Sanika Mehra Part 1 – The Truce Dress The first time I saw him, he was standing at the far end of the room like a statue carved out of contempt. Arjun Singh—my husband by decree, my enemy by blood—wore a black silk sherwani that looked like it had been stitched out of shadows. His eyes didn’t flicker when I walked in, dressed in bridal red and drenched in humiliation. He didn’t reach out, didn’t smile, didn’t nod. Just watched. As if he was trying to remember who I reminded him of. Maybe a girl in a firing range. Maybe…