of sweets and gifts were arranged neatly, and the women of the family, along with close relatives and guests, began to arrive one by one. Laughter, whispers, and curious glances filled the air.

It was time for the muh dikhai ceremony.

Poornima sat in the center of it all.

Dressed again as a bride, though this time lighter, in a soft-colored lehenga, her jewelry minimal but graceful. Her veil covered her face partially, enough to follow tradition, enough to keep her hidden.

But not completely.

Her hands rested calmly in her lap, though her fingers moved slightly, betraying the quiet tension within her.

Women gathered around her, smiling, observing, whispering softly among themselves.

“She is very beautiful.”

“So young…”

“Such sharp features.”

“She looks calm.”

Poornima heard everything.

But she did not react.

One by one, the women came forward, lifting her veil slightly to see her face. Each time, she raised her eyes just enough, offering a polite, controlled expression.

Some placed gifts in her lap.

Some blessed her.

Some simply looked longer than necessary, curiosity mixed with judgment.

“May you have a happy married life,” one elder woman said warmly, placing a gold bangle in her hand.

Poornima nodded slightly.

“Thank you.”

Another leaned closer, her tone softer but sharper underneath.

“Adjusting well, beta?”

Poornima held her gaze for a second.

“Yes,” she replied.

The answer was simple.

But it carried more than it showed.

Across the room, Mrs Qureshi watched everything carefully.

Not controlling.

Not interfering.

But present.

Ensuring no one crossed a line.

Ensuring Poornima was not left alone in this crowd of expectations.

The ceremony continued, laughter rising, conversations flowing.

But for Poornima, everything felt distant.

Her mind drifted.

To the morning.

To his words.

“I didn’t want your first day to get spoiled.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her dupatta.

Then to her own voice.

“I will be expecting from you.”

A small, almost unnoticeable pause crossed her expression.

Would he come?

Would he remember?

Or would this be another thing she was expected to accept without question?

She straightened slightly, pushing the thought aside.

Another woman approached, lifting her veil gently.

“Beautiful,” she said, smiling. “Veeresh is lucky.”

Poornima did not respond immediately.

Lucky.

The word echoed faintly in her mind.

Then she gave a polite nod.

The ceremony went on.

Gifts filled her lap, blessings surrounded her, voices continued to speak over her, about her, around her.

But somewhere beneath the surface, something had changed.

She was no longer just sitting there.

Enduring.

She was observing.

Listening.

Understanding.

And waiting.

Not for acceptance.

Not for approval.

But for something far simpler.

A promise.

And whether it would be kept.