Page 93 of Protect my Heart

The music is too loud, the lights too bright, and the chaos too perfect.

The mehendi artist is hunched over my hands, brows furrowed in concentration as she traces intricate vines across my palms, working with the kind of care I wish I could give my own nerves right now.

I don’t know what’s worse—trying not to move, trying not to cry from how emotional the songs are, or trying not to laugh at Aarav’s ridiculous attempts to steal glances at me from across the room like he’s in a spy movie.

I roll my eyes for what must be the tenth time today.

“Stop staring,” I mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, all mock innocence. Then shamelessly mouths back,"Can’t help it. You’re glowing."

I shake my head and look down, cheeks warming. Not because it’s new—he’s been this way since the day he decided he liked me. But because… it still gets me. Every single time.

I look at the stage as Aditi walks up to give her performance. Desi Girl plays from the speaker, and I love howconfidently she moves; her purple lehenga twirls as she moves, she looks exquisite, and I can see Rudra Bhaiya eyeing every man who’s drooling over her. Well, they deserve it. Men feel women are objects and they have all and any rights over them. Fortunately enough, I am marrying into a family where women are considered divine and are respected and not controlled in the name of the family’s honor. I mean, sure, these men are protective, but they also know when to back down, so I am happy about that.

I notice Aarav walking up to me with a small plate in his hands.

“Brought food,” he says with that infuriatingly smug grin. “Because I know you haven’t eaten.”

“You know I have mehendi on both hands, right?” I glare at him.

“Exactly,” he says, getting down on his knees beside me, “you can’t feed yourself. So your dashing fiancé is here to do the honors.”

I blink. “You’re going to feed me?”

He grins wider. “Open up, dulhan.”

My eyes widen, and a blush creeps up my cheeks at the choice of his words. What the hell is wrong with him? I glance around, mildly panicked. “Aarav, people are watching!”

He leans in just slightly, voice low. “Let them. You're mine.”

Before I can argue, he carefully scoops a bit of jhalmuri with the spoon and holds it up to my mouth like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I hesitate—but my stomach growls louder than my pride, so I lean forward and take the bite.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling.

My eyes widen again. I want to smack this man, “Aarav!”

“Hmm?” he asks, casually taking the next bite from my spoon.

“Don’t say things like that in public.”

His grin only deepens. “Then stop reacting like you love it.”

Before I can retaliate, Maa appears behind him and smacks the back of his head lightly. “Aarav!” she scolds lightly. “You’re not supposed to be hovering around her like this! Let the poor girl get her mehendi done in peace.”

“I am just feeding my bride, Maa,” he exclaims.

“You’re hovering like she’s your only job in this world.” She exclaims in the same tone as Aarav.

“Sheismy only job,” he says smoothly, not even looking embarrassed.

Maa just rolls her eyes, muttering something about “drama king” as she walks away, and Aarav looks after her, snickering.

“Maa likes me more than she likes you,” I smile proudly.

He tilts his head and chuckles, “Can’t blame her. You are very likeable.” He winks at me, and I want to disappear as the mehandi wali giggles.

“Go away,” I whisper-yell, and he doesn’t argue, just gets up, kisses my forehead gently like he doesn’t care about anyone watching, and walks away casually. I sigh. Of course, he had to kiss my forehead.