I stood in the bridal room, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, the heavy red lehenga weighing me down as much as the dread twisting in my gut. The gold embroidery glittered under the dim lantern light, but it felt like chains around my body. Outside, the village buzzed with wedding preparations—laughter, music, the chatter of relatives—but in here, it was just me and the suffocating pressure of what was coming. I couldn't marry Vikram. Not when I knew his secret. I'd seen him once, tangled with that boy from the next village, their bodies pressed together in the shadows of the barn. He was gay, and no amount of tradition could force me into a lie like that.

My mother burst in first, her eyes wide with worry, followed by my aunts and sisters.