The main doors of Rathore Mansion stood open, tall and silent, as if waiting for her. The threshold was decorated simply-marigolds strung with care, rangoli neat and traditional-not flashy, not meant to impress, only to honor. Siya paused just outside, holding the kalash. Her posture was straight, her eyes calm. She did not look back. Every step she had taken had led to this doorway, and she was ready to step in.

Her father-in-law moved forward first, slow and deliberate. His voice was soft but firm.