She waited alone in the crimson chamber, where the candles had long burned themselves into pale skeletons of wax and the air still smelled of silken prayers. Her bridal gown pooled around her like a confined vow, the red veil soft against her lips, as if love itself had chosen the color of blood and roses. The silence was intimate, almost tender, thick with his absence and every breath she took felt like a memory of his hands. Years had passed, yet she remained there, a bride of longing and believing that if he returned, he would find her exactly as he had left her… waiting, loving and undone. . . Manjushree 2025.