Kashish was immersed in the quiet company of her books, the soft rustle of pages accompanying her thoughts, when a gentle knock echoed against her door.

"Yes?" she called out softly.

At her permission, the maid entered, bowing with practiced grace and lowered eyes.

“Malkin is calling you downstairs. Your father has arrived.”

The words sent a ripple of excitement through Kashish's heart. She shot up, the book falling unnoticed to the floor, and hurried out of the room. It had been three long years since she had last seen her father — three years of letters and memories in place of a presence. And now, finally, he was here.

In her rush, she forgot to cover her head with her ghunghat—a detail expected of a married woman in the household. Her saree's loose pallu fluttered behind her like a ribbon caught in the wind as she descended the stairs hastily, unaware of the curious glances the servants cast her way.

She came to a sudden stop near the bottom of the staircase. There he was—her father—engaged in conversation with her mother-in-law, Malini Devi.

“‘Bhai sahab, you should come… more often!’” Malini was saying warmly, handing him a cup of tea with both hands.

“‘No, Behenji, it's fine...’” he replied with a gentle shake of his head.

“‘Why is it fine?! It’s not just your son-in-law’s house—it’s also your best friend’s house...’” she said with pointed affection.

Her father smiled. “‘Yes, you are right. Let’s talk about why I came. I bring an invitation. Yash’s marriage is fixed.’”

“‘What, really?!’” Malini exclaimed, her voice lifting with delight.

“‘Yes, it’s at the end of this month. I would love to see you all there at least a week before the wedding.’”

“‘Bhai sahab, we will definitely come…’” Malini began to assure him, but her words trailed off as her eyes drifted toward the staircase—toward Kashish.

She noticed her daughter-in-law’s uncovered head, her long hair cascading freely over her shoulders, the disheveled way her saree clung to her frame. A frown flickered across her face, restrained yet sharp. She took a breath and composed herself, swallowing the chiding that rose to her lips.

Parth’s eyes, once warm with paternal fondness, found Kashish at the foot of the staircase. For a fleeting second, his gaze lingered—long enough to absorb her uncovered head, her disheveled saree, her breathless arrival. A shadow passed over his face. He looked away.

Not a word.

No greeting. No smile.

Just the quiet stiffening of his jaw and the way his fingers tightened around the teacup spoke volumes. But he said nothing—not here, not in front of Malini Devi.

Kashish, catching her father's glance and the abruptness with which he turned away, felt the familiar sting of unsaid disappointment. Her steps faltered.

Malini Devi, with the quiet dignity of a woman well-versed in the language of appearances, walked toward her. Each step was precise, her expression unreadable, but her eyes were sharper than glass.

Without a word, she picked up the fallen pallu of Kashish’s saree and gently, almost ceremoniously, draped it over her head.

Her voice was low, but firm, her words wrapped in velvet and iron.

“Come now. Your father is waiting to see you.”

Kashish swallowed, nodded meekly, and walked forward, her hands trembling at her sides. She wished her heart would stop beating so loud—it seemed to echo through the silence that had fallen.

Prath didn’t turn immediately. Only when Kashish stood directly before him, head bowed, did he finally acknowledge her.

“Namaste, Papa,” she said, her voice small, reverent.

He gave a slight nod. “How are you, Kashish?” His tone was even, almost too neutral. The warmth she had dreamed of was nowhere to be found.

She smiled—nervously—searching his eyes, trying to find the father who had once carried her on his shoulders, who had told her stories under the neem tree in the courtyard. But there was a wall now. A silence behind the smile.

“I’m… well, Papa.”

“Good,” he replied.

Malini, ever perceptive, sensed the tension but chose not to intervene. Instead, she turned to Prath, seating herself with practiced poise.

“Bhai sahab, have another cup of tea. You must tell us more about the bride-to-be. Who is the lucky girl?”

As the conversation moved forward, Kashish remained standing beside her father, quiet and still, like a child waiting to be forgiven for a mistake she didn’t understand.

But the weight of his silence had already told her everything she needed to know.

Parth set down his half-finished cup of tea with a soft clink, the sound oddly loud in the tension-filled room.

“The girl,” he began, smoothing the front of his kurta as though weighing his words carefully, “is the daughter of Goyenka ji.”

Malini's eyes widened, a flicker of impressed approval dancing across her face. “The Goyenkas? The ones from Bikaner?”

Prath nodded once. “Yes. The same. Their name has stood firm in the jewellery business for over three generations. Old money, old values. The father, Mahendra Goyenka, runs the largest gem export house in Rajasthan now. Very respected. Very traditional.”

Malini's hands stilled over her teacup. “A fine match,” she said, glancing briefly at Kashish with a complicated look that blended subtle pride, veiled comparison, and something colder. “Yash is a lucky boy.”

Prath’s eyes flicked to Kashish for the first time since the introductions—just for a heartbeat—and then away again, as though looking at her for too long might give away something he had carefully tucked behind silence.

“She’s been raised with discipline,” he continued, more to Malini than to his daughter. “And she knows how to carry herself, despite all their wealth. I met her once. Graceful girl. Speaks softly. Never interrupted once during the entire meeting.”

The words hovered like smoke in the air—deliberate, heavy, and clearly not just about the bride-to-be.

Kashish stood beside them, her head still bowed, her fists curling quietly in the folds of her saree. The comparison stung, though nothing was said outright. Her father had always chosen his silences as carefully as his words.

Malini sipped her tea, her expression unreadable. “You’ve chosen wisely, Bhai sahab. The Goyenkas will bring good fortune and even better reputation.”

“Yes,” Prath said simply. Then, after a pause, he added, “I’d like the entire family there a week before the wedding. There’s much to do.”

“We’ll be there,” Malini assured. “I’ll see to it personally.”

Kashish finally looked up. “Papa.. may I help with the preparations?”

Prath’s gaze settled on her again, but the softening she hoped for did not come. His lips pressed into a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he said.

And with that, the conversation moved on. But in the corner of her heart, something quiet had already broken.

Sneak peek- Chapter 5

There was a long pause, then Malini spoke. “What happened earlier… was unfortunate. But it was also avoidable.”

Kashish remained silent.

“A woman in this house represents not just herself, but her upbringing, her values—and her family’s honour,” Malini continued. “Your father did not come here to see a hurried, disheveled girl rushing down the stairs like a servant. He came expecting grace. Dignity.”

Her voice was not harsh, but it had the cool firmness of someone who had been groomed in a world where appearances mattered more than truth.