
The whispers in the haveli had grown too loud to ignore.
Servants exchanged glances in the corridors. Elders murmured behind closed doors about βstrange noisesβ from the bridal suite and βmarks on the bahuβs skin that no decent wife should carry.β One night, an old auntie cornered Meera in the kitchen, eyes sharp as kohl-lined daggers: βBeta, are you well? You lookβ¦ used.β Meera fled with a mumbled excuse, heart pounding.














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