Page 121

“I’m sure what I saw wasn’t even 1% of what you two get up to. So don’t worry, brother. Chill!”

He pinches her cheek affectionately before leaving, throwing me one last smouldering look that promises this isn’t over.

As Meher enters the room, I can see the curiosity in her eyes. She’s clearly itching to know about the nature of our relationship, fighting the innate urge to gossip with her friend. But the tension between us holds her back. I watch her busy herself with my wedding outfit, stealing glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking. I smile inwardly. Things will go back to the way they used to be. Until then, all I can do is wait.

VISHNU

A Few Hours Later - Temple

The greyish sandalwood-scented smoke from the holy fire rises in gentle swirls before me as I sit cross-legged on the cool marble floor of the temple, quietly performing my part of the ritual. Dad, who is sitting across from me, proudly exchanges knowing glances with Kailash uncle as the priest prepares for the ceremony. His hands rest calmly in his lap, but his eyes shine with emotion, eager to witness his son’s marriage today. Ayaan, as expected, is effortlessly managing the guests, ensuring everything runs smoothly. And Aksh is right there beside him, assisting with every little detail needed to make sure the rituals go as planned.

Despite the murmurs and glances exchanged by a few relatives, I don’t let myself think about the explosive news from yesterday’s press meet. I knew this would happen—the questions, the judgements, the speculations about my marriage to Simran and our son, Veer. But none of it matters right now. My sole focus is on my family and our future.

Veer is seated near me on a soft blanket with Avika. My son looks so handsome in his tiny kurta, a miniature version of my own outfit, once again, careful planning by Simran. She’d decided all our outfits for the rituals in New York itself, and how could I not adhere to that? Both Avika and Veer are fascinated by the colourful flowers and ceremonial items around them and are engrossed in their own playing. Avika’s nanny keeps a watchful eye on them to ensure they are safe, and, as just as I knew, even Dad’s protective gaze never drifts far from them. Every now and then, Veer’s joyful laughter rings out as Avika tries to hand him a toy, and it’s a sound that eases something deep inside me. My son is adapting to this new place and this family, which is now his.

The security team, led by Abhay, maintains a vigilant presence around the temple premises. I catch his eye, and he gives me a subtle nod, confirming everything is secure. Even though we are in India now, I’m not willing to take any threat lightly, not when it comes to Simran’s safety.

I adjust the cream-coloured sherwani, my thoughts drifting back to Simran’s concerns from last night. When she shared her worries about the future—the juggling of her business in New York and India and the overwhelming role of being the Walia family’s eldestbahu—I understood her fears. Simran is strong, but I know how much pressure she feels to meet everyone’s expectations. Devika has already slipped seamlessly into her role, and I know Simran worries about measuring up. Although I have asked her to take one step at a time and not rush into thinking she’s failing, I’m also considering alternatives to make her feel comfortable.

“Is the bride ready?” asks one of the priests, and my heart rate picks up slightly.

Ayaan hurries off to check on Simran, who is getting ready in one of the temple rooms. Meher and Devika have been with her, helping her with the final touches. The fact that Meher—despite her lingering hurt and unresolved anger toward Simran—is willing to perform thekanyadaanalongside Ayaan fills me with gratitude. When she first suggested it this morning, saying,“Someone needs to give away the bride properly, and who better than her best friend?”I saw Simran’s eyes fill with tears. I can never thank my little sister enough for this.

A minute later, the temple door opens slightly, and Meher steps out first. Devika follows behind, her arms supporting Simran as she walks toward the mandap.

As she nears, Simran slowly lifts her face… and I see her.

She steps forward, her gaze shy but steady. She’s dressed in a stunning maroon bridal lehenga that flows elegantly around her. I didn’t know she was going to wear maroon today… my favourite colour, a detail I only realised after she asked me about it this morning. The intricate gold embroidery shimmers in the light, but it’s her face that takes my breath away. Tiny jasmine flowers are woven into her hair, giving her a goddess like appearance. And when her kohl-lined eyes meet mine, for a brief moment, everything else fades away—the murmurs of the guests, the crackling fire, even my own heartbeat.All I see is her.

As she reaches me, Veer’s delighted babble breaks the spell. He’s in Dad’s arms now, his little hand waving in the air as though calling for us. Simran smiles tenderly, her confidence bolstered by the sight of our son. I extend my hand to help her settle beside me while Devika adjusts the folds of her bridal lehenga as she takes her seat.

“Maroon?” I whisper, only for her ears, and she bites her lip oh so gently.

“Sweet coincidence,” she murmurs before turning to the priest.

Meher and Ayaan stand by her side as the priest guides them through the kanyadaan ritual. The emotion in Simran’s eyes is unmistakable, signalling how much this moment means to her. I glance at Meher, who catches my eye and gives me a subtle reassuring nod before focusing back on the ceremony. I know she’s not just doing this for me—she’s doing it because, deep down, she still loves Simran the way she always has—as her best friend.

The priest’s voice fills the air as he recites the mantras. This isn’t just a ritual anymore; it’s a promise, a binding of our lives in every way. Despite all that we’ve been through—the secrets, the revelations, the danger, and even our courthouse wedding—this moment feels like a fresh start, a new beginning. I hold Simran’s hand in mine, wanting to ease off every worry that she has in her head. With me by her side, she’ll never have to worry about her life feeling out of balance. I’ll make sure of that.

When the kanyadaan is complete, the priest gestures for us to exchange garlands. As I place the garland over Simran’s head, my fingers brush her cheek. She looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears…tears of happiness.

I gently wipe the tears from the corner of her eyes, and her lips quiver into a small smile. She tilts her head slightly, waiting as I lean down for her so she can put the garland over me. The moment is nothing short of surreal—it’s sacred and perfect.

Veer crawls towards us in no time, and I scoop him up onto my lap so that he doesn’t get fussy here. Fortunately, he plays with the garland around my neck the whole time, patting Simran’s lap in joy as I lean forward to apply sindoor to her forehead and place the mangalsutra around her neck. The rituals continue until the priest asks us to stand for the pheras.

Since Veer only goes to Dad willingly, he immediately takes him from me. Simran and I stand together as we begin the pheras—the seven vows around the holy fire, our hands tightly clasped together. With each step, we make silent promises to each other—promises of love, trust, and companionship for all eternity.

SIMRAN

Late Evening

I stand here in this exquisite designer lehenga, a gift from the Walias for our wedding reception at the Walia Mansion. It’s a stunning piece of design, chosen by Meher and Devika, and their choice has been as impeccable as always. I glance down, my fingers lightly brushing over the intricate embroidery, and my thumb instinctively touches the mangalsutra resting against my chest. The exhaustion from today’s endless rituals is slowly seeping into my bones. My entire body feels like it’s screaming for rest, but I know I can’t stop just yet.

My eyes search for Vishnu among the crowd. He was just by my side a moment ago but had excused himself to entertain his political group members. I finally spot him at a distance, surrounded by a group of well-dressed men, his face calm yet commanding as he exchanges pleasantries. I can’t help but admire how confidently he carries himself.

The reception itself is grand beyond anything I’ve ever seen. The Walia Mansion has been transformed into something out of a fairytale. Held in the sprawling gardens, the venue is brimming with guests. The air buzzes with polite laughter and light-hearted chatter, and the tight security presence is a stark reminder of the status of this family. This is not just any wedding reception; it is the one held at the Chief Minister’s residence.

I spot Abhay maintaining his vigilant watch nearby. Other guards are strategically positioned throughout the venue, their earpieces occasionally crackling with updates.