the marriage was going to start. the priest is looking for the husband to sit on place. so that he can start chant. the the soon going to be husband isn't there.
people start to search here and there. everyone is asking where is he.
then suddenly suprising everyone a tantrik came in the marriage hall and shouted, "You won't find him. I told you she can't marry just anyone. if she marry normal people, their luck will be gone and death will took over their fate. but you didn't listen."
Aman's father at this came to him crying,
but the aghori said, "I know your problem. but you can't change fate."
Divya was angry at this point. stop it. she shouted. let's see if someone marry me and still die before me.
she came and was going to grab the hand of the man standing beside Rohit. but she grabbed his hand. and without looking she placed sindoor on her sithi with his hand.
That's a dramatic and supernatural turning point—perfect for pushing Rohit's "cursed destiny" theme forward. Here's **Scene 4: The Marriage** written in a vivid, cinematic tone continuing exactly from your setup.
***
### Scene 4: The Marriage
The wedding hall was glowing with gold and red decorations, yet something in the air felt uneven, as if a thread of fate was pulling itself loose. The scent of incense mixed with the heat of dozens of bodies waiting, whispering. The priest sat near the sacred fire, fanning the smoke away impatiently. He looked up and asked, "Where is the groom? Call him quickly. The auspicious time has begun."
People looked around. The groom's chair sat empty beside Divya's. She waited calmly at first, her face composed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Then five minutes passed. Then ten. The murmurs grew. Someone said he might be fixing his clothes, someone else said he'd gone for a call. In the corner, Aman's father wiped the sweat off his forehead, whispering for someone to check the cars outside.
The hall began to buzz with unease. Guests exchanged worried glances. It wasn't the first time a wedding in this family had faced bad luck—and that realization began to sink into every face present. A few of the older women started muttering prayers. The priest frowned, glancing at the clock again. The moment of auspicious planets was slipping away.
Then the lights flickered. Just once, like a sudden inhalation of fear. A wind blew through the open doorway, snuffing out half of the small lamps near the altar. And through that gust, a figure appeared—barefoot, clothed in saffron and ashes, his hair wild like a nest of smoke.
A collective gasp rippled through the hall. The man walked straight toward the center, his eyes burning with something beyond sanity. He pointed a trembling finger at the family and shouted, "You won't find him!"
His voice thundered through the hall. Some women screamed. The musicians fell silent. Rohit, standing near the corner, felt his heartbeat stop for a moment.
"I told you!" the tantrik cried. "I told you she cannot marry just anyone. She carries the shadow of another. The one who binds herself to a mortal man will curse him to death. His luck will turn to ashes, and his name will vanish from time."
Panic spread like fast fire. Aman rushed forward, his voice trembling. "What nonsense are you saying?" His father followed, pleading. "Please, stop this, Swamiji. Not today. Not again. Don't do this now."
The aghori closed his eyes for a moment, muttering under his breath, then spoke again. "You cannot change fate. Not even prayers can erase what was written at her birth. The stars chose her to walk with death beside her, not love."
Aman grabbed his father's arm, whispering desperately, "Call someone. Get him out of here." But the old man couldn't speak. His shoulders trembled with silent tears.
Divya rose from her seat. Her calm had shattered. "Enough," she said sharply. Her voice sliced through the murmurs. "Stop your show right now."
The aghori turned toward her slowly. "You can mock the words, girl, but you cannot mock the truth."
Divya's eyes flared in anger. She took a step forward, her face like thunder. "Truth? You call this truth? You—who couldn't stop my life from breaking twice? You talk of fate as if it's your property."
For a moment, their eyes locked—hers filled with rage and defiance, his with grim certainty. Then she turned toward the guests. "I've heard enough of this curse. If my marriage kills every man I wed, then let's test it once and for all."
Rohit froze. The hall fell silent so sharply that even the fire seemed to stop crackling.
Aman tried to stop her. "Divya, no! Don't do something insane!"
But she had already turned. Her hands shook, her breath ragged. "If fate wants blood," she said coldly, "let it take mine too."
She stormed toward the crowd. A few men backed away instinctively. Her eyes darted, searching almost wildly for someone who wouldn't flinch. Her hand stopped near the line of guests on the left—Rohit stood among them, looking utterly frozen.
Next to him stood a young cousin, confused and terrified. Divya reached out, intending to grab that man's hand in symbolic defiance—but her grip found Rohit's instead.
The hall gasped in unison.
For an instant, their eyes didn't even meet. Divya, blinded by rage and humiliation, lifted Rohit's hand and, before anyone could intervene, pressed it to her forehead. The red sindoor brushed against her parting, marking her as married.
The priest shouted. Aman lunged forward. The aghori closed his eyes and whispered, "It is done."
Rohit stood like a statue, his mind blank, his fingers trembling with the heat of her skin still clinging to them. Around them, the wedding erupted into chaos—some crying, some shouting, some fleeing the hall.
Divya froze, breathing heavily. The reality of what she had done flickered in her eyes as she turned slowly to look at the man she had bound herself to. When she saw Rohit—her brother's quiet, unremarkable friend—standing there with shock etched across his face, her expression crumbled from fury to disbelief.
The aghori's voice echoed one last time from the doorway. "The dead have chosen, and fate has remembered him. What is written cannot be undone."
The wind blew again, putting out the flames of the wedding lamps one by one, until only the faint red glow of sindoor remained between them—blood-like, bright, and irreversible.