Night had spread its veil across the palace, quiet and heavy, as though even the stars had chosen to dim themselves tonight. After dinner, Meera and I returned to our chamber. The lamps were lit low, their flames swaying faintly with the breeze that crept in from the lattice windows. The air carried the faint fragrance of rosewater, but even its sweetness failed to soothe the storm that had begun to settle within my chest since the morning.

Meera, with her usual innocence, busied herself with folding the dupatta she had worn, humming softly to a tune she must have heard during the feast. Her face glowed, a tender contentment radiating from her eyes. In less than five days, she was to become a bride. Every mention of her marriage seemed to bring her unspeakable joy, as though she were walking into a dream she had been weaving for years. I could not look at her without feeling the sting of helplessness clawing at me.