Darkness.
That was the first thing Naira felt. Not saw felt. Like velvet soaked in sorrow, pressing into her lungs, crushing her ribs, curling into her throat.
Sine couldn't breathe.
And then came the scent. Damp earth. Wood. Roses.
Roses?
Her fingers twitched. Cloth. Lace. She was lying down. No, trapped. Boxed in. Her fingers clawed upwards, scribbling against satin padding and old wood .
The air was tight. The silence screamed.
"WHERE AM I?!"
Her scream choked on dry lips.
She pushed harder.
Nails snapped. Blood welled thick , black, wrong. But she didn't stop. She couldn't. She had to get out. The wood cracked, splintered, and then-
Light.
Silver, soft and eerie.
Moonlight spilled into the grave as Naira's hand broke the surface of the soil like a scene from a horror film. Only this time , she was the one crawling out of the grave.
Her wedding dress was soaked, yellowed, and stiff with age. A dead veil clung to her face. Dirt in her mouth Blood under her nails.
Was this a dream? A nightmare?
She wasn't sure .
But then she saw him.
A man in a black sherwani and dark round glasses, holding a steaming cup of chai under a black umbrella. In a graveyard. At midnight.
He didn't flinch.
He smiled.
"Ah. You're finally up. Welcome back, Mrs. Naira Raikhwar- Chatterjee.
She coughed, her voice hoarse. " Excuse me?"
He took a sip of his tea, casually extending a gloved hand. "Raghuveer. I'm a matchmaker. For the dead."
Silence.
She blinked. "I'm sorry, what -"
"Long story short: You're dead. Kind of. You were poisoned at your wedding, burried in a custom casjet- very expensive, by the way - but I've brought you back . Temporarily."
"....why?"
"Because your marriage isn't over yet."
She starred at him.
He gestured with his cup. " You have seven days to solve your own murder, find out soul betrayed you, and either claim your soul back or __" he grinned, "- join the land of Bridi."
Naira opened her mouth closed it.
Then did the only thing she could think of.
She laughed.
It was dry . Bitter. Broken. " You're joking.
"Nope."
I'm hallucinating."
"Afraid not. "
"I'm dead."
Not fully. More like... undead adjacent."
Her breath caught. "And I have seven days.
'until your soul fades. Or get stolen. Or wrose - married off again. In the wrong relam.
She staggered to her feet, wedding dress dragging like chains. " I didn't even want to get married the first time."
Raghuveer winked . " Then you'll love your second chance."
And somewhere, far off, a wedding bell rang.
But there was no wedding.
Only the echo of something broken.
And a ghost bride with unfinished business.