That was a grand royal marriage—one that the entire kingdom believed would bring prosperity and peace.
The cities were illuminated with countless lamps, their golden glow stretching across streets and balconies. Music echoed through the palace walls, and laughter filled the air like a blessing. Citizens gathered in thousands, celebrating, feasting, and witnessing what they believed was the beginning of a glorious future.
Who would have imagined… that instead of remaining amidst that radiance, I would be running toward a dark, unknown forest with my newly wedded husband?
We did not flee under the cover of midnight.
It was at the verge of dawn—just after the sacred ritual of Sindoor Daan—that we escaped. The vermilion in my hair had barely settled, and yet destiny had already turned its course.
By the time the sun stood high above us, we had reached a secluded cottage.
It stood worn and forgotten, nestled somewhere high upon a mountain, far from the paths of ordinary people. The air there was quieter, heavier—as if even time had slowed down. The structure seemed fragile, its wooden walls aged and weathered, yet it offered shelter.
Perhaps it had once been built for emergencies.
"Do you know how to use a sword?" he asked, his voice urgent but controlled.
"Yes, I do," I replied, meeting his gaze.
For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes—relief, perhaps.
"I need to go," he said quickly. "I'll return before nightfall. Stay inside. Do not open the door for anyone."
He placed a sword in my hands.
"If anything happens… use this."
Now he carried only a dagger and a bow—one he had fashioned from bamboo, crude but effective. The royal bow he once possessed would have drawn too much attention.
"Just stay safe," he added, softer this time. "No matter what happens, wait for me."
With that, he picked up an old bedsheet lying in the corner and wrapped it around himself, concealing his royal presence beneath something far more ordinary.
And then, he left.
Silence followed.
The kind of silence that presses against your ears until you can hear your own heartbeat.
I stood there for a moment, gripping the sword, staring at the closed door as if it might open again.
But it didn't.
The cottage was small.
A single main space, and a smaller room beyond it. Dust covered almost everything—the floor, the walls, the sheets that lay abandoned. It was clear that no one had come here for years.
I slowly removed my heavy jewelry, placing each piece aside. The weight of gold and gemstones no longer felt like pride—it felt like a burden.
Then I loosened my saree.
Remaining in just my blouse and petticoat, I could finally breathe.
I began to clean.
At first, it was simply to pass time. But soon, it became something else—a way to fight the growing unease inside me.
I shook out the sheets, wiped the floor as best as I could, and arranged a small corner where we could rest. My hands grew dusty, my movements slower, but I continued.
Anything was better than standing still and thinking.
At some point, I found a window.
Pushing it open, I saw a riverfall flowing half a kilometer away from the cottage, its surface glinting faintly under the afternoon sun. that can be a nice place to get some water and for bathing.
For a moment, I considered stepping outside.
Just for a moment.
But his words echoed in my mind—
Do not open the door.Just keep yourself safe no matter what!! I'll be back
I closed the window.
As the day began to fade, the light inside the cottage dimmed.
And then—
Darkness.
There were no candles.
No lamps.
No fire.
Only shadows.
I sat on an old wooden chair I had dusted earlier, my hands resting in my lap, the sword leaning against the wall nearby.
The silence grew heavier.
Every small sound—the creaking of wood, the distant rustling of leaves, the faint cry of some unknown creature—felt louder in the dark.
Time moved strangely.
The sun had set....
Evening swept away...
Night had arrived… and deepened.
Still, he did not return.
A strange loneliness settled within me.
It wasn't just the absence of people.
It was the absence of certainty.
Just hours ago, I had been surrounded by thousands—music, light, voices. And now…
Nothing.
No familiar faces.
No reassurance.
Only darkness.
Yet beneath that loneliness, something else remained.
A quiet, unwavering feeling.
Trust.
I did not know him well—not truly. Our marriage had barely begun.
And yet…
He had looked at me not as a burden, but as someone he needed to protect.
That was enough.
So I waited.
Far away, beyond the mountain path—
He moved swiftly through a distant market.
The place was small, hidden from main trade routes, where travelers and villagers exchanged goods quietly. Covered in a plain sheet, he blended in, hiding any trace of his royal identity.
He gathered what he could without drawing attention—
A sturdy cloth bag to carry supplies.
Grains that could last several days.
A few vegetables, slightly wilted but usable.
Spices—small amounts, enough to bring warmth to their meals.
Every choice was careful.
Every movement deliberate.
Once done, he returned to where he had left the horse.
The animal stood tied near a shaded area, restless but unharmed.
He approached gently, placing a hand on its neck.
"You've done well," he murmured.
From the supplies he had gathered earlier, he took out some fodder and fed the horse, watching it settle.
For a moment, he paused.
The weight of everything—the escape, the uncertainty, the responsibility—pressed upon him.
But there was no time to linger.
He picked up the bag and began the journey back.
Back at the cottage—
I had lost track of time.
Sleep threatened to take over, but I resisted.
Then—
A sound.
A faint knock.
My body tensed instantly.
I stood up, grabbing the sword.
Another knock.
Soft.
Deliberate.
I approached the door slowly, every step cautious.
"Open up," a low voice called from outside.
I froze.
That voice—
I knew it.
Carefully, I opened the door.
It was him.
He stepped inside quickly, shutting the door behind him.
The darkness remained, but his presence filled the space in a way light never could.
As i entered i can tell, not easy to endure in a cold dark environment.
"chak… chak… chik… fsshh… crackle… crackle…" he lit some dry papers and clothes with flint and some old metal and flamed the candle.
"You must be hungry," he said, placing the bag down. "I brought something for you."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted—and stopped. He saw his wife holding his sword while not being draped in saree... Only a blouse and petticoat ...in the mild light of the candle beside the sharp sword reflecting it...
She realized then—
I was still dressed only in my blouse and petticoat.
"I'm… sorry," he said quickly, turning his face away.
"The saree was too heavy," I replied, my voice softer now, tinged with embarrassment.
I picked up a sheet and wrapped it around myself.
"Were you not feeling cold?"
No when i was moving around and as widow's shut close so...
"I'll get you proper clothes tomorrow," he said.
"Hm…"
We moved into the smaller room I had cleaned, just behind me - him with the candle lighting the way..
"You did all this?" he asked.
"There wasn't much else to do," I replied faintly.
He gave a small nod.
"despite being hungry .... you shouldn't have done the hardwork"
I had some lawa(puffed rice paddy) given to me in my khoichha(—the sacred pouch: gift of blessing bride given to send her off)I had brought with me.
"It has rice, turmeric, betel nuts… and some coins."
"That will help," he said.
"We can manage almost for a week."
We ate in silence.
The food was simple—but in that moment, it felt enough.
When it was time to rest, I lay down near the wall on the sheets I had prepared.
He remained seated.
"You can sleep here," I said. "There's space."
"Will you be alright?" he asked.
"Yes."
After a pause, he lay down at the edge, leaving a respectful distance between us.
"How long will we stay here?" I asked quietly.
"Two or three days," he replied.
"And then?"
A brief silence followed.
"Then we move again."
The darkness still surrounded us.
But it no longer felt as suffocating.
Because now—
I wasn't alone.
(And with that there they again got silent and how their night concluded end.
"the first wedded day")