Page 67 of The Unwanted Husband
The crushing weight of disappointment nearly buckled her knees as he approached the woman who stood to her left. She watched, her nails digging crescents into her palms, as he offered a respectful bow to the woman in red silk. The bride smiled at him, a perfect, practiced expression that made something violent and ugly rear its head in her chest.
How dare she smile at him like that.The thought came out of nowhere, shocking her with its venom.How dare any of them look at him as if they have the right.
He moved with ceremonial precision from one pavilion to the next, offering the same respectful acknowledgment to each potential bride. And with each stop, each polite interaction, the irrational fury in her chest grew by the second. She found herself imagining wiping that serene expression off the face of the woman who dared to lean forward slightly when he approached, as if trying to catch his attention. The urge to march over thereand tear the jasmine flowers from her perfectly arranged hair was so strong that her muscles actually tensed with the effort of restraining herself.
When he paused longer than necessary at one pavilion, where the bride there was exceptionally beautiful, her jewelry more elaborate than the others, jealousy clawed at her insides like a rogue animal. She wanted to scream, to storm over and announce that he belonged to her, that these women had no business being here, breathing the same air, existing in the same space as her husband.
Yes! He was her husband already and they had no business looking at him.
The violence of her own thoughts terrified and exhilarated her in equal measure. She had never felt anything like this consuming possessiveness, this primitive need to claim and declare what was hers. These women weren’t just competition but she saw them as threats to something she was only now realizing she desperately wanted.
And finally, he turned toward her. She heard the sharp intake of his breath that made her heart flutter above the symphony of celebration. Charged with her newfound territorial instinct and the fierce determination that none of these other women would have him she smiled at him, her eyes baring every emotion she felt and every wall she had built around her crumbling to their knees.
He stood in front of her, wearing traditional white cotton that seemed to glow against his sun-darkened skin, but his eyes were fixed entirely on her. For a heartbeat, even the elaborate musical tapestry seemed to soften, as if the entire community was holding its breath with him.
His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find words. She watched as his chest rose and fell morerapidly, saw the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides before he clasped them together. The look in his eyes was one of complete awe, as if he was seeing her for the first time, as if she had transformed into something ethereal and otherworldly.
“You’re...” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the ceremonial music, but she could read the rest in his expression. You’re magnificent. You’re perfect.You’re mine.
The crowd seemed to sense the moment, and the music swelled around them with the drums beating faster, voices rising in jubilant harmony, the flutes spiraling upward like her heart. Children threw flower petals that danced on the warm breeze, while the elder women began a chant that had been sung at island weddings for generations.
In that moment, surrounded by the ancient traditions of his people, embraced by the music and voices of an entire community, and seeing herself reflected in his gaze, she finally understood what it meant to belong somewhere completely. The months of preparation, the suspicious glances, the exhausting days of learning and ceremonies, it had all led to that instant when she became not just his bride, but part of something timeless and sacred.
And she felt it deep in her core.
The ceremony flowed around them like the tide, carried by voices that rose and fell like waves. But she would always remember that first moment when he saw her as she truly was transformed by tradition but still herself, foreign yet somehow always meant to be there, where his was.
A place where the sea met the sky and love seemed to transcend all boundaries, celebrated by every soul who called these islands home.
Why did the place feel like home?
*****
The wedding ceremony had been a dream painted in silk and starlight, but as the last guests departed and the music finally faded, reality settled over her like the humid night air. The elaborate celebrations were over, the rituals complete, the vows spoken before hundreds of witnesses. Now it was just the two of them, alone in his chamber that had been prepared for their wedding night.
She was in Ashok’s room and it was beautiful with walls draped in white cotton that wavered softly in the ocean breeze, flower petals scattered across the floor, and oil lamps casting warm, golden light across the large room. The bed was layered with silk sheets, and she was told the bed was centuries old.
Isha sat in the middle of the decorated bed, the heavy wedding outfit with the added jewelry weighing her down like chains. Her muscles were sore from the past few days of rituals and the long night on the boat the prior night. She looked up through the scarf that was draped over her face as the door creaked open. A tall figure stepped into the dimly lit room and stood looking in her direction for a long moment before closing the door behind him.
His steps were soft, he had already changed from his ceremonial wedding outfit into loose cotton pants, his chest bare but he had two long layers of pearls around his neck. It had to be the island tradition for the wedding night for him to show up bare chested. The sight of him made her breath catch. This was now her husband as per the island traditions but he was still the forbidden one.
A shiver passed through her when she remembered the overwhelming feelings she had during the ceremony. Her irrational need to fight for him, her urge to tell everyone presentthat he was hers, only hers. She had finally sorted through those emotions as she was getting carried away by the ceremony and the settings.
Never in a million years did she think her life would flip in one moment and she would end up on a remote island, as a married woman. The one man who was not a part of her life until a few months was now her husband—her unwanted husband.
Ashoka Veera Devendraseema!
She kept her eyes lowered even as he placed his knee on the mattress, making it dip. “Isha.” Suddenly, the weight of everything crashed over her. The reality of where she was and how different her life was now, the uncertainty of the arrangement and the suffocating traditions she had to follow. The frustration of not being able to follow her thoughts, not being restricted to keep her desires in check for the sake of the arrangement they needed to keep up.
She let out a sob, unable to suppress the sadness and anger of what she had to go through the past few days and how she felt in the moment. The rituals, ceremonies and the endless instructions she had to follow for what was a marriage that was not real and would end soon.
He lifted the scarf that covered her face and dropped the fabric over her back. “Hey, you okay?”
The sincerity in his tone made most of her annoyance and anger subside.
She nodded. “Kinda, but, I… I need to sleep and—”
“I’ll help you.” He knelt in front of her, his eyes level with hers and that’s when she noticed how handsome he looked in the simple clothes he had on that night, with simple pearls draped around his neck, layering on his bare chest.
