Page 69

SIMRAN

I sit in the living room, the faint glow of my laptop the only light in the darkness, matching the tumultuous thoughts racing through my mind. The screen blurs as tears threaten to spill—tears of frustration, of helplessness, of sheer exhaustion. Julie’s latest email shows the mounting chaos in my carefully structured business: cancelled appointments, rescheduled meetings, disappointed clients. All because of a wedding I never agreed to, happening in a timeframe I never chose.

The cursor blinks, waiting for me to finalise the last email and reschedule yet another client meeting. My chest tightens at the thought of the discontent my sudden cancellations have stirred among my customers. My boutique thrives on personal connections and impeccable timing, and here I am, letting it all crumble under the weight of someone else’s decisions—his decisions.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling inside me. It’s all happening so fast. The wedding. The impending trip to India. And amidst all of this, there’shim. Vishnu. The man who has turned my life upside down, ignored my concerns, and bulldozed over my every attempt to make sense of this chaos. Tears prick my eyes before I can stop them, and I quickly swipe them away.

I thought, at least, Pratap Walia would understand. I foolishly hoped a father figure would see things from my perspective, that he would talk some sense into his son about the absurdity of rushing into marriage. But instead, he became just another voice pushing me into a corner, another force expecting me to simply fall in line with their plans.

Is this what marriage to him is going to be like? Is this the life awaiting me—a constant battle where my voice is drowned out by his decisions? The thought unsettles me.

Just then, the sound of the door opening startles me, pulling me out of my thoughts. Vishnu and his father step inside, both dressed formally, and my heart skips a beat. Is Vishnu’s father leaving now? Nobody told me. But, of course, why would they? My opinions, my feelings, seem to hold little value in the Walia world.

I set my laptop aside and stand up, my legs slightly shaky. Pratap Walia approaches me, and suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the reality—this man will be my father-in-law in merely a few days. The thought sends a wave of anxiety through me. I’ve never had a close-knit family, never learned the complications of relationships that others seem to handle so effortlessly. My parents’ early departure left me to figure out life alone, and now I’m expected to seamlessly blend into a large, prominent joint family.

“You’re leaving?” I manage to ask, my voice more tentative than I’d like.

Pratap Walia nods. “Yes. My time here is up. But I couldn’t leave without speaking to you first.”

My heart skips at his words. What does he want to say?

He stops in front of me, his expression softening slightly as he reaches up and removes a gold chain from around his neck. My breath hitches as he holds it out to me.

“This is for Veer,” he says, his voice gentler than I expected. “My grandson.”

I hesitate, glancing toward Vishnu for some kind of validation. He nods, and I reluctantly reach out to take the chain with trembling hands. It feels heavy in my hand, not just because of its weight, but because of what it symbolises—an acknowledgement of Veer, of me, of the ties that now bind us all together.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, unsure of what else to add.

Pratap Walia studies me for a moment, then pats my cheek with a surprising tenderness.

“I know you have your reservations about my son,” he continues. “About this marriage and how it will change your life. But let me tell you something—a life partner like Vishnu is rare. His loyalty, his protectiveness towards his family—these aren’t just traits; they’re his essence. He has never disappointed any relation, and he won’t disappoint you either.”

I remain silent, the words stuck in my throat. What can I say to this man who sees his son as perfect, who doesn’t understand the depth of my fears?

His hand is warm as he again pats my cheek in a fatherly gesture that makes my heart ache. Then, he takes my hand—cold and trembling—and places it in Vishnu’s larger, warmer one. The contact sends shivers down my spine.

“Take care of her, Vishnu,” he says, looking directly at his son. “And forgive her. That’s what we do when we care for someone. When you care for someone, forgiveness isn’t just a choice—it’s a necessity. I forgave your mother, too, and I’ve never regretted it because it’s simply impossible to hold onto grudges against the woman you love forever. Yes, the past will always be there. Those memories won’t fade, but they shouldn’t hold you back from embracing the future. It’s time to move forward.”

My hand goes limp in Vishnu’s grip. But Vishnu’s fingers tighten, refusing to let go, refusing to let me retreat. His father smiles softly, wrapping both our hands in his, giving us his blessing.

He smiles again as his gaze lingers on our joined hands before he steps back.

“There’s a whole beautiful life waiting for the two of you,” he says. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

With that, he turns and heads toward the door, leaving us standing there in a silence that feels heavier than anything I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know how long Vishnu and I stare at each other. Finally, the sound of Veer’s soft cries fills the air, jolting me back to reality.

It’s like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. I pull away from Vishnu’s grip, perhaps too forcefully, and hurry toward my son’s cries. Behind me, I hear Vishnu’s deep voice telling me he is going to drop his father to the airport.

****************

Next Day – Simran’s Boutique

I push open the glass doors of my boutique, already mentally preparing for the busy day ahead. But before I step inside, Julie’s bright face and excited squeal catch me off guard.

“Congratulations!” she practically bounces towards me, her blonde curls dancing with enthusiasm.

“For what?” I ask, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.