Aanya Sharma (You) – The Unwanted Bride

Quiet, observant, and often overlooked, Aanya grew up in the shadows of her more glamorous cousin. A soft-spoken girl with deep emotions she never learned to express, Aanya always did what was asked of her—without question, without rebellion. Her life changes overnight when she is forced to replace her cousin as a bride.

Behind her silence lies immense strength. As she navigates a household that doesn't accept her and a marriage that wasn’t meant for her, Aanya’s journey is one of heartbreak, quiet courage, and unexpected transformation. She may not have been chosen, but her spirit begins to demand space in a world that tried to shrink her.

Veer Rajput – The Groom Who Lost Control

Handsome, reserved, and emotionally guarded, Veer is the kind of man who keeps his pain buried deep. Raised in a prestigious family, his life has always been dictated by expectations. His engagement to Aanya’s cousin was arranged, and though it wasn’t a love match, he had accepted it as his fate.

When the bride disappears and Aanya takes her place, Veer feels betrayed, confused, and cold. But slowly, her honesty and vulnerability begin to reach him. As Veer struggles between duty and genuine emotion, he begins to see Aanya—not as a replacement—but as the only truth in his carefully controlled life.

Meera Sharma – The Runaway Cousin

Beautiful, bold, and admired by all, Meera was the family’s golden girl. With dreams bigger than marriage, she runs away just hours before her wedding. Her decision may seem selfish, but it breaks the illusion the family held so tightly. In her absence, the cracks in the family's judgment, favoritism, and control begin to show.

Meera’s act may have caused chaos—but it is also the catalyst for Aanya’s quiet awakening.

Mrs. Rajput – The Cold Mother-in-law

A woman of status and discipline, Mrs. Rajput values perfection and social image above all. When Aanya becomes her daughter-in-law by accident, she refuses to accept her as part of the family. Behind her cold demeanor is a past of betrayal and disappointment that shaped her worldview. Her character softens, but only when she finally sees Aanya’s strength.

Mr. Sharma – Aanya’s Father

Timid and easily influenced by others, Mr. Sharma rarely defends Aanya, not because he doesn’t love her—but because he never learned how to fight. His quiet guilt simmers beneath his silence, adding to Aanya’s pain.

Supporting Characters:

Aanya’s Mother: Emotionally distant and bitter, projecting her own regrets onto Aanya.

Devika: A maid in the Rajput mansion who treats Aanya with rare kindness.

Arjun: Veer’s cousin—playful yet observant—he becomes one of Aanya’s few allies.

"I walked into her wedding, wearing her smile, carrying her fate—while no one noticed the tears in my silence."

"Unwrap the lie that looked like a wedding—Chapter One awaits."

Read The First Chapter

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Title: "The Bride They Never Wanted"

Genre: Emotional Romance • Family Drama • Indian Wedding Setting

Chapters: 20

Tone: Heart-wrenching, slow-burn, emotional healing, eventual love

Premise:

You were never the favorite. Always the quiet one in the corner at family gatherings. So when your beautiful, confident cousin ran away hours before her big fat Indian wedding, you didn’t expect what came next.

To save face, your family forces you to take her place as the bride.

To marry a man who didn’t choose you.

To enter a home that doesn’t accept you.

To live a life where you're always reminded —

you were just the replacement.

But behind the cold stares, dark silences, and your growing loneliness, something begins to shift.

Not just in him...

But within you.

I never imagined my life would change in the middle of someone else's mehendi ceremony.

The air was thick with the scent of marigolds and rosewater. The Sharma family mansion sparkled under strings of fairy lights, and the courtyard echoed with the beat of dholaks and laughter. Cousins danced with abandon, relatives gossiped between bites of laddoos, and everyone was busy celebrating her—Meera, my cousin. The golden girl of the family. The perfect one.

I watched it all from the edge of the scene, seated quietly as the mehendi artist traced vines and lotuses onto my palms. It was supposed to be her design, her name hidden in the patterns.

But Meera was gone.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, she was getting ready for the haldi. The next, her room was empty—no trace of her except a note scrawled in trembling handwriting:

> "I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Don’t look for me."

The house descended into chaos. Her mother collapsed, wailing in disbelief. Her father exploded in anger, shouting at the staff, the guests, even the walls. And in the corner, unnoticed and small, I stood watching.

Then, their eyes turned to me.

I wasn’t the first choice.

I wasn’t even a second thought.

But in that moment of panic, I was convenient.

“You’re close in size.”

“You’ll fit in her lehenga.”

“The groom’s side doesn’t know her well. We can manage this.”

“It’s just for appearances.”

“Do it for the family.”

And just like that, my silence became their solution.

No one asked how I felt. No one wondered what this meant for me. All they saw was a stand-in, a placeholder to protect the family's reputation. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them I wasn’t Meera. That I couldn’t live a lie on someone else’s behalf. But my voice refused to leave my throat.

Instead, I nodded. Quiet. Obedient. Invisible.

Now, sitting with drying mehendi on my hands and the weight of someone else’s fate on my shoulders, I felt numb.

“Sita,” my aunt snapped, breaking my trance. She’d started calling me by Meera’s pet name. “Fix your dupatta. The photographers are coming.”

I obeyed.

Not because I wanted to. But because resistance here was pointless.

In the mirror, I saw a stranger. A girl dressed in someone else’s yellow haldi kurta, her eyes hollow, her lips trembling. I was no longer Sunaina—the quiet cousin who stayed out of trouble, the girl who liked reading more than dancing, who was always polite, always helpful. Now I was a ghost in Meera’s skin.

No one knew I hadn’t even spoken to the groom more than twice in my life. I remembered his name—Vivaan Singh Rathore—a quiet man with sharp eyes and a reputation for being cold. He was the son of a rich business family from Delhi, and their union was a carefully arranged match. He’d barely smiled during the engagement ceremony. Now, I would be marrying him in her place. And he had no idea.

What would he do when he saw me instead of her?

Would he walk away?

Would he laugh?

Would he reject me in front of everyone?

Or worse—would he accept it, not because he wanted to, but to avoid disgrace?

I shivered at the thought.

Later that evening, I sat alone in Meera’s decorated room. Her wedding lehenga hung on the wardrobe, untouched. I ran my fingers across the delicate embroidery. Every thread screamed that it wasn’t mine.

A soft knock startled me. It was my younger brother, Aman.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded. Lying was easier now.

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes sad, then whispered, “You don’t have to do this, Didi.”

I looked away.

Because the truth was—I already had.