Yamini stood there for one second, entirely deprived of the argument she had prepared.
Fine.
She was wearing rubies, ancestral gold, and an heirloom headpiece, and the man had the emotional range of a weather report.
Fine.
The helicopter door opened.
Bharat stepped in first and then turned back with an efficiency that suggested this was simply the logical sequence of events. He reached across, took her hand briefly to help her step up, and let go the moment she was seated.
Her heart gave one loud, unnecessary thud.
She settled into her seat and arranged the pheran around her.
He leaned forward. His hands moved to the safety belt at her side with practiced ease, clipping it into place without his fingers once grazing her. The click was quiet and final.
Then he moved back and sat across from her, reached for his own belt, and fastened it.
Yamini looked out the window.
The rotors began.
Below, the Jogra palace grew smaller. The snow stretched out in every direction, the mountains rising sharp and white against the pale sky.
In a matter of minutes, the helicopter would land. She would then stand beside the Jogra maharaja at his ancestral temple in front of his family, his brothers, and whoever else was waiting.
And later that day, she would stand in the Jogra valley and be introduced to the people as the Jogra maharani.
Her heart beat fast.
She pressed her hands flat against the crimson fabric of her pheran to stop them from trembling.
Across from her, Bharat looked out the opposite window. The ceremonial sword at his side caught the light. The sunglasses reflected the pale blue of the sky.
He looked completely unmoved.
She looked away.
Fine, she told herself.
Everything is going to be absolutely fine.
???
The helicopter landed in the same place where, barely weeks ago, Yamini had stepped out in bridal red and not believed any of it was real.
She believed it now.
The cold hit her the moment the door opened, sharp, thin mountain air that cut through the ceremonial pheran instantly. The snow stretched in every direction, the peaks rising white and enormous against the pale morning sky. The ancient Jogra temple stood exactly as she remembered it. Dark stone, centuries of wind, a presence that felt older and heavier than anything built by human hands.
Bharat stepped out first.
He did not offer his hand this time.
He simply walked toward the temple entrance, and she followed, her bangles quiet in the cold, her breath misting in front of her face. The stone path was narrow and swept clear of snow. Her heeled footwear found purchase carefully with each step.
He knows I won't fall because of these shoes.
