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Her tone softens a little as she continues, softly this time, “I’m really happy for you, Vishnu. I am. But don’t ask me to forget what she did. I’ll need time to forgive her. And that’s not up for discussion.”

I nod, though I hate seeing her like this.

“I understand the grudge you and Devika are holding,” I say carefully, “but remember, she is going to be your sister-in-law now.” I can’t help but tease her with the last part.

Her jaw drops in mock indignation.

“The wedding hasn’t even happened yet, and you’re already taking your wife’s side and not your sister’s? I didn’t expect this from you, Vishnu!”

“Just like you always give in to Ayaan’s demands more than mine,” I counter. “It’s the same thing.”

She blushes, then quickly changes the subject.

“Where’s my nephew? Is he awake? I want to see him.”

“He’s still sleeping,” I say, already walking toward the nursery, “but his bua (aunt) can always see him.”

As I make my way there, she suddenly asks, “So you’re not sleeping with Simran yet?”

I give her a look through the phone screen, and she bites her lip, grinning. “Honestly, putting all those grudges aside, I’m dying to hear from Simran how she managed to break through your impossibly thick walls. You hardly paid any attention to her when she flirted with you, yet somehow, in just one night, you managed to let your guard down and went that far with her. That’s a story I definitely want to hear. And I know you’ll never share those juicy details with us. Only she will.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her silliness.

“Shh,” I warn her now as I enter Veer’s room. “You’re going to wake him up.”

She immediately mimes zipping her lips, and I turn the camera to show her Veer, her nephew. The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on Veer’s peaceful face, and I hear Meher’s quiet gasp of pure joy through the phone.

“That’s him. That’s my son, Veer,” I say, my voice filled with unmistakable pride, watching Meher’s reaction through the screen as she sees Veer for the first time.

Her eyes fill with tears again as she reaches out, her fingertips lightly brushing the screen, as if trying to close the distance and touch him. A soft sob escapes her lips.

“Oh, Vishnu,” she whispers, trying to keep her voice down. “He’s so cute... and precious… and so perfect. Those little fingers, that nose—it’s just like yours when you were a baby. Remember when Dad showed us your childhood photos the other day?”

I nod, the memory still fresh in my mind. Dad had recently showed us my baby pictures—not much older than Veer—that he’d received from my late maternal grandmother before she passed away last year. They had been tucked away in her belongings all this time, a part of her treasured memories.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing your son. My brother’s little boy. I never thought I could love someone I haven’t even met yet, but look at him, Vishnu. He is ditto you. Your mini version.”

I see her wipe her eyes furiously, trying to get a better view through her tears.

“He even sleeps like you—that little frown, the way his hand is curled up at the side. God, I wish I could hold him right now. Kiss those chubby cheeks. Tell him stories about his Papa, about us, about what a wonderful family we have.” She lets out a watery laugh. “I’ve already bought so many things for him. His bua is going to pamper him so much... Please come to India soon, Vishnu. I need to hold him; I need to see both of you together.” She blows a gentle kiss toward the screen.

I turn the camera back to myself, catching sight of her hastily wiping away more tears.

“We’re flying out the day after tomorrow night, the day after the wedding. You won’t have to wait long,” I assure her.

And then, I tell Meher all about Veer—his growth, his mannerisms, his schedule, and how his teething has given both me and Simran a hard time this week. I step out of the nursery and quietly shut the door behind me to let Veer continue his peaceful sleep. Meher prays that he is all well by the time we board the flight back to India, so he is ready and in the mood to meet the rest of the Walia family. I’m hoping for the same.

Immediately, she switches back to her sisterly mode, her expression turning critical as she stares at me.

“Have you even looked in a mirror lately? Are you seriously going to sport that stubble for your big day?” she asks in mock disapproval. “Tomorrow is your wedding. You can’t show up looking like this. You have to look like a groom, not a hippie.”

“Relax, Meher. Everything’s taken care of,” I assure her. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Oh really?” Her eyebrow arches sceptically. “So, I’m assuming you’ve already planned the perfect proposal? The ring exchange? Don’t tell me you’re going to make it one of those dull paper signing ceremony! And what about the mangalsutra? Please tell me you’ve at least thought about what you’re going to say to her!”

“Since when did you become such an expert on weddings?”

“Ever since my completely hopeless brother decided to get married without consulting his far more romantically experienced sister,” she retorts.