My stepfather was talking with my husband, whose name was still unknown to me. When I asked Maa about his name, she told me that it wasn't important for me to know. They always called him the Chote Thakur at home as well.

"Ab toh aap hamare Daamaad Ji hai... Er... Thakur Ji aur aapke Maa nahi aaye...?" My stepfather nervously asked the question that had been bothering him from the start when my husband showed up at our house alone. Even I wondered if everything was alright with his Mother.

(Now you're our son-in-law... Er... Didn't Thakur Ji and your Mother accompany you?)

"Baba shaadi ke khilaaf the," My husband replied calmly, "Isliye woh nahi aa paye. Aap chinta mat kijiye. Mai Sanjana ka khayal rakh lunga."

(My father was against the marriage. So they couldn't come. But don't worry, I'll take care of Sanjana.)

An ant bit my ankle, but I couldn't bend down to swat it away. My sari was far too heavy already, and I was scared that it would come untied if I moved too much. I tried to kill the ant with my other foot, but balancing on one was hard, especially with my stupid sari.

I slipped and bumped my head against the wall. All eyes turned to me, and I lowered my head in embarrassment. I saw my Mother and Stepfather's faces twitch in annoyance. I was scared that my husband would abandon me before even giving me a chance.

He turned back to my parents, "Aur kuch nahi ho toh hum nikalte hai."

(If that's all, then we'll leave.)

My heart was pounding so much as my parents smiled brightly at him. I often saw parents shed numerous tears during the bidai of their daughter. My family seemed relieved to be rid of me.

"Daamaad Ji aur unke parivar ko zyada tang math karna. Unko hamesha khush rakhna..." My Mother gave me a tight-lipped smile while my Stepfather held the door open, "Chalo, chalo... bahut der ho gayi hai." He grinned.

(Don't trouble Damaad Ji and his family. Keep him happy always...)

(Come on, it's getting late.)

I got in the car quietly. Bhairav Ji got in the other side as well, and soon enough, the car drove far, far away from my home. I was alone in a large car with an older, unknown man whose eyes were glued to the night sky.

"Malik, aapki train kitne baje ki hai?" The driver asked.

(Sir, at what time is your train?)

"8.30," he replied, his eyes briefly glancing at his watch.

Even his voice was as serious as his face. I felt so scared, especially because of how respectfully everyone addressed him. I wondered whether he was the Thakur himself. I fidgeted with my fingers, praying that even if he were silent, he shouldn't be cruel.

The roads were unfamiliar. I didn't even know which village we were in. My parents had kept me home for so long that I didn't know anything about the outside world. There were some movie posters on a wall, and I immediately leaned towards the window, my bangles jingling with every movement.

"Kya hua?" He asked.

(What happened?)

I suddenly felt aware of my surroundings and shrank back in my seat, staring down, fidgeting with my fingers, "Kuch nahi..." I whispered. He didn't ask anything more, but I could feel his eyes linger on me.

(It's nothing...)

Almost half an hour later, I was starting to feel sleepy, when my husband cleared his throat and leaned forward to talk to the driver, "Yaha raste par koi studio hai?"

(Is there a studio on the way?)

"Studio? Ji, Malik, ek hai."

(Studio? Yes, sir, there's one.)

"Waha gaadi rok do," he instructed before leaning back in his seat. I wondered why he wanted to go to a studio. Maybe he wanted more photos of himself. After all, he was quite handsome. Just like the movie stars, but he looked a bit scary as well.

(We'll go there first.)

When the car stopped outside the photo studio, I looked out of the window curiously. He got out, and the driver said that he'd be going to the nearby teastall for a smoke. I hoped that my husband would return soon, at least, and not abandon me in the middle of nowhere.

"Andar kyu baithi ho?" He frowned at me suddenly, coming to my side of the door. I blinked at him when he opened it. "Mai...?" I mumbled, unsure why he wanted me to accompany him.

(Why are you still sitting inside?)

(Me...?)

"Shaadi ke tasveer kichwana nahi hai?" he said in an unamused tone and grabbed my hand, dragging me out of the car. I almost stumbled because of my sari. My husband paused and shielded me between the door and himself before talking in a much softer voice, "Ek haath se yaha pakad lo." He lifted a few pleats of my sari before making me hold it up in the same way, "Aur dusre haath se mera haath pakadna..."

(You don't want to take wedding pictures?)

(Hold it like this with one hand... And hold me with your other hand.)

I blushed furiously, unable to do that. He sighed and was about to step away when I immediately grabbed the sleeve of his kurta, almost urging him not to give up on me. The Chote Thakur didn't say anything. He led me into the studio and talked with the photographer about what he wanted.

"Aap dono zara paas khade ho jaiye," the photographer told us. Bhairav Ji stepped closer without any inhibition. Our arms brushed, and I felt goosebumps on my skin.

(Please stand next to each other.)

"Nahi..." the man clicked his tongue, "Aapki biwi bahut choti hai, Saheb. Ek kaam kijiye, aap ek kursi par baitiye aur Bhabhi Ji ko khade hone dijiye."

(No. Your wife is too short, saheb. Let's do one thing. You should sit on a chair and let Bhabhi Ji stand next to you.)

I felt quite annoyed that he called me short, but my husband agreed and sat in a chair while I stood beside him. "Aur paas khadi ho jao, itni door kya kar rahi ho?" He asked, annoyed when I tried to maintain a respectable distance between us. When it seemed like his patience was slipping, he used an even stricter tone, "Sanjana."

(Stand a little closer. Why are you standing so far away?)

I complied, stepping even closer until our arms brushed again. The photographer smiled and took a photo of us. I wanted to smile for the photo as well, since it was my first photo, but when I glanced at my husband's emotionless face, even I lost the will to smile. But I didn't let his grumpiness affect me. My lips curved up just a little for the photo.