The river glistened under the morning sun, silver and fluid, winding past the temple steps. Incense smoke braided with the cool breeze, mingling with the scent of marigold garlands swaying gently from the carved pillars. The Rathore family had arrived first. Rajveer Rathore, tall and commanding, moved with quiet authority in a cream kurta embroidered with gold.
Rudra, ten years old, sat near the altar in a crisp white dhoti with the sacred jnēu across his chest. His gray eyes scanned the courtyard calmly, observing everything with quiet detachment. He rarely spoke, only when necessary. Ishika, nine years old, stood nearby in a pale yellow lehenga dotted with tiny floral patterns, jasmine tucked into her braids, fidgeting nervously. Devansh, sixteen years old, in a neat white kurta-pyjama, moved deliberately beside his father, checking arrangements carefully.
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