Wedding :😈

The air in the grand ancestral temple of the Singh estate was thick with the scent of crushed jasmine, expensive oud, and the heat of a thousand oil lamps. This was the union of two dynasties, but as the ceremony unfolded, the true gravity of the room didn't center on the groom.

The Bride: Ashika Singh

Ashika was a vision of ethereal, fragile beauty. She wore a traditional Kanchipuram silk saree in a deep, blood-red hue, heavily embellished with real gold zari that weighed down her petite 18-year-old frame.

* The Attire: The silk clung to her small curves, and her midriff was adorned with a heavy gold oddiyanam (waist belt) that emphasized her tiny waist.

* The Hair: Her midnight-black hair, reaching well below her hips, was braided with strings of white pearls and fresh jasmine, the weight of it pulling her head back slightly.

* The Contrast: Her fair skin looked almost translucent under the heavy temple jewelry, making her appear like a sacrificial doll offered to the gods.

The Groom: Vijay Pratap Singh

Beside her, Vijay looked handsome but diminished. In his cream-colored sherwani, he was polite and stiff. He went through the motions of the rituals with a hollow gaze, never once truly looking at the woman he was tying his life to.

The Gaze of the Lion: Pratap Singh

Standing behind them, looming like a mountain of granite, was Pratap Singh. At 7.4 feet and 200 kg of solid muscle, he didn't just attend the wedding; he dominated it. Even in a formal black bandhgala, the fabric strained across his massive chest and tree-trunk arms.

His Observations

Pratap’s silver-grey eyes didn't flicker toward the priest or the holy fire. They were pinned on Ashika. He watched the way her small shoulders trembled under the weight of the silk. He tracked the line of her long hair as it swayed against her lower back. To him, she wasn't a daughter-in-law; she was a rare, delicate creature that had finally been brought into his cage. His gaze was predatory, calculating the exact moment he would begin to break her innocence.

Her Realization

Ashika was supposed to be looking at the fire, or at Vijay. But she couldn't help it. Every time she moved, she felt the sheer physical pull of the man standing behind them.

She would tilt her head back slightly, and her eyes would catch the shadow of Pratap’s massive frame. He was a giant—a 60-year-old titan whose presence made her husband look like a ghost. She found herself staring at his hands—broad, calloused, and capable of crushing her—resting on the hilt of a ceremonial sword.

She felt a terrifying shiver of "intoxication" she couldn't explain. The broadness of his shoulders, the sheer "might" of his 200 kg body, and the way the air seemed to vibrate around him made her heart race in a way Vijay’s presence never could.

The Moment

As the priest asked them to stand for the final circumambulation, Ashika stumbled slightly on the heavy pleats of her saree.

Before Vijay could even react, a massive, warm hand caught her elbow. The touch was electric. Pratap didn't just stabilize her; he gripped her arm for a second longer than necessary, his fingers nearly wrapping twice around her slender limb.

"Careful, baby girl," he rumbled, his voice a low-frequency bass that she felt in her very bones. "You haven't even finished the walk, and you're already falling."

He let go, but the heat of his palm stayed on her skin through the silk, marking the exact moment Ashika realized her marriage wasn't to the boy beside her, but to the Master behind her.