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Last night, I couldn’t stop myself from spiralling—fretting over how I was going to cope with all the new changes in my life. But once again, Vishnu became my anchor, as always. He didn’t offer grand promises or solutions. Instead, he just held me close throughout the night, wrapping his arms around me. His steady heartbeat and his gentle reminder to take things one day at a time was enough to calm the storm in my mind. Somehow, just being in his arms gave me strength, as if I could face anything and everything, steadily drawing reassurance from his presence. And it worked.

This morning, though my fears still linger at the back of my mind, they feel less daunting. Something inside me has shifted. It’s as if I know, with Vishnu by my side, there’s little to worry about. After all, the future isn’t built on fear but on how we handle our present. And my present? It’s beautiful beyond my wildest dreams.

As I wake up to the soft morning sunlight filtering into our room, I remind myself how lucky I am. Not everyone gets the chance to marry the same man twice—once in New York, with just us and Veer, and now again, with his entire family here to bless us. This day has to be special. It already is.

When I head downstairs with Vishnu for breakfast, I notice a discussion happening at the table. As we take a seat, Pratap uncle turns to my side.

“Simran, have you invited anyone from your side of the family to be part of the wedding rituals today?”

The question catches me slightly off guard. The relatives I have in India are mere names in an address book—people who never bothered to be part of my life after my parents passed away. For me, they’ve always been distant, both physically and emotionally. And I don’t feel the need to bridge that gap now. Clearing my throat, I shake my head.

“No… I don’t have anyone close to invite.”

My reply saddens everyone at the table, and for a moment, the lively energy dims. But then, Meher speaks up.

“If Simran has no one from her side to do herkanyadaan, Ayaan and I would be honoured to do it.”

The entire table goes quiet, and I’m sure everyone is as surprised as I am. I blink rapidly, not knowing how to react.

Kanyadaan, in Hindu tradition, means “giving away the daughter,” where parents entrust their daughter to her husband in marriage. It’s seen as the highest form of daan (charity), and the person performing it blesses the couple with a life full of love, prosperity, and harmony. For Meher to offer to take on this role for me—it’s deeply moving and overwhelming.

This is the same Meher who’s been keeping her distance from me all this while. And yet, here she is, willingly stepping forward to take on one of the most sacred rituals in a wedding. That toomy wedding.

Her father beams with pride.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Meher. You’ve been Simran’s best friend for years, and it was in her boutique that you and Ayaan first crossed paths. Your love story began there, so it’s only fitting that you and Ayaan take on this revered responsibility.”

I glance at Vishnu, and my heart melts. He’s looking at his sister with gratitude and pride in his eyes. His expression says everything I can’t put into words.

Overwhelmed, I turn to Meher.

“Thank you, Meher. Truly, this means the world to me.”

Her eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I catch a glimpse of my old friend.

“Kanyadaan is sacred,” she says simply. “And moreover, you’re going to be my brother’s wife. My bhabhi. Of course, Ayaan and I can do that much for both of you.”

Her kind words touch my heart. No matter how upset she is with me, the reality is that she’s still here, doing everything she can to make my best day even better. That’s what best friends do for each other—they help out when it matters most—without hesitation or a second thought.

As breakfast is nearly done and Meher turns to leave, I catch her arm and pull her into a tight hug. She stiffens at first, surprised, and though I can feel her arms twitch as if wanting to hug me back, she doesn’t.

“Thank you, Meher,” I murmur against her shoulder before pulling back. “I know I’ve hurt you badly, but I promise—I’ll do whatever it takes to win your and Devika’s friendship back.”

Her lips part as if to say something, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of the warmth we once shared. And just as she seems on the verge of giving in, Devika’s voice cuts in.

“Meher, we have a lot to prepare before heading to the temple,” she says briskly. “And Simran, you’re riding with us. We’ll help you get ready here, with any final touches at the temple if needed.”

Meher steps back, her usual composed mask sliding back into place. “Let’s hurry then. Time is running out.”

As Meher and Devika walk away, engrossed in their discussion about the last-minute preparations, I feel a pang of sadness. Their hesitation to forgive me stings far more than I am willing to admit. Sighing, I turn toward the stairs, only to be stopped by the news playing on the TV.

The screen flashes with a segment about Vishnu’s press meet yesterday, where he disclosed our marriage and Veer’s existence to the public. The reporter spares no opportunity to speculate on my intentions, painting me as an opportunist who kept secrets for personal gain. I stand frozen, every word hitting me like a blow. I’d prepared myself for this kind of backlash, but hearing it aloud and seeing it spread like wildfire—it’s something else entirely. My chest tightens as doubt creeps in. What if all of this affects Vishnu’s reputation in the political world, especially now, just as he’s about to step into his new role as party president?

The TV suddenly goes black. I look around and see Vishnu put the remote away and head towards me.

“Veer is with Dad. I’ll take care of getting him dressed,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” My voice quivers. “The media won’t let this go. They’ll keep speculating, and it’s going to affect you. Your role, your reputation…”