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In one corner of the venue, a dedicated space has been set up for the media, their cameras flashing non-stop. It’s the same area where guests and celebrities are clicking pictures against a backdrop, adorned with the Walia family crest and elegant floral arrangements. Reporters murmur among themselves, pens poised and microphones ready, capturing every detail of the event. It’s a stark contrast to the intimacy of the reception itself, but their presence feels almost inevitable, given the stature of the family and the curiosity surrounding this marriage.

It’s all so surreal, this new life I’ve stepped into.

The guest list is a who’s who of India—politicians in their crisp kurtas networking in one corner, film stars adding their glamorous presence in another, and business tycoons engaged in animated discussions about the economy. It’s odd to see how they’ve all accepted this shocking announcement—not just of Vishnu’s sudden marriage to me but also the existence of our son, Veer.

Speaking of Veer, I can’t help but smile as I watch him being passed between his father and grandfather. Despite the long day, he’s handling it like a champion, though I can see the early signs of crankiness in his little face. Both, his dad and Grandpa are beaming with pride as they introduce him to their inner circle. This is his world now—a world of power, politics, and social obligations.

My heart swells on seeing how naturally my son fits into it all, clinging to his father and grandfather while they showcase the newest member of the Walia dynasty. For an eleven-month-old, Veer is handling this reception remarkably well, but I know it won’t be long before his patience runs out.

“Simran!” I turn to see Meher and Devika heading toward me. Their presence still makes my heart skip a beat.

“The relatives are about to start lining up to wish you, and just so you are prepared, you’ll need to bend down and touch their feet for blessings,” Meher announces, her eyes twinkling mysteriously.

“What?” I blurt out, caught completely off guard. “Do you mean everyone’s feet?”

“Of course!” Meher nods solemnly. “It’s our family tradition. Didn’t Vishnu tell you?”

I swallow hard as Devika chimes in. “During my wedding reception, my back and waist were aching so badly by the end of the night. But it comes with the territory of being a Walia bahu.”

Great. Just great.I don’t want to offend anyone, so I brace myself and nod, determined to do whatever it takes to fit into this family.

The queue commences, and true to their word, Meher and Devika start introducing me to various family members. One by one, I bend down and touch their feet, receive blessings, and offer my thanks as they bless me, praising my beauty and business acumen. Some even promise to visit my boutique soon. It’s flattering, yes, but utterly exhausting.

This continues for what feels like an eternity. I dutifully bend, touch their feet, and exchange pleasantries, all while flashing my best polite smile. My back begins to ache, but I push through, silently cursing Meher and Devika for springing this on me without warning.

Just as I’m about to bend down for what must be the fiftieth time, Vishnu suddenly appears by my side, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you bending down and touching everyone’s feet?” he asks.

I glance at Meher and Devika, who suddenly look too amused for my liking.

“Isn’t it your family tradition?” I reply, straightening up with effort. “That’s what Meher and Devika told me.”

“Seriously?” Vishnu turns to them, and they can barely contain their grins.

Meher and Devika burst into laughter, shrugging unapologetically.

“They were fooling you,” he says, trying to look stern but failing. “There’s no such tradition.”

I whirl around to face my so-called best friends, who are openly laughing. “This is the least we could do to teach you a lesson,” they say in unison.

“She needed to know what happens when you keep secrets from your best friends,” Meher adds on, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Vishnu’s frown deepens, though I notice the slight twitch of his lips betraying his amusement.

“That’s not fair,” he says, pointing a finger at them. “Troubling her like this on her big day? Not done.”

Meher and Devika exchange a guilty glance before Meher holds her ears dramatically. “We’re sorry, Simran. Truly, we are.”

Devika joins her, holding her ears and bowing slightly. “Yes, forgive us, oh mighty bride. We don’t want to face Vishnu’s wrath for troubling his wife.”

I gape at them, caught between annoyance and amusement. “You two are impossible,” I mutter.

Despite my aching back, I find myself smiling. This playful revenge shows me there’s hope for our friendship—they’re beginning to forgive me.

“Enough now,” Vishnu declares, sliding his arm protectively around my waist. “No more teasing my wife. Only I have the right to make her muscles sore, no one else.”

Meher and Devika gasp dramatically, blushing at his blatant boldness.