Savita looked into the mirror. The golden kamarbandh gleamed. Her eyes held a familiar mischief. “And what about the suhagraat ?” she asked dryly.
The old haveli stood under a blood-red moon. The air was thick with the scent of marigolds and something else—fear.
Savita Bhabhi had been summoned under unusual circumstances. Not for a pleasure trip, but for a swap .
“You have the same height, the same hands,” the mother whispered, sliding a heavy red dupatta over Savita’s head. “For one night, you will be Radhika. Take her place. Complete the rituals. We find the real bride by morning.”
That night, in the bridal chamber, the twist unfolded.
But Savita simply smiled, unfastening one heavy earring. “Darling,” she said, “did you think I walked into a trap without setting one of my own?”
Savita Bhabhi adjusts her veil, steps over the threshold, and winks at the camera. “Next time you want a replacement bride, make sure the original isn’t smarter than the substitute.”
