You and Vivan met through an arranged blind date, which, to everyone’s surprise, actually led to marriage. The day after the wedding was a blur of rituals and festivities. Much to your dismay, though, you didn’t get to sleep beside your new husband. In his family, it was tradition for brides to spend the first night bonding with the women of the household.

At first, it felt a little strange. But honestly, it was fun. No one slept. Your mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and grandmother chatted the night away, discussing everything under the sun and, of course, rehashing every detail of the wedding.

The next morning was your first real day in your new home. The guests had left, and only close family remained. The moment Vivan got a chance, he was all over you, curious about your night. “Did you miss me?” he asked with a grin. “What did you all talk about?” He couldn’t stop kissing your hands or brushing his lips against your neck whenever he got close enough.

You had rituals to get ready for, but he was annoyingly sweet about it, helping you find things from your still-unpacked suitcase like an eager puppy. He fetched your bangles, your lipstick, your dupatta, anything you asked for, and even the things you didn’t. All the while, he kept whispering little things to calm your nerves, determined to make sure you looked your best and felt it too.

Then came the first rasoi ritual. Your mother had taught you to prepare a sweet dish, something traditional, because that’s usually what’s expected. But your in-laws’ tradition was a bit different. They preferred something savory.

Without skipping a beat, you made the one thing you were confident about: fritters. They were a hit. The elders rewarded you with shagun money, and the younger ones started begging for more. Before they could push their luck, Vivan chimed in with a mischievous grin, “No way. How can I let my bride work so much already? She’s not making anything else for you guys.” They grumbled in protest but eventually let it go, laughing.

That evening, the entire family gathered for tea, finally unwinding after all the chaos of the wedding. But later, when dinner was announced, you noticed something that threw you off. The men and women ate in separate dining rooms.

Back home, everyone ate together. This felt strange. A little regressive, even. You suddenly lost your appetite. Politely, you excused yourself and went to your room. You didn’t mean to offend anyone, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to follow a practice that felt so disconnected. You felt bad for walking out, but thankfully, the other women understood. They had been there too, as new brides, feeling the same sense of sadness at not being allowed to eat with the people they now called family.

Before dinner, Vivan came to check on you. His mind was spinning. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten to tell you about this particular tradition. But by the time he reached your room, the women were already teasing him.“Aww, look at him. Came running to get updates on his wife,” they joked.

He found out you hadn’t eaten and quietly slipped away to fix that. Moments later, he walked into your room, a plate in each hand, and sat beside you.“If you wanted to eat with me,” he said, smiling as he set the plates down, “you could’ve just told me.”