Approaching Udit’s house, Ceres couldn’t shake the sense of impending catastrophe looming over them like a guillotine blade. His wife’s silence spoke volumes, echoing the ominous drumbeat of their journey. Each step felt like a march toward an inevitable reckoning, a discordant chorus of errors leading to this moment of confrontation. In the tumult of his thoughts, Ceres hoped for divine intervention, a lightning bolt to divert their fate. If blame must be assigned, let it fall on him, the architect of this twisted narrative. Udit deserved a reprieve from the nightmare—one that Ceres, with a bitter taste of guilt, knew he’d played a significant role in crafting.

He stole a glance at her, still incredulous at the fact that he was now a married man. She seemed uncomfortable in the new clothes he’d bought her, as if she were wearing a disguise rather than the first semi-decent dress she’d ever owned. He’d insisted on taking her shopping, he’d have felt like too much of a failure otherwise, but she dreaded how her parents would react to her appearing in embroidered silk. They’d hardly be overjoyed, he’d pointed out, no matter what she’d arrived wearing; she’d been gone, without explanation, for more than forty-eight hours.

Chez Mishra came into view, looking even worse than usual.

Unpleasant aromas wafted through its patchwork walls, a grim overture to the scene within. Ceres cautiously drew aside the makeshift door, stepping into the murky depths. Pooja, her movements as mechanical as clockwork, orchestrated the evening meal as Mohan, a statue of despondency, gazed at nothing. Yet the morbid ambiance vanished as Pooja’s eyes met her daughter’s. “Oh, thank the stars, you're safe!” she gasped, ensnaring Udit in a tight hug. “We’ve been beside ourselves! Not a whisper from you and—where on earth have you been? Are you alright?”

Udit was debating how to reply when the twins burst forth, their high-pitched voices filling the small space. “We’ve missed you so much!” Uma squealed, throwing her arms around Udit’s waist.

Gauri bobbed her head like a jack-in-the box in agreement. “We thought you’d run off to join the circus!”

“Maybe she did,” Uma retorted, plucking at Udit’s dress.

“Then she’d be with the circus, silly.” Gauri stuck out her tongue.

Udit managed a feeble giggle, sharing a glance with Ceres.

The twins hugged him next, a pair of puppies too excited to function.

Pooja’s eyes narrowed as she took in her daughter’s attire. “What are you wearing?”

Mohan, the ringmaster of disapproval, crossed his arms and waited.

Udit took a deep breath. “You’d better sit down.”

Pooja hesitated, before reluctantly lowering herself into a chair. Mohan followed suit, his expression as welcoming as a lion at feeding time. Ceres and Udit joined them at the worn and pitted table, Udit pressing her hands together while Ceres looked on and felt resigned. He’d rather be shot from a cannon, he decided; it’d be a more dignified end to this week than the one he was about to get. Udit flashed him a small smile, a glimmer of solidarity before facing the parental firing squad. “Mami, Baba.” She swallowed. “Ceres and I got married.”

The twins let out a chorus of shrieks, their innocence painting elopement as the ultimate fairy tale. Meanwhile, Mohan resembled a man faced with the apocalypse. Pooja’s eyes widened in disbelief, while her husband’s reaction sent seismic waves of panic throughout the room. His grip on the table edge tightened like a vise, his knuckles bleaching under the stress. He blinked furiously, as if hoping to awaken from this nightmare. “Udit?” he croaked, his voice trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Udit shifted uncomfortably under her father’s incredulous gaze. “No, Babi.”

Mohan’s jaw dropped, as his accusing eyes shifted to Ceres. “You!”

“I know its…unexpected,” Ceres replied, his voice strained with the effort of remaining civil. “But I love your daughter, Mohan. I want to take care of her, protect her.”

Mohan’s voice quivered with rage, each word a thunderclap in the tense atmosphere. “Protect her? From what? The only thing she needs protection from is you! You’re nothing but trouble, Ceres, and I don’t give a damn what she’s agreed to—or thinks she’s agreed to—no daughter of mine is taking up with the disciple of some demented death cult!”

Pooja, meanwhile, had adopted the calm of the condemned. “When are you leaving?”

Ceres held her gaze. “Tonight. I’m needed at home.”

Mohan looked like he’d just been force-fed a lemon. “Just like that?”

Udit nodded.

The cleric folded his arms defensively. “Are you absolutely certain that you’re married? Maybe it’s all a fabrication spun by him.” He jerked his head at Ceres, unwilling to speak his name aloud.

Ceres fixed him with a withering glare. “Of course it’s real.”

“I didn’t think your kind got married,” Mohan shot back. Then, disregarding his new son-in-law entirely, he turned to Udit. “Please,” he begged, the desperation palpable in his voice. “Think about this, sweetheart. It’s not too late, and you barely know this man. All you do know, for certain, is that he makes a living out of ending lives. He’s killed four people in the last three days.”

“Eight,” Ceres corrected him calmly.

Udit bit her lip, a silent struggle evident in her expression.

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“Are you even hearing yourself?” Mohan’s tone was incredulous. “Udit, I know you’re drawn to this…this illusion of excitement. But you’re better than that. You’ve always been the good girl, the kind soul. We didn’t raise you to be seduced by danger and darkness. It might seem thrilling now, but what about later, when the glamour fades and you’re left with the harsh reality? Do you really want to tie yourself to someone whose life is built on violence and secrecy?”

“I’ve made my decision,” Udit said softly, her voice tinged with determination. “After all,” she added, a touch of defiance creeping in, “I was bound to leave home eventually.”

Mohan glanced at his wife, who was daubing at tears with her apron. “But, sweetheart, don’t you see? It’s not real. This romanticized portrayal of hitmen—it’s fiction, a fantasy. In reality, it’s dangerous, it’s destructive. You’re not escaping into some thrilling adventure, you’re diving headfirst into a world of chaos and consequences! Is that what you really want for yourself?”

“Baba.” Udit’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I love you, but I have to forge my own path.”

Furrowing his brow, Mohan’s gaze drifted into space as he grappled with the weight of her words. “Nineteen feels all grown up,” he said finally. “I remember being nineteen, too. But you have your whole life ahead of you, still. Don’t let the allure of danger cloud your judgment. You’re not a character in some spy novel, you’re my daughter, and I want what’s best for you. Trust me when I say that this…this flirtation with the forbidden won’t lead you to happiness.”

Neither would praying all day and all night, but Ceres kept his peace.

Pooja stared at her daughter with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and concern. “Udit, this can’t be right.” Sniffing, she blew her nose. “You can’t be serious about running off with…with a member of that group.” She was trying to be polite, at least, although Ceres knew it wasn’t for his benefit. “What about your safety?” she asked. “What about your future?”

“You were supposed to find someone stable!” Mohan interjected.

“Move in across the street.” Ceres’s tone was mild. “Keep house for some deadbeat.”

Mohan’s eyes bore into him, a storm brewing beneath the surface. “I’m sure he paints a thrilling picture, but do you have any idea what marriage on Brontes entails? Under the Empire’s iron fist, women are stripped of even the most basic rights! They’re treated like chattel, with no say in their own lives. And divorce?” He scoffed. “Forget about it! You’ll be shackled to him for eternity, a mere puppet in his twisted game!” The cleric’s voice rose to a fever pitch, veins bulging in his neck as he continued his tirade. “The Empire’s decadence is a cancer eating away at the very fabric of our society, and the Brotherhood’s fanaticism is no better!”

Ceres couldn’t decide which would be worse: Mohan collapsing, or dropping to his knees in prayer right then and there. He seemed in serious danger of the latter, no doubt in the fervent hope that Ceres himself would disappear. “It seems saving your life has left quite the impression,” he began, his tone heavy with resignation, “but—

“You think you can have children with this man?” Mohan’s words were sharp. “They’ll inherit his darkness, his sins!”

“Yes, I’m the spawn of madness and chaos,” Ceres retorted, his patience worn thin. “But I do love your daughter, and that should count for something—according to your precious rules, if nothing else. If you can’t accept me, though, at least acknowledge her autonomy as a grown woman.” He paused. “None of us can see the future, Mawlana, but we have to trust in each other.”

Mohan grunted, his silence rich with disapproval.

Pooja’s tears flowed once more, a testament to her heartbreak.

Despite the shattered dream of ascending to the imperial throne, Ceres clung to the knowledge that he was still a prince, with all the privileges and responsibilities that title carried. Even without the crown, he vowed to pave a path of opportunity for Udit and their future children, to shield them from the harshness of life in the Outer Rim. Amidst his own doubts and fears, one truth remained steadfast: he was Udit’s and she was his, and her father could choke on a sock.

“Mohan,” Pooja began, her voice trembling with emotion, “nineteen is an adult, and we’ve raised Udit to—

“I didn’t raise her to want the likes of you!” The cleric’s eyes blazed with contempt as he pointed an accusing finger at Ceres, dismissing his wife’s presence entirely.

Ceres, not immune to this irony, remained unmoved. “Not everyone has the luxury of choosing poverty,” he said, his voice still mild. “If Udit wants a better life, if her sisters do, is that so wrong? Would you deny them your blessing, all in the name of some arbitrary rule that you’ve made up?”

The cleric turned back to Udit, his gaze piercing. “Do you love him?”

“What I feel for him is my business,” Udit responded evenly.

“So, no.” Mohan’s fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the table’s surface. “If it’s not his wealth, and you don’t love him, then what is it? Do you…pity him? Do you believe that you can mend this broken, complex antihero with a tragic backstory, redeem him with your unwavering devotion? Because let me tell you, that’s not reality. Not by a long shot.”

Ceres covered Udit’s hand with his own, in a silent show of support. He understood that she didn’t love him—not yet. They’d only known each other for a few days, hardly enough time for deep affection to take root, at least for most normal people. But he sensed something between them, a flicker of connection that held promise. With time, he believed he could earn her love. Her willingness to marry him and accompany him was a hopeful sign, a foundation upon which he could build their future. “My family isn’t perfect,” he asserted. “But find me a family that is. Last time I checked the scriptures, I recall learning that no man is flawless, only God. And if memory serves me, I learned that it’s God who should be our judge—not our neighbors.”

Mohan’s growl reverberated in the air, and Pooja flinched. For someone who preached peace, the cleric had a fiery temper that scorched everything in its path. He was also a bully and Ceres loathed him, but he couldn’t deny the bond between Udit and her father. She loved him, flawed as he was. And her mother, with her unwavering support, was another bulwark in her life. Leaving them, along with her sisters, would tear her apart. Damn the cleric for being so selfish, for making an already difficult situation infinitely more agonizing.

Udit gave his hand a squeeze. “Mami, Baba. I know that this is hard for you to accept, and that it’s sudden.” Her father started to sputter again, and she held up a hand. “Please, let me finish. I never meant to cause you pain or disappointment but I need you to accept that Ceres is who I want. I don’t expect you to understand, because who can understand someone else’s choice in a partner?” Looking back and forth between her parents, she summed herself up and forged on. “ He sees me for who I am, flaws and all, and loves me unconditionally. I know he’s not what you expected for me, but he’s the one I’ve chosen to build my future with. I hope you can find it in your hearts to support us, even if you don’t agree. Your love means everything to me, and I don’t want to lose that because you can’t tolerate my husband.”

At her daughter’s words, Pooja’s eyes flickered with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “You’ll come back to visit, won’t you?” Her voice quavered with the weight of the question, as if hanging onto the promise of future visits was the only anchor keeping her from drifting into despair.

Udit’s gaze softened as she reached out to touch her mother’s trembling hand. “Of course, Mami. I’ll come back to visit as often as I can,” she promised, her voice steady despite the ache she must feel in her heart at this worst possible of goodbyes. “You and Babi mean the world to me, and no matter where life takes me, this will always be home.”