Unlike most brides, I wasn't crying during the bidai. My mother gave me strict instructions on how to behave. My husband was to be considered my God from now on. I should always listen to him and never refuse him, no matter what he asks. At the same time, my stepfather had given me an unkind glare, muttering that I should be worth the dowry.

Before we could board the train, he had bought me dinner at the railway station, which I ate quietly. It was a very kind gesture, even though he didn't talk much. My hands were dark with henna, just like the sky above us.

When he phoned his mother from the station, his voice sounded rushed and agitated. I could barely make out what he was saying.

"Haan, Ma. Woh theek hai. Maine khana khareedkar di thi."

(Yes, Ma, she's alright. I had bought her dinner.)

His gaze drifted towards my curious eyes. I immediately looked away. His adult voice was terrifying. But then I realised that I didn't know his name. When I searched my palm, I found the hidden piece.

Bhairav.

Bhairav Chaudhary.

And I was his wife from today, Sanjana Bhairav Chaudhary.

He had the habit of being far too silent sometimes. I couldn't help but glance at him while we were in the train. His older face was cold, calculating, emotionless...

"Sanjana."

"Ji?" I grew alert immediately.

"Tumhe hamara umar pata hai?" his question was gentle, and I shook my head. My husband turned to me, "25. Aur tum?"

(Do you know how old I am?)

(25. And you?)

"13," I replied confidently because I knew it well.

"Antar jaanti ho?"

(Do you know the difference?)

"12," I replied again. He seemed quite surprised. "Tumhe padna likhna aata hai?" He asked again.

(You know how to read and write?)

"Likhna nahi aata... Par thoda thoda padhna aata hai. Magar mujhe ganit ache se aata hai."

(I don't know how to write... But I can read a little. I know arithmetic very well though.)

"Kaise aata hai?" He raised a brow.

(How?)

"Woh... Bazar jaati thi na, bachpan se. Isliye."

(I used to go to the market often... That's why...)

Bhairav Ji hummed. "Acha suno..." He cleared his throat, "Ab hum haveli ja rahe hai. Aaj se wahi tumhara ghar hai."

(Alright, listen... We're going to the haveli now. That's your home from today.)

"Ji."

(Okay)