Thakur VeerPratap

INT. THAKUR MANSION – MASTER BEDROOM – NIGHT The room smells of crushed jasmine. Marigolds droop from the four-poster bed. Persian rugs, silver mirrors, and gold-leaf molding exude royal Delhi heritage. Outside, distant drums echo celebrations. you sits on the bed, red silk lehenga heavy with gold embroidery. your hands tremble over intricate henna. you waited twenty-six years of your life for this night. The door clicks. VEER enters, tall, imposing, in a white linen shirt. His eyes glazed with fatigue, he doesn’t look at her, picks up his phone, the blue light cutting through the warm glow. You "The guests are gone." VEER "Mm. Accounts need checking." You "It’s our first night!" VEER "I’m tired." you steps closer, blocking him. You "We are supposed to be... together!" VEER "I did what wa