Kayalvizhi pov:

The next morning, I was draped in a red and gold saree I hadn't chosen.

It was supposed to be for my reception.

I sat still while Amma adjusted my jhumka, her hands trembling more than mine. She didn't speak. None of us had really slept. The house had been filled with relatives moving like shadows, whispering with their eyes instead of words.

My hair was neatly braided, flowers tucked in with such care as if beauty could cover betrayal.

Appa hadn't looked me in the eyes all morning. But I knew he hadn't eaten. I knew he'd cried when he thought I was asleep. I heard him mutter in the dark, "My daughter... my poor girl..."

And now, here I was.

The bride.

To a groom I hadn't dreamed of.

The nadaswaram played in the background as the priest chanted something I didn't register. I walked slowly into the mandapam, holding Paati's hand, every step echoing with what this wasn't supposed to be.

Arjun wasn't in the crowd.

And I didn't care.

I just didn't want to feel anything anymore.

Ezhil sat on the stage, in a white veshti and shirt, forehead streaked with sandal paste, eyes cast downward. When I sat beside him, our shoulders brushed. He didn't look at me. Not fully. But in that brief glance - there was no excitement, no nervous joy like most grooms.

Only guilt. And pain. Maybe even a little fear.

Good. At least I wasn't the only one struggling to breathe.

The rituals began.

People smiled at us. Some were relieved. Some were still whispering behind their fans. Some were watching me too closely, searching my face for cracks.

I gave them none.

I didn't cry.

I didn't smile.

I just sat there like a statue in a bridal saree, going through the motions.

When Ezhil tied the thaali around my neck, I closed my eyes.

It felt heavy - not the chain, but the meaning.

He didn't say anything. He didn't try to whisper sweet things like most husbands. He didn't squeeze my hand or glance at me with love.

He simply did what he was asked to do.

And maybe that was the kindest thing he could've done.

The rice was thrown. The blessings showered.

I touched the feet of elders I barely noticed. My body moved on instinct, like I was someone else wearing my skin.

I could hear distant phrases:

"Good match."

"God's will."

"At least the family didn't break."

"She's lucky Ezhil agreed."

Am I?

I didn't even look at Ezhil until the crowd thinned and we were made to sit in the small reception stage for photos.

He looked... tired. More than that, unsure.

I don't blame him.

He was supposed to be the naughty younger brother, not the sudden replacement groom.

In between two flashes of the camera, he leaned slightly and said, softly, "If you're angry, I understand."

I didn't reply.

I just looked straight ahead.

Because truthfully, I wasn't angry.

I was just empty.

Like someone had scooped out my heart, my voice, my girlhood dreams, and left behind only silence.

And in that silence... I became someone else.

Not Arjun's bride.

Not the bubbly, laughing Kayal.

Just... a girl who married a man she didn't expect, on a day that wasn't hers, in a ceremony that felt like a formality.

But maybe, one day... I'll feel real again.

Ezhil pov:

I've always loved her.

Since I was fourteen.Or even before that...even when she was born i used to carry her in my arms even though i was little ,a mere four year old kid.

Since the day she barged into our house, chattering about a butterfly she chased on the way, only to end up falling in the mud. That laugh... that wild, fearless laugh it stayed with me longer than it should've.

Kayalvizhi.

Her name felt like poetry to me even back then.

And her presence? Like someone opened every window in a dusty room and let the light flood in. She didn't just walk into a space,she filled it. With her stories, her questions, her smiles that refused to be small.

She was everything I admired. And everything I thought I could never have.

Because she was meant for him.

My elder brother.

The responsible, quiet, well-earning software engineer in Bangalore. The son who everyone nodded at in approval. The one who barely spoke a few words, and yet always received all the right attention.

And me? The professor with too many jokes and not enough "focus", as Ma would often say. A little too loud, a little too much.

Still... I loved her.

Not in the loud, possessive way people often imagine. I loved her silently. Deeply. The kind of love where you don't ask for anything... you just wish for their happiness, even if it's not with you.

So I let her go.

I stood by, watched her make him payasam, watched her glow at the mention of his name, watched her plan a life in a city she hadn't even seen just for him.

But now?

Now I can't even bring myself to call him "Anna."

Because what he did... no, what he chose to do, it wasn't just betrayal.

It was cruelty.

He didn't just break a wedding.

He broke her.

He reduced my Kayal - yes, my Kayal - to a checklist. Called her dusky, chubby, talkative. As if she wasn't the very soul of this house. As if she didn't carry more grace in her laughter than that so-called city girl could in any degree.

He judged her.

And then he left her to be judged by everyone else.

And now... here I am. The man who stepped into a role no one imagined for me. Not even her.

I stood outside the bedroom door for a long time tonight, just... breathing.

She's in there.

Not as my friend. Not as the girl I teased endlessly.

But as my wife.

Wife.

The word doesn't sit easy on my tongue yet.

I finally knock and enter.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her wedding saree, arms wrapped around herself, eyes distant. She doesn't look up.

The room feels too quiet. Too heavy.

I clear my throat. "Hey..."

No response.

I try again, softer. "Tired?"

She nods once. Doesn't speak.

I walk a little closer, but keep my distance. "I... I know this isn't how either of us imagined today would be."

Still nothing.

I sit down on the couch, facing her from across the room. "I'm not going to pretend this is easy. You don't owe me anything. Not love, not conversation, not even a smile. But I just... want you to know, I'm here. Not as a stranger. Not just as your husband. But as... someone who cares. Who always has."

Her fingers tighten slightly around her arm.

I pause, watching her in the dim light.

"She's hurt," I think. "She won't show it. But she's breaking inside."

And that breaks me too.

I stand up slowly. "I'll sleep on the couch," I say, voice gentle. "You don't need to worry. Just... rest. That's all you need to do tonight."

I grab a blanket from the side chair and settle down on the couch.

It creaks softly.

I lie there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours.

But my gaze keeps drifting.

To her.

She's curled up on her side now, still in that heavy saree, not even having changed.

Her shoulders rise and fall slowly, rhythmically. She's either sleeping... or pretending to.

I wonder if her pillow is wet. I hope not.

She doesn't deserve this pain.

Not her.

Not My Kayal.

And I swear to myself - not tonight out loud, but somewhere deep inside...

One day, I'll make her laugh again.
One day, I'll make her feel like herself again.

I'll make sure she never cries again

Even if it takes my whole life.

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