Now, when the helicopter landed on the snow and the engines cut off, the sudden stillness made her heart beat louder in her ears.
The door opened, and cold air rushed in.
Sucking in a deep breath, Yamini stepped out. Snow crunched beneath her boots, the sound startlingly loud in the open expanse.
She froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty around her. Towering mountains rose on all sides, their peaks dusted thick with snow, the sky above an endless blue.
And ahead of her stood the ancient Jogra temple.
Carved from stone darkened by centuries of wind and prayers, it rose solid and immovable against the mountains with massive stone walls, a sloping roof heavy with snow, and a presence that felt older than time itself.
For a moment, Yamini just stared.
This was where generations of Jogra maharajas got married.
The place where I was supposed to marry five years ago.
Her heartbeat picked up, loud in her ears.
She was dressed as a bride at Bharat Jogra’s ancestral temple. But she knew he wasn’t going to come.
He planned to leave her waiting.
Her fingers curled at her sides into the heavy dress.
A part of her had suspected something like this would happen. But she still went along with it.
Because deep inside, she knew she had earned whatever came next. She had run from this temple once. Standing here now, dressed as a bride, felt less like fate and more like a reckoning.
She had humiliated him and his family five years ago. And now, she would get humiliated in return.
Her back straightened while her gaze remained fixed on the temple.
Fine.
This will make us even.
Just as she decided to wait inside the temple, the wind rose suddenly, nearly knocking her over.
She shielded her face and clutched the jacket closer, trying to walk towards the temple.
She had taken several steps when the wind began slowly subsiding. Hoping she was walking in the right direction, she lowered her hand and lifted her gaze.
Only to freeze in her tracks.
???
For a second, Yamini’s mind refused to process what she was seeing.
Bharat Jogra stood at the temple entrance.
He wore an ivory silk sherwani, embroidered with fine gold thread that matched her heavy lehenga. A deep maroon shawl with its borders woven in intricate patterns was draped over one broad shoulder. A traditional turban with an antique gold sarpech sat perfectly on his head. Despite the wind, she could see the single strand of diamonds and emeralds that lay at his collar, and also the ceremonial sword that rested at his side.
He looked every inch a maharaja.
Had he not worn his usual sunglasses, she would have thought she was imagining his presence.
But it was him. Standing regally, seemingly untouched by the cold wind.
