The morning sun filtered through the sheer drapes of Ayesha’s room, casting soft golden hues across the walls. She sat before the antique vanity, her hands trembling as Deniz helped her with the delicate jewelry. The traditional Turkish bridal gown—a rich crimson with gold embroidery—clung to her petite frame, a blend of elegance and weight.
“You look beautiful,” Deniz said, adjusting the beaded headpiece.
Ayesha managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”
Deniz crouched beside her, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “I know this must be overwhelming. But I promise, you’re not alone.”
“Everything feels so... unfamiliar.”
“Familiarity takes time. And sometimes, it surprises you where you find it.”
Ayesha nodded, drawing strength from Deniz’s warmth. She was grateful for this newfound sisterly bond amidst the sea of strangers.
A soft knock on the door made them turn. Her mother, Meera Beniwal, stepped inside, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She took one look at Ayesha and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
“Maa…” Ayesha’s voice wavered.
Meera reached out, cupping Ayesha’s face with both hands. “Meri bachchi…” (My child…) Her voice broke as she kissed Ayesha’s forehead. “You look just like a dream, just like the little girl I once held in my arms.”
Ayesha bit her lip, fighting back the sudden rush of emotions.
“Don’t cry,” her elder sister, Ananya, whispered, appearing behind Meera. “If you start crying, then I won’t be able to stop either.” She tried to smile, but her reddened eyes betrayed her.
Their younger brother, Rishi, only eighteen ,stood awkwardly by the door. He had been sulking since they arrived in Istanbul, refusing to accept that his beloved sister was about to leave them forever.
Ayesha held out her hand. “Rishi, come here.”
He hesitated before stepping forward. When Ayesha pulled him into a hug, he clung to her fiercely. “I hate this, Di. I hate that you’re leaving.”
Ayesha blinked away tears and smoothed his hair. “You’ll visit me, won’t you?”
“Not if I have to see that cold-faced guy every time.” Rishi scowled.
Ananya sighed. “Rishi, don’t be rude. He’s your brother-in-law now.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like him,” Rishi muttered, but his grip on Ayesha tightened.
Their father, Raghav Beniwal, entered then, his usual strong demeanor faltering as he took in his youngest daughter, dressed as a bride. His eyes glistened as he approached.
“You’ve always been my little girl,” he murmured, his voice thick. “And now, you’re someone’s wife.”
Ayesha’s vision blurred. “Papa…”
Raghav gently wiped her tears. “No, no crying, princess. You are strong. You will build your own place in this new home. And remember, you can always come back to us.”
Meera sniffled. “She won’t need to. Her in-laws will love her as much as we do.”
Raghav said nothing, his expression unreadable.
The moment was broken when Deniz cleared her throat. “It’s time.”
Ayesha exhaled deeply, forcing herself to smile for her family one last time before stepping into the unknown.
---
The Wedding Ceremony
The grand ballroom of the Demir mansion had been transformed into a vision of red and gold. Turkish and Indian traditions intertwined in the decorations—marigold garlands mixed with Turkish lanterns, the scent of jasmine mingling with baklava.
Emir stood near the altar, his expression carved from stone. His black sherwani, adorned with subtle gold accents, only added to his regal aura. Guests whispered behind their hands, some admiring, others speculating.
Leyla and Furkan stood to the side, their expressions a mix of pride and anxiety. This union was more than a marriage—it was the fulfillment of a legacy.
A hush fell over the room as Ayesha entered, her steps slow and uncertain. Her father, Raghav, guided her down the aisle, his grip firm but comforting. Ayesha could feel her mother’s silent prayers and her sister’s worried gaze from behind.
Emir’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of indifference, but his clenched fists betrayed his nerves.
As they stood before the officiant, the weight of their situation hung heavily between them.
“Emir Demir, do you take Ayesha Beniwal to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
A pause. The room seemed to hold its breath.
“I do.” His voice was steady but devoid of emotion.
The officiant turned to Ayesha. “Ayesha Beniwal, do you take Emir Demir to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her heart thudded painfully. This wasn’t how she had imagined her wedding day—not with a stranger, not with so much uncertainty. But behind the uncertainty, a spark of hope flickered.
“I do.”
The ceremony continued, blending Turkish vows with traditional Indian rituals. Ayesha’s hands, decorated with henna, intertwined with Emir’s as they performed the saat phere (seven vows) around a small ceremonial fire. His touch was cool, his grip firm but not comforting.
When it came time to exchange rings, Emir’s fingers brushed against her skin, sending a shiver up her spine. His eyes, a stormy gray, met hers for a fleeting moment—empty, distant.
As the final prayers were said, the room erupted into applause. They were bound—by vows, by legacy, by a promise neither of them had chosen.
---
Next Day
The morning air was thick with unspoken emotions as Ayesha stood at the grand entrance of the Demir mansion, watching her family prepare to leave for India. The same family that had been her whole world, the same family she had woken up to every morning, the same family that now had to leave her behind in a foreign land.
Her mother, Meera , fussed over her, adjusting the pleats of her saree even though there was nothing out of place. "Ayesha, beta, if you ever need anything, just call. No matter what time it is." Her voice wavered, and Ayesha could see the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.
"I know, Maa," Ayesha whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Her father, Raghav , stood a few steps away, his strong, dependable presence offering silent comfort. His eyes, however, betrayed him. They held the deep sorrow of a father leaving his daughter in a new home, unsure if she would be truly happy here.
"Ayesha," he finally spoke, his voice softer than usual. "If you ever feel alone, remember—you are never alone. We are just a call away."
Ayesha nodded, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay. "I will, Papa."
Her elder sister, Ananya, pulled her into a tight hug. "You better keep in touch, okay? Don’t forget me now that you have this whole royal Turkish family around you." Her attempt at humor did little to lighten the heaviness in Ayesha’s heart.
"I could never forget you, di," Ayesha murmured, clutching her sister tightly.
Her younger brother, Rishi, stood a little apart, his usual mischievous energy absent. "I don't like this," he muttered, kicking at the ground. "You should come with us."
Ayesha ruffled his hair. "And leave behind all this amazing Turkish food?" she teased, trying to make him smile.
But Rishi didn’t smile. His lower lip trembled as he threw his arms around her. "I’ll miss you," he mumbled into her shoulder.
Ayesha hugged him back fiercely. "I’ll miss you too, champ. But I’ll visit, and you’ll visit me, right?"
He nodded, but the sadness in his eyes mirrored the one in her heart.
The driver loaded the last of the luggage into the black sedan. It was time.
Meera cupped Ayesha’s face, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Take care of yourself, my love."
"I will, Maa."
Raghav patted her shoulder before stepping back. Ananya and Rishi waved one last time before getting into the car.
--
Raghav sought out Emir, who had been standing at a distance, watching the emotional goodbyes in silence. His posture was composed, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable. The golden morning light cast sharp angles on his chiseled features, making him appear even more distant.
Raghav approached with slow, deliberate steps. Emir straightened slightly, sensing the weight of the conversation about to unfold.
For a moment, Raghav simply observed him. The man before him was powerful, disciplined—someone who kept his emotions locked away. But to Raghav, none of that mattered. What mattered was that this man was now responsible for his daughter.
Clearing his throat, Raghav spoke, his voice firm yet measured. “Emir.”
Emir met his gaze, nodding respectfully. “Mr. Beniwal.”
Raghav exhaled, his sharp eyes unwavering. “Ayesha is very precious to me.” His voice carried the weight of a father’s love, the unspoken fears of handing over his daughter’s future to a stranger. “She is young, innocent, and far from everything she’s ever known.” His gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t expect words or promises. I only expect one thing from you—take care of her.”
Emir’s jaw tightened. “I will.”
Raghav studied him for a long moment, searching for sincerity. Emir’s face remained unreadable, but his answer was firm, unwavering. That would have to be enough.
With a curt nod, Raghav stepped back. “Good.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Emir standing alone, his expression as impassive as ever.
----
As the engine roared to life, Ayesha felt an ache spread through her chest. She stood frozen, watching the car disappear down the driveway, taking with it the warmth of familiarity, the comfort of home.
"Ayesha."
She turned to see Leyla Demir, her mother-in-law, standing a few steps away. Dressed in an elegant but simple silk kaftan.
Before Ayesha could say anything, Leyla closed the distance and gently cupped her face. "I know how difficult this moment is, my dear." Her voice was soft, maternal. "But I want you to know… you are not alone."
Ayesha’s eyes burned with unshed tears. "It just… it just feels so empty without them ,Anne."
Leyla nodded knowingly. "That is because love does not leave us easily. And it shouldn’t. But, Ayesha, you are part of this family now. You are our daughter too."
She felt a warm, firm hand on her shoulder. Furkan Demir stood beside them, his towering presence softened by the kindness in his deep-set eyes.
"I know this house must still feel unfamiliar to you," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "But in time, I hope you will find home here too."
Ayesha bit her lip, her emotions threatening to spill over. "I… I don’t know how long that will take."
Leyla smoothed a strand of Ayesha’s hair behind her ear, a comforting gesture. "As long as you need, my dear. There is no rush. Just know that you have a mother here too, one who will always be here for you."
"And a father," Furkan added firmly.
Ayesha swallowed past the lump in her throat. Their kindness, their acceptance—it was unexpected but deeply comforting. She had been prepared for loneliness, for indifference. But instead, she was being offered warmth, a place to belong.
Taking a shaky breath, she whispered, "Thank you."
Leyla pulled her into a soft embrace, and Ayesha let herself sink into it, drawing strength from the maternal warmth. Furkan placed a gentle hand on her head, a silent blessing.
For the first time that day, the crushing weight on her heart felt a little lighter.
Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to face this new life alone.
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