The moonlight over the Haveli didn’t just illuminate the stone; it seemed to sanctify it. The heavy, centuries-old iron doors had finally groaned shut, locking away the echoes of a dozen years of resentment, leaving the world outside to the whispers of the night air.

Arjun crossed the threshold, his footsteps muffled by the plush rugs he had ordered specially for this night. He didn't carry Nandini as a prize; he carried her as if she were the very breath in his lungs, his movements deliberate and reverent. Her crimson lehenga, heavy with the weight of gold thread and tradition, pooled around his arms like a silk waterfall. When he finally set her down in the center of their chambers, the silence of the room was so profound it felt like a physical presence, heavy with the scent of crushed jasmine and expensive, lingering musk.