(Pranati's POV)

"Pranu, get up! It’s already 6," Amma said, tugging the bedsheet off me, her fingers sticky with turmeric. Her face glowed with an odd mix of excitement and nerves. "Today is the pelli chuppulu. Wear something traditional. Something soft and festive. I’ve laid your lilac saree on the bed."

The word pelli chuppulu rang like temple bells inside my chest — loud, sacred, unavoidable.

Amma helped me drape the lilac saree she had picked. The blouse was new, stitched just last week with a sweetheart neckline and soft embroidery. She clasped a silver choker around my neck — slim, simple — and matching earrings that dangled delicately. My wrists bore only three glass bangles, and even they felt heavy.

"You look beautiful," Amma whispered, pressing a dot of kajal behind my ear.

But I didn’t feel beautiful. I felt like a marionette.

Downstairs, chaos reigned — the good kind. Dhanakka was setting laddus in rows while Manju akka carried steaming idlis to the dining table. Satyaakka walked in with her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, half-scolding someone while placing pickles into small silver bowls.

All the cousins were on their toes. Uma was arranging chairs with geometric precision. Anu and Maneesha were on selfie duty. Sai and Chintu had appointed themselves taste-testers and were pretending to help, but mostly stealing sweets.

The house glowed with laughter and turmeric-scented air, but inside me, something was missing.

Siddharth.

My eyes kept flicking to the doorway, to the road beyond the gate. Every time a vehicle slowed, I straightened. And every time it wasn’t him, I folded back into myself.

He wasn’t coming.

At 10:15, Shravan’s family arrived — his mother Padma akka dressed in her trademark deep green silk saree with thick temple jewelry, his father Sarvesh mavaya in a neat shirt and panchu. Shravan followed behind them in a cream-colored kurta, his hair still damp and ruffled, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

He smiled at me like we shared a secret. I didn’t smile back.

My parents greeted them warmly, offering water, sweets, and garlands. I stood silently behind Amma as she pulled me forward to apply kumkum to my forehead. Then she rubbed turmeric on my feet — a soft, warm paste that smelled like childhood and rituals I never understood.

One by one, all the ladies had their cheeks dabbed with sandalwood paste and turmeric, a tradition passed down like heirlooms. But none of this felt like mine. I watched it happen as if from a distance, like a spectator in someone else’s memory.

Once everyone settled in the living room, Nannamma took charge. She sat cross-legged on the swing, regal as ever in her wine-colored saree.

“Let’s not delay,” she said. “This is a family decision, yes. But also, the boy and girl must be comfortable.”

She turned to Shravan first. “Are you ready for this, Shravan?”

Shravan nodded immediately. “Of course, Ammamma.”

Too fast. Too rehearsed.

My stomach turned. I felt everyone’s gaze shift to me.

I looked around, instinctively, desperately — for him.

No sign of Siddharth.

My throat burned.

“Manavarala?" Nannamma’s voice was soft, coaxing.

I looked at Shravan, his eyes eager, almost childlike. I looked at Amma, smiling with folded hands. At Appa, silently hopeful.

And I looked at the space where Siddharth should’ve stood.

“I…”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Then opened them and nodded.

A pause. Then cheers erupted. Anu screamed. Uma dropped the ladle she was holding. Maneesha squealed and hugged Sai. Dhanakka was already whispering to Manju akka, who looked like she might cry.

Shravan beamed beside me, his hand brushing mine as if by accident. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t feel anything either.

Then came the ritual of exchanging Thambulam plates.

The exchange of thambulam during pelli chupulu is a sacred and symbolic gesture that signifies mutual consent and formal acceptance between the bride’s and groom’s families. This exchange is more than just a custom—it reflects blessings for prosperity, fertility, and marital happiness, while also honoring and respecting the other family. It marks the beginning of the wedding journey and symbolizes the joining of two families, making the match socially and emotionally official.

Sarvesh uncle and Padma akka stood first, holding a polished brass thambalam heavy with gifts — a cotton saree, jasmine strings, betel leaves, areca nuts, red and yellow powders, bangles.

They handed it to Amma and Appa, who offered their own — a neatly folded white shirt, a crisp panchu, more betel leaves, haldi, kumkum, and supari.

The ceremony was simple but rich in tradition. Every move had been rehearsed over generations.

I just followed.

"Call the pandit," Nannamma said after a few moments of small talk. "Let’s fix the engagement date."

“Engagement?” Shravan interrupted with a sheepish grin. “Why not straightaway marriage?”

The entire room burst into laughter.

“Look at this impatient fellow!” Dhanakka said.

“Marriage doesn’t happen like fast food, ra babu,” Satyaakka chimed in.

“Let the girl breathe, Anna!” Anu yelled from the stairs, smirking at me.

Shravan blushed and scratched the back of his head. Even I smiled a little.

But it faded just as quickly.

Soon, the ceremony ended. Cousins went back to teasing and recording reels. Akkas disappeared into the kitchen. Shravan left to drop his parents at their home.

I slipped away. My feet led me upstairs, to the balcony — our balcony.

The same spot where Siddharth once handed me a cup of tea and stood too close.

The same spot where our silence had spoken more than our words.

The breeze was strong. I held the saree tightly around my arms, wondering if it would rain.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Slow, heavy, familiar.

I turned.

Siddharth.

He looked like he’d run here. His shirt was creased, and he hadn’t shaved. His eyes met mine — tired, unreadable.

“You said yes.”

I lowered my eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t there,” I said quietly. “You didn’t come.”

He stepped closer. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t watch it happen.”

“So you just left me to figure it all out?”

“You could’ve said no.”

“You never gave me a reason to,” I whispered.

He stared at me, eyes burning. “You’re going to marry him?”

“It’s what everyone wants.”

“But not what you want?”

I didn’t reply.

Siddharth walked so close our shadows touched again, cast by the sunlight that had no idea what was breaking.

“You didn’t just say yes to Shravan,” he said. “You said no to me.”

“You were never an option,” I said, voice sharp and quivering. “You never put yourself on the table. You wanted my body, Siddharth. That’s all you ever took.”

His eyes flared. For a second, I thought he might yell.

But he just exhaled. “I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d fall apart.”

He turned.

“But you want a war now?” he added bitterly. “Fine.”

He left. And something inside me caved in.

The lilac saree felt too tight around my waist. The silver choker like it was cutting off air. And the turmeric, still lingering on my feet — it didn’t feel sacred anymore.

It felt like warning signs I hadn’t read.

The pelli chuppulu had happened.

And I had said yes.

But I didn’t know… to what.

Hello everyone Next Chp will be of their engagement with a little drama so be ready for it.

I am not getting a good response on the chapters why is that? Okay let's set a target once this chp gets 30 likes and 20 comments i'll give the update. Thank you everyone.