Ayesha - His Young Bride

Prologue

I sat on the edge of my bed, the heavy layers of my vibrant lahnga swirling around me. My heart was heavy with worry as I watched the chaos unfold outside the door. Zoya, my dear sister, had vanished, running away from her own wedding. I had a feeling something like this might happen, but now that it had, the reality was crushing.

Baba, my father, paced back and forth in the hallway, his face etched with anxiety. The groom's family had arrived with the baraat, and the guests were waiting eagerly downstairs. But all that was left of the bride was her empty room and the whispers of disappointment floating through the air.

Ammi wept quietly in a corner, her hands trembling with grief. The rest of our relatives tried to console her, but their own worry was evident on their faces.

"What do we do now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Zoya is gone, and everyone is waiting. Baba looks so worried, and the guests must be getting impatient."

One of my relatives, Aunt Farida, suggested replacing Zoya with another bride, at least temporarily, to save face and protect the family's reputation. But Baba shook his head resolutely, saying, "There's no one who can replace Zoya. She is unique, and I won't deceive anyone by putting someone else in her place."

Uncle Manu, always the one with quick solutions, proposed an audacious idea. "Ayesha, you bear a striking resemblance to Zoya. Just for now, until we find Zoya or sort this mess, you can stand in as the bride."

My heart skipped a beat, and I looked up with wide eyes. "Me? But I'm only 19, and I'm not ready for marriage!"