The Ivory Promise
Riddhima smoothed the blouse over her breasts for the third time, her palms damp despite the cool air of the drawing room. The blouse wasn't something she usually wore, too frilly, too feminine, but her mother had chosen it. The ivory satin blouse shimmered like liquid light, the delicate outline of her matching satin bra just visible beneath. She wanted it buttoned higher… but her mother had insisted this was how a young woman should look tonight, approachable, inviting, but not too slutty.
The house was quiet, apart from the faint ticking of the grandfather clock and the hum of the chandelier. Every detail here spoke of her father’s success... the silk wallpaper, the antique furniture polished to a mirror shine, and yet, all she felt was small.
She had never met him. The man. The one her father said would secure her future, their family’s future. She was told only his name, his wealth, and the way he would "take good care" of her. It sounded more like a transaction than a promise.
She glanced at her reflection, taking in the perfectly styled hair, her mother's shimmering satin blouse, the outline of her bra, and the gold pencil skirt that hugged her curves. She looked like a woman from a glossy magazine, but inside, she still felt like a little girl playing dress-up.
Somewhere downstairs, the front door opened. Her heart thudded. This was it. Tonight she would meet the stranger her father had chosen. A voice inside was screaming, "run... take the car and drive until the road runs out," but that would only bring shame upon her family.
She took a deep breath, forcing her lips into a polite, practised smile, then stepped toward the rest of her life.
The Ivory Promise
Riddhima smoothed the blouse over her breasts for the third time, her palms damp despite the cool air of the drawing room. The blouse wasn't something she usually wore, too frilly, too feminine, but her mother had chosen it. The ivory satin blouse shimmered like liquid light, the delicate outline of her matching satin bra just visible beneath. She wanted it buttoned higher… but her mother had insisted this was how a young woman should look tonight, approachable, inviting, but not too slutty.
The house was quiet, apart from the faint ticking of the grandfather clock and the hum of the chandelier. Every detail here spoke of her father’s success... the silk wallpaper, the antique furniture polished to a mirror shine, and yet, all she felt was small.
She had never met him. The man. The one her father said would secure her future, their family’s future. She was told only his name, his wealth, and the way he would "take good care" of her. It sounded more like a transaction than a promise.
She glanced at her reflection, taking in the perfectly styled hair, her mother's shimmering satin blouse, the outline of her bra, and the gold pencil skirt that hugged her curves. She looked like a woman from a glossy magazine, but inside, she still felt like a little girl playing dress-up.
Somewhere downstairs, the front door opened. Her heart thudded. This was it. Tonight she would meet the stranger her father had chosen. A voice inside was screaming, "run... take the car and drive until the road runs out," but that would only bring shame upon her family.
She took a deep breath, forcing her lips into a polite, practised smile, then stepped toward the rest of her life.