Vaibhav — in full sprint — collided. Smack. He slammed right into someone turning the corner from the other side. Mihiksha. She had been holding a brass thali, full of sindoor, sweets, and a small diya. The tray wobbled, spun — and tipped forward. In that single, fateful second— Vaibhav’s hand instinctively reached out to stop the tray. But instead — his palm struck the center of her forehead. Right above the eyebrows. Right where the sindoor should be. Red powder exploded between them, dusting the air, staining both of their faces — but none more strikingly than Mihiksha Roy, who now stood, stunned, as a perfect streak of sindoor glowed across her maang. It looked like he had married her. Silence fell. All the shouting, music, and laughter seemed to vanish into a vacuum.