I woke up earlier than usual that morning, my heart beating with a strange mix of excitement and unease. The rays of the sun had barely touched the sky when Maa called my name from the courtyard, her voice carrying a note of urgency. Today was important—at least for her, for Baba, for everyone in the house. Guests were coming. The mother of a man Baba’s acquaintance had chosen for me. A possibility of marriage. A possibility of a new life.

I quickly washed my face, tied my hair into a braid, and stepped out to help Maa. For hours, we moved about the small house like clockwork—dusting, cleaning corners that usually went unnoticed, arranging cushions, wiping the brass utensils until they gleamed. Maa busied herself in the kitchen, preparing dishes that filled the air with warm, inviting smells—spiced kachoris, laddoos, and fragrant pulao. I chopped vegetables, ground masala, fetched water, all the while feeling the knot in my stomach grow tighter.