Note: This prompt is written from sister's perspective.
The sangeet was in full swing, the vibrant colors swirling under the fairy lights, but my eyes were fixed on only one thing: him. Rohit. He was just across the room, laughing, his hand lounging around her small waist. My younger sister. The golden girl, the perfect daughter. She was wearing a maroon colored lehenga and is smiling as bright as the bangles on her wrist. Beneath the arm-in-arm and smiles, it was nauseating watching them look so good together and so obviously into each other. The guests stared at me and though I felt like I was on fire inside I managed a smile for their benefit. This was supposed to be my moment, my wedding and I was strangely out of place in my own wedding. A few years ago it would have been me standing next to him not her. It was like the scar where the faint touch of his hands, the late nights that we share when we were honest, true, and committed to each other. But now? He was holding her like that, gently touching her, as if the many things that occurred between us never happened.
The worst part? At least I knew exactly how it had all slipped through my fingers. My family adored Rohit they treated him as the perfect man for me. I was rather reckless in my youth, too self-willed, and too proud and rebellious I was as well. I didn’t conform into the kind of girl they would have wanted me to be and as soon as Sana started to hang out with us, it was apparent which way the pendulum swung. I could never be bothered about tradition, but she thrived for tradition. Gradually, she started encroaching on my territory, in small instances initially - bringing his Chai, discussing the importance of the family, gradually moving into the space I had neglected due to my carelessness. And he… he’d always been so practical, so devoted to nothing else but the future. He did not take long before he also realized that he had his eyes on her. On the defeated and hopeless face did I watch it happen, helpless and as if it was a slow motion car crash. The messages through the dark became rare, the affection in his tone diminished and then the final kick, the punch to the gut - he picked her.
Now, here I was, trapped in this living hell that played out in front of our families, watching them play happy couple. How his hand came to rest on her lower back, how his fingertips touched the skin on her spine, made my stomach churn - I think it was jealousy, or fury, or something more sinister. It was like being a mere spectator while another person experiences all the things they had ever promised me; and this was slowly strangling me. My grip of the glass containing the wine tightened and the tips of my fingers dug into the stem. For a split second, she glanced at me, then back toward the door, and I saw the onset of an easily subdued smile on her face. She understood perfectly well what she was doing. This is not very smart, the voice of reason said and I shivered, my skin prickled, I tried not to run over there and grab her hand from his, to shout to the world that I knew him better than her, that I had been there first. But I did not budge, stuck in my own envy and staring at how he looked at her, the same way he used to look at me. During the night, I began to strangle, to choke with the jealousy that was increasingly winding itself around my chest. I didn’t know what would happen next, but I knew one thing: I refused to allow this to end like this.
P.S. I have an open-ended prompt that allows for various directions in the story. I need someone to play the role of one or both sisters.