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Author's POV
Isha's house woke up before the sun.
The soft clang of utensils echoed from the kitchen, mingling with the low hum of morning bhajans playing on the speaker.
Fresh marigold garlands were being strung together, their golden petals scattered like sunshine across the marble floor. The entire house smelled of agarbatti, ghee, and something unmistakably warm—home. Silver thalis gleamed under the morning light, coconuts were stacked neatly, and a beautifully carved idol of Lord Ganesha sat at the center—peaceful, smiling, welcoming.
Isha's mother stood near the mandir space in the living room, supervising everything with quiet precision.
"Arjun, carefully—Ganpati ke saamne phool aise nahi rakhte," she scolded gently.
Arjun rolled his eyes but adjusted the flowers anyway.
"Yes, Mummy. Ganpati Bappa will forgive me, right?"
From behind him, Arav laughed.
"Only if you stop being careless for one full day."
Dhruv entered carrying a tray of modaks.
"One full day?" he teased. "That's asking for too much."
Arjun said "I am an IAS Officer can you please stop teasing me, you guys should respect ke like other do. "
Everyone start laughing at him and he just sat their looking at them.
Prisha and Ishika sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting flowers and whispering excitedly.
"I still can't believe it," Ishika murmured. "Both families. Here. Together."
Prisha's mother smiled softly.
"It's auspicious, beta. When a wedding begins with Ganpati in the bride's home, it means obstacles melt before they even appear."
Isha stood in her room, adjusting the pleats of her saree with trembling fingers.
She wore a soft ivory and gold saree—simple, elegant, deeply rooted in tradition. Her hair was neatly braided, fresh mogra woven through it. She looked at herself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and whispered—
"Today… just today… let everything be peaceful."
Her mother entered quietly.
"You look beautiful," she said, adjusting Isha's pallu. "But more than that—you look calm."
Isha smiled faintly.
"I feel… ready."
Her mother held her face gently.
"That's all a mother ever prays for."
By mid-morning, the sound of multiple cars stopping outside filled the air.
"Shivansh's jijuu family has arrived!" Arjun announced loudly, peeking out the window.
Instantly, the house buzzed.
Isha's father straightened his kurta.
"Let's welcome them properly."
The door opened to reveal Shivansh's entire family.
His grandparents walked in first, dignified and warm. Behind them—his parents, his aunt and uncle, and then his bua sa and fufa sa, who had arrived the night before and were now greeting everyone with wide smiles and folded hands.
"Namaste," Shivansh's grandmother said warmly. "This house already feels blessed."
Isha's mother smiled, touched.
"It's Ganpati's bappa grace."
Shivansh entered last, dressed in an ivory kurta-pyjama, a simple stole draped around his shoulders. He looked calm on the outside—but his eyes kept drifting toward the corridor.
He stopped.
Because Isha was standing there.
For a second, everything else blurred.
She met his eyes.
No words. Just understanding.
His mother nudged him quietly.
"Beta."
He snapped out of it and folded his hands respectfully.
"Namaste."
Isha's father smiled.
"Welcome, Shivansh."
Aviuansh and Ranveer followed, already whispering commentary.
"Shiv looks like he's forgotten how to walk," Ranveer muttered.
Aviyansh grinned.
"Ganpati Bappa ke saamne bhi romance."
The living room mandir glowed.
Ganpati sat at the center, adorned with flowers, a gentle smile carved into the idol's face.
Everyone gathered.
From Isha's side—her parents, Arjun, Arav, Dhruv, Prisha, Ishika, and Prisha's mother.
Luka, Alessandro, Meher and Riyan had to go back to Italy because of some emergency but they will came back till her wedding.
From Shivansh's side—his grandparents, parents, chote papa, chote maa, bua sa, fufa sa, Aviyansh, Ranveer.
Everyone gathered around the mandir.
Shivansh's grandparents sat in front side, his father with his mother beside them. Ranveer adjusted his kurta impatiently while Aviyansh whispered something to him, earning a sharp elbow in return. Ishika stood beside Isha, excitement barely contained.
The head priest looked at Shivansh and Isha.
"Beta, you both will perform the Ganesh Poojan together, aap dono saath baithiye."
Shivansh instinctively looked at Isha.
She nodded.
Together, they sat before the idol.
They sat beside each other.
Close.
Comfortable.
As Shivansh and Isha lit the diya, his hand brushed against hers. A small moment—yet it made his chest tighten.
As the mantras began, Shivansh passed the diya to Isha.
Their fingers brushed.
Isha inhaled softly.
Shivansh leaned in just enough to whisper,
"You okay?"
She nodded.
"Yes. With you here."
The bells rang. The priest chanted:
"Vakratunda Mahakaya…"
Voices joined.
Prayers rose.
When it came time for the aarti, Isha hesitated slightly, unsure.
Shivansh leaned in. "Hold it tightly like this."
He guided her hand gently.
Their fingers intertwined around the aarti plate.
The bells rang. The flame danced.
And something shifted.
Not just ritual—a beginning.
And in that living room, surrounded by people who loved them, something quietly healed.
As prasad was being distributed, Isha closed her eyes, palms folded.
Shivansh watched her.
Later, when they stood near the window—
"What did you ask Ganpati for?" he asked softly.
She shook her head.
"I didn't ask."
He frowned. "Everyone asks something."
She smiled faintly.
"I thanked him."
"For what?"
"For giving us another chance… to begin without fear."
His throat tightened.
He smiled slightly.
"I did."
"What?"
"I asked for strength," he admitted quietly. "So I never fail you again."
Her gaze softened.
"That's enough," she said. "More than enough."
"And patience," he admitted. "Because happiness like this… needs care."
She looked at him, eyes shining.
"And courage," she added. "To protect it."
Shivansh's grandfather placed his hand on both their heads.
"May this home always echo with laughter."
His grandmother added teasingly,
"And may Shivansh learn to listen."
The room burst into laughter.
Aviyansh leaned toward Ishika.
"So, how many functions left?"
Ishika smirked.
"Enough to exhaust you."
Ranveer groaned.
"I knew it."
Grandmother approached them, placing her hand on Isha's head.
"May Ganpati bappa remove every obstacle from your life, beta."
Then she looked at Shivansh sharply.
"And may you stop creating obstacles yourself."
The entire family laughed.
Shivansh sighed. "Dadi—"
"Silence," she cut him off affectionately. "Today is Ganesh Poojan. I'll scold you tomorrow."
Aviyansh leaned toward Isha.
"So, Bhabhi sa, first ritual done. Nervous?"
She smiled calmly. "Ask your bhai sa. "
Aviyansh looked at Shivansh.
"You look like someone who's already lost his sleep."
Shivansh replied dryly, "Keep talking. I'll make you sit for all pujas."
Ranveer burst out laughing.
As the poojan concluded, plates of sweets were passed around—modaks, laddoos, peda.
As modaks were served and conversations blended into warmth, Isha looked around her home.
Isha held a modak carefully, smiling at the idol one last time.
"Ganpati Bappa Morya," she whispered.
Shivansh stood beside her, quieter than usual.
She looked at him. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
Then, softer—
"Just… it feels real now."
She nodded.
"It has begun."
Now filled with two families.
With devotion.
With beginnings.
Shivansh stood beside her, quietly.
"This place feels different," he said.
She smiled.
"It's always been like this."
"No," he said softly. "Today… it feels complete."
Outside, laughter echoed.
Outside, the house buzzed with excitement.
This was only the first day.
Music, colors, laughter, chaos—everything waited ahead.
But for now, on 15th October, under Ganpati's blessings—
Their journey didn't feel heavy anymore.
It felt hopeful.
Her house.
Inside, Ganpati watched over them.
By the time the lunch ended, the sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. The house that had been full of chants and bells now hummed with softer sounds—teacups clinking, footsteps moving lazily, conversations mellowing into warmth.
Shivansh's family stood near the entrance, preparing to leave for their palace.
His mother adjusted her dupatta and smiled at Isha.
"Come by the noon tomorrow," she said gently. "Rest well."
Shivansh's grandmother cupped Isha's face briefly.
"Ganpati ne pehla din tumhare ghar se shuru karwaya," she said softly. "Yaad rakhna—yeh bahut bada ashirvaad hota hai."
Isha nodded, emotions clogging her throat.
"Ji, Dadi sa."
Aviyansh slung an arm around Shivansh's shoulder and whispered loudly,
"Bhai sa, dramatic goodbye mat karna."
Shivansh elbowed him.
"shut up. "
Ranveer laughed.
"As if he can."
The elders moved ahead, conversations flowing as cars were brought forward. Slowly, the space around Shivansh and Isha emptied—until suddenly, it was just them.
Standing too close.
Standing not close enough.
Shivansh glanced around.
"Can we… talk for a minute?"
Isha nodded immediately.
"My room?"
Her room was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights which is in balcony, Isha's family had put up for the wedding days ahead. The city below buzzed faintly, distant and irrelevant.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Shivansh leaned against the bed, exhaling slowly.
"I don't want to go."
Isha smiled, small but real.
"You're saying that like you don't have a palace waiting for you."
"It's not the palace," he said, turning to her. "It's you."
Her breath hitched.
"You've been beside me all day," he continued. "And still… it feels less."
She stepped closer.
"You'll see me tomorrow."
"That's too far."
She laughed softly.
"You're impossible."
"And you love that," he said, almost teasing.
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers curled into his kurta unconsciously.
"I kept watching you today," Shivansh said quietly.
"How you did the pooja. How you smiled at my family. How… natural it all felt."
Isha lowered her gaze.
"I was scared."
He frowned.
"Of what?"
"That it would feel heavy," she admitted. "That today would remind us of everything."
"And?"
"It didn't," she whispered. "It felt… right."
He reached out, brushing his thumb against her knuckles.
"That's because you're stronger than the memories."
She looked up at him.
"And you're calmer than yesterday."
He smiled faintly.
"I'm trying."
The silence stretched again—but this time, it wasn't awkward.
It was charged.
Shivansh's hand slid from her fingers to her wrist, then slowly to her waist—asking permission without words.
She didn't stop him.
Instead, she stepped closer.
"So," she murmured, voice barely above a breath,
"Are you going to palace like this—looking at me like you'll die without me?"
He chuckled softly.
"Don't tempt me. I might stay."
She tilted her head.
"And then what?"
"Then I'll probably steal a kiss," he said honestly.
Her lips curved into a smile.
"Probably?"
Before she could say another word, he leaned in—slow, careful, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn't.
His lips brushed hers first—barely there.
A question.
Then again—firmer this time.
A promise.
She sighed softly against him, hands gripping his shoulders as if grounding herself.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't hungry.
It was theirs.
When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together.
"Stay," she whispered, not meaning it literally—but hoping he understood.
"I am," he replied. "Just… from a little distance."
A voice echoed faintly from below.
"Isha beta—"
They jumped apart instantly.
Shivansh stifled a laugh.
"We're going to get caught one of these days."
She glared at him.
"It will be your fault."
"Worth it," he said shamelessly.
She shook her head, trying not to smile.
Goodbye, For Now
The sound of a car horn broke the moment.
Shivansh sighed.
"That's my cue."
He took her hand one last time.
"Sleep well."
"You too," she said softly. "Don't overthink."
He smiled.
"I'll try. But no promises."
As he turned to leave, she called out—
"Shivansh."
He turned.
She walked up to him, stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek—slow and deliberate.
"For the road," she said.
He froze.
Then smiled like a man who had already lost the battle.
From her balcony, Isha watched the cars disappear into the night.
Her heart felt full.
The day had begun with prayer—
and ended with promise.
And somewhere between marigolds and stolen kisses,
15th October became theirs.
This marriage begins from Isha's world, not just Shivansh's.
Mehendi & The Beginning of Sangeet
The Delhi palace did not wake up that morning.
It bloomed.
From the moment the sun touched the white marble corridors, the entire palace looked like it had been dipped in celebration. Yellow marigolds spilled over railings, mogra strings framed every arch, and soft pastel drapes fluttered like they were breathing along with the house.
And behind all of this…
Two people stood at the center of the chaos.
Aviyansh and Ishika.
"I'm telling you, the mandala here needs to be bigger," Ishika said, pointing toward the courtyard where the mehendi seating was being arranged.
Aviyansh crossed his arms, pretending to be serious. "This is the Royal Event Planner, not your college fest committee."
The planner—an elegant woman in a headset—froze for a second, unsure whether to laugh or apologize.
Ishika turned sharply. "Excuse me? I am the creative director here."
Aviyansh leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. "And I'm the one paying them."
She gasped. "You did not—"
"I absolutely did."
Prisha, passing by with flower baskets, muttered, "Deep voc. Very deep voc."
Dhruv, overhearing, added, "Someone please record this. This is foreshadowing."
Despite the bickering, the truth was obvious.
They were perfectly in sync.
The Royal Event Planners had been hired jointly—by Aviyansh's precision and Ishika's vision. Every detail had been discussed, fought over, re-decided, and approved together.
And the result?
Magic.
By mid noon, the women's courtyard was alive.
Low seating, embroidered cushions, brass trays filled with flowers, and the soft sound of dholak mixed with laughter. Mehendi artists sat ready, cones in hand, as guests began to gather.
Isha stepped into the courtyard, and for a moment—
Everything paused.
She wore a soft pistachio-green lehenga, delicate and understated, her hair braided loosely with fresh flowers tucked in. There was no heavy jewelry, no royal weight on her shoulders.
Just her.
And Shivansh, standing at the far end of the corridor, forgot how to breathe.
Aviyansh noticed first. "Bhai sa… blink."
Shivansh didn't.
Dhruv leaned toward him. "You're married to her already, you know."
"I know," Shivansh replied softly. "That's the problem."
From the women's side, Ishika grinned. "Look at him. Completely gone."
Prisha added, "If staring was a crime, he'd be arrested."
Isha sat down as the mehendi artist took her hand. The cone touched her skin, and the first line was drawn—slow, careful, permanent.
Her mother watched from nearby, eyes shining. "Everything feels… lighter today."
Her father nodded. "Because today is not about fear. It's about joy."
Laughter rose as the women teased Isha.
"Don't move!"
"Hey, stop smiling, the design will spoil!"
"Write his name darker, haan!"
Isha laughed, shaking her head. "You all are impossible."
From across the courtyard, Shivansh mouthed, "Does it hurt?"
She raised an eyebrow, silently replying, "Worth it."
As the sun dipped lower, the palace transformed once more.
The mehendi courtyard gave way to lights, stages, and sound checks. Chandeliers were lowered into the open-air garden, fairy lights wrapped around pillars, and a grand stage stood ready.
The Sangeet was about to begin.
Backstage, chaos reigned.
Aviyansh checked the list. "Okay. Order is clear. No improvising."
Ranveer scoffed. "You're no fun."
Ishika adjusted her dupatta, whispering to Prisha, "If he messes up the order, I'll push him off the stage."
Prisha smiled sweetly. "I'll hold your bangles."
Isha stood quietly for a moment, watching everyone.
The laughter.
The noise.
The life.
Shivansh came to stand beside her. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I just… never imagined this."
He said softly, "Neither did I. But I'm glad it's you."
Before she could respond, music thundered through the hall.
The announcer's voice rang out—
"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome to the Sangeet Night!"
The lights dimmed.
Spotlights moved.
And the first music cue played.
Isha's parents stepped onto the stage.
🎵Song : "banno re banno" - kabira
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"They're dancing?"
"They're really dancing?"
Her mother laughed nervously. "If we fall, pretend it's choreography."
Her father squeezed her hand. "We raised a brave daughter. We can dance."
Their performance was simple, heartfelt—filled with smiles, claps, and love. When they bowed, the applause was thunderous.
Isha covered her mouth, eyes wet.
Shivansh whispered, "They're incredible."
She nodded. "They always were."
As they exited, the announcer smiled.
"And now… a performance that reminds us that love only grows stronger with time."
Shivansh's grandparents stepped forward.
The entire hall rose to its feet.
And as the music began, laughter, respect, and emotion blended into one.
The applause for Shivansh's grandparents refused to die down.
His grandmother laughed softly, adjusting her dupatta. "Bas, bas… before they ask us for an encore."
His grandfather leaned toward the mic and said with a grin,
"Beta, love doesn't need age… it only needs music."
The crowd erupted.
Isha wiped her eyes. "I'm not crying. I'm just… overwhelmed."
Shivansh glanced at her, voice low. "You're allowed to cry today."
Before the emotions could settle, the lights shifted again—golden hues flooding the stage.
The announcer's voice returned.
"Next, please welcome the pillars of this celebration… Shivansh's parents."
A familiar, soulful tune filled the air.
🎵 Song: "Tera Yaar Hoon Main" – Sonu Ke Titu Ki Sweety
Shivansh's parents walked onto the stage hand in hand.
His mother smiled gently, eyes shining. "This song… it's for our son."
His father nodded. "And for the woman who chose to walk beside him."
Their movements were slow, graceful—not dramatic, not flashy—but every step carried years of love, sacrifice, and pride.
When the lyrics reached "Tu jo rootha toh kaun hasega…"
Shivansh swallowed hard.
Aviyansh muttered, "Okay, I didn't sign up for emotional damage tonight."
Ranveer whispered, "Too late."
Isha leaned closer to Shivansh. "They love you… deeply."
He replied softly, "And now they love you too."
As the song ended, the audience stood again—clapping, cheering, some even wiping tears.
Before the stage could empty, the DJ smoothly transitioned the track.
🎵 Song: "Banno Tera Swagger" – Tanu Weds Manu Returns
Shivansh's aunt entered first, twirling dramatically.
His uncle followed, pretending to struggle—and then suddenly breaking into perfect steps.
"WHAT?" Dhruv shouted. "Why is he better than all of us?"
Prisha laughed. "Hidden talent, apparently!"
Their performance was loud, fun, and unapologetically filmy. They pulled people from the audience, teased the couple, and ended with a dramatic pose.
The aunt winked at Isha. "Welcome to the madness, beta."
Isha laughed. "I think I'll fit right in."
The lights dimmed completely.
Then—
🎵 Song Mashup Begins
"Gallan Goodiyan" – Dil Dhadakne Do
"London Thumakda" – Queen
Suddenly, the entire stage filled up.
Shivansh's parents.
His grandparents.
His chote papa and chote maa.
His bua sa and fufa sa.
Even Isha's parents joined in.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't rehearsed.
But it was alive.
Aviyansh shouted from the side, "This is not in the schedule!"
Ishika yelled back, "THIS is the schedule!"
The crowd clapped along, some dancing at their seats. When the song ended, the stage felt too small for the joy it held.
The lights flickered mischievously.
Bass dropped.
🎵 Song: "Kala Chashma" – Baar Baar Dekho
Prisha and Ishika stormed the stage together.
Prisha flipped her hair. "Ready?"
Ishika smirked. "Born ready."
They owned the stage—sharp moves, attitude, laughter, teasing the crowd.
Arav whistled loudly. "I regret every joke I ever made."
Aviyansh clapped slowly. "Respect."
Before anyone could breathe—
🎵 Song Change: "Tattad Tattad" – Ram-Leela
Ranveer and Aviyansh jumped in.
"THIS is our moment," Ranveer shouted.
They danced like chaos had choreography—high energy, dramatic expressions, over-the-top spins.
Isha laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. "They're insane."
Shivansh nodded. "Genetically."
The DJ didn't even announce.
🎵 Song: "Zingaat" – Dhadak
Arav, Dhruv, and Arjun charged the stage.
"No rules!" Dhruv shouted.
"Only vibes!" Arav added.
They danced like they were back in school—jumping, spinning, hyping each other up. At one point, Arjun nearly slipped.
Arjun grabbed him. "Not today, hero!"
The crowd roared.
The lights softened.
🎵 Song: "Raabta" – Agent Vinod
Aviyansh and Ishika stepped forward.
Their dance was smooth, intimate—filled with quiet glances and unspoken understanding.
Prisha whispered, "They're going to deny this later."
Isha smiled knowingly. "Let them."
As the song transitioned—
🎵 Song: "Nazm Nazm" – Bareilly Ki Barfi
Prisha and Arav joined them.
Two couples.
Two different stories.
Same warmth.
When the performance ended, the applause was endless.
When the Music Finally Spoke What Words Couldn't
The lights dimmed again—but this time, not playfully.
Not loudly.
This time, it was quiet.
A hush spread across the venue, like everyone instinctively knew—
this wasn't just another performance.
The announcer's voice softened.
"And now… the bride-to-be."
A single spotlight found Isha.
She stood at the edge of the stage, lehenga shimmering softly, hands trembling just a little.
Prisha leaned toward Ishika. "She's nervous."
Ishika smiled. "She always is… before she becomes unforgettable."
Shivansh didn't blink.
Didn't breathe properly.
Didn't look away.
His grandmother noticed and murmured, "That boy has already lost."
🎵 Song: "Agar Tum Saath Ho" – Tamasha
The first note played.
Isha stepped forward slowly.
Her movements weren't dramatic.
They were felt.
Every turn carried longing.
Every pause carried love.
Every glance toward the audience… ended at Shivansh.
At "Pal bhar thehar jao…"
She closed her eyes.
At "Hum saath ho…"
She smiled—soft, real, vulnerable.
Shivansh's jaw clenched.
Aviyansh whispered, "Bhai sa… breathe."
Ranveer added, "She's killing you. Intentionally."
When the song ended, there was silence.
Then applause.
Not loud.
Not wild.
But deep.
Meaningful.
Isha bowed slightly, eyes searching.
They met his.
And for a moment, the world narrowed to just them.
The lights didn't change.
Instead, a second spotlight appeared.
On Shivansh.
He stood up.
Gasps rippled.
Isha froze. "Shiv—?"
He walked toward the stage, eyes locked on her.
🎵 Song: "Raataan Lambiyan" – Shershaah
He offered his hand.
"May I?"
She laughed softly, voice barely audible. "Always."
They didn't dance like performers.
They danced like people who already belonged to each other.
Foreheads touching.
Steps mirroring.
Hands fitting like muscle memory.
At "Main tenu samjhawan ki…"
Shivansh whispered, "You're my calm."
At "Tu hi mera sach hai…"
Isha replied, "You're my home."
The crowd watched—smiling, emotional, some openly crying.
His mother clasped her dupatta. "This… this is love."
His father nodded. "This is forever."
As the song faded, Shivansh rested his forehead against hers.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She smiled. "I'm perfect."
Everyone thought it was over.
The applause had barely settled when Shivansh stepped forward again.
He took the mic.
Aviyansh sat up straight. "Oh no."
Ranveer groaned. "He didn't tell us this."
Shivansh cleared his throat.
"I wasn't supposed to do anything," he said honestly.
"I'm not the performance type."
The crowd laughed gently.
He turned to Isha.
"But then she walked into my life… and plans stopped working."
She blinked. "Shivansh…"
He continued, voice steady but raw.
"I don't need music to promise you things.
I don't need choreography to prove my love."
He reached into his pocket.
Not a ring.
Not jewelry.
A folded piece of paper.
"I wrote this… the night I realized I'd already married you in my heart."
The venue went completely silent.
He read.
"I promise to choose you—
on loud days and quiet nights,
when you're strong and when you're tired,
when the world celebrates us
and when it forgets to.
I promise to never let you feel alone
even when I'm silent."
Isha's eyes filled instantly.
He folded the paper and said softly,
"This isn't a performance.
This is me… choosing you again."
She stepped forward and hugged him tightly.
"I already chose you," she whispered. "Every day."
The applause this time was thunderous.
Fireworks lit the sky.
Music returned.
Laughter followed.
But somewhere in the middle of it all, Shivansh leaned close to her ear and murmured—
"Wait till tomorrow."
She smiled. "Why?"
"Haldi will try to test my patience," he said seriously.
"And tonight already ruined my self-control."
She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder.
And just like that—
the Sangeet ended not with noise, but with love.
The music had finally slowed, not stopped, just softened into something lighter. Laughter still echoed in corners of the palace, anklets still chimed somewhere, and the air smelled of roses, mehendi, and celebration.
Isha had just stepped down from the stage after her performance with everyone, cheeks flushed, breath uneven—not from exhaustion, but from the way Shivansh had been looking at her the entire time.
She was walking back toward the seating area when suddenly—
"Isha."
She didn't even need to turn to know that tone.
She sighed internally, already smiling.
He caught her wrist gently and tugged her just a little to the side, away from the crowd, near the corridor that led toward the palace interiors.
She raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
He folded his arms dramatically.
"You ignored me."
She blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
She looked genuinely offended now.
"I was sitting right next to you the whole time!"
"No." He leaned closer, voice low, eyes sharp with mischief. "You were sitting next to me. You weren't with me."
She narrowed her eyes.
"And what exactly does that mean, Your Royal Drama?"
"You didn't talk to me."
"I did."
"You didn't look at me."
"I did."
"You didn't—" He paused, lips twitching. "—do that."
She stared at him for two seconds.
Oh.
So that was the problem.
She exhaled softly, glanced around—left, right. People were busy laughing, eating, talking. No one was paying attention.
She stepped closer, lowered her voice.
"You're impossible."
He smiled like a child who had already won.
Before she could change her mind, she reached up, grabbed his collar lightly, and kissed him—quick, soft, barely there.
Just enough.
She pulled back immediately.
"I love you Anshhh. There. Happy?"
His eyes darkened.
"No."
"Shivansh—"
"I want one more."
She shook her head, already stepping back.
"No. Someone will see."
He smirked.
"No one's here."
She glanced around again.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Before she could protest further, he leaned in again, this time slower, deeper. His hand came to her waist, holding her steady, like he had nowhere else to be.
She melted for half a second—
And then—
Ahem.
A very deliberate, very loud cough.
They froze.
Slowly—painfully slowly—both of them turned.
Standing right there, midway through the corridor, were Shivansh's parents.
His mother's eyes widened.
His father cleared his throat again.
Silence.
Absolute, humiliating silence.
Isha's face turned crimson.
She stepped back immediately, mortified, heart racing.
"I— I—"
Shivansh, however, stood there… calm.
Too calm.
His mother looked between them, then sighed.
"We were just going inside."
His father added, trying very hard not to smile,
"Carry on. Just… maybe not here."
And they walked past.
Just like that.
Isha stared after them, horrified.
"…They saw."
Shivansh shrugged.
"They already know we're married."
She spun toward him, eyes blazing.
"That does not mean you kiss me anywhere like this!"
"Isha—"
"I told you someone would see!"
"You kissed me first."
"That was different!"
"How?"
"I checked if anyone was looking!" she hissed.
"And I didn't?"
"Yes, and clearly you're blind!"
She crossed her arms, deeply embarrassed now.
"I don't want to talk to you."
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Straight back to the mehendi area.
She sat down abruptly in front of the artist.
"Please… continue."
The artist blinked.
"Ma'am, it will take time you can just eat first."
"No you continue."
Shivansh stood a little distance away, watching her, guilt slowly replacing his amusement.
Not yet.
The music had faded.
The applause had settled.
The night had softened.
Isha sat on the low cushioned seat near the mehendi corner, her lehenga pooled around her, both hands stretched carefully forward, palms glowing dark with fresh mehendi. The artist crouched near her feet, putting the final delicate strokes, then leaned back with a satisfied smile.
"Bas," she said. "Ho gaya. Ab bilkul hile nahi. Mehendi wet hai—at least forty-five minutes."
Isha blinked. "Forty-five… minutes?"
The artist nodded cheerfully. "Aur pair bhi nahi uthane."
Isha looked down at her hands.
Then her feet.
Then around her.
Food had arrived.
Plates clinked.
Laughter floated.
The aroma of warm naan, butter, spices—everything cruelly delicious—wrapped around her.
Her stomach betrayed her with a very loud growl.
She sighed dramatically. "Of course."
She turned her head slowly, observing the scene around her like a quiet spectator to happiness.
Her father sat beside her mother, breaking naan gently, feeding her with a fond smile.
"Arre, dheere," her mother scolded softly.
He chuckled. "Tum hamesha bolti ho."
Nearby, Shivansh's father was doing the same, holding a spoon toward his wife.
"Ek aur bite," he said.
She shook her head, smiling. "Bas, bas."
Shivansh's aunt leaned toward her uncle, laughing as he tried to balance curry and salad on one spoon.
"Tum bachche ho kya?" she teased.
He grinned. "Tumhare liye."
Shivansh fufa sa also feeding his wife with sk much love.
"Eat eat just one more" He said to his wife "Nhi nhi bas bas. "
Even his grandparents sat close, sharing bites, murmuring to each other like the world had shrunk to just them.
Isha's chest tightened.
She glanced further.
Arav was feeding prisha, both of them laughing mid-bite.
"Gir jayega!" prisha protested.
"Toh chup rhao," Arav replied. "Shaadi ka khana hai."
Aviyansh sat across Ishika, holding a spoon confidently.
"Open wide," he said, voice was to much softer,
Ishika rolled her eyes. "Tum pagal ho kya?"
"Future husband practice," he smirked.
Isha smiled at that… then sighed again.
She looked toward the group of boys—Arjun, Ranveer, Dhruv—all seated together, plates balanced on knees, deep in animated discussion.
"Tum samajh hi nahi raha—"
"Arre tum sun—"
"No, main bol raha hoon—"
She scanned the crowd.
Once.
Twice.
Her brows knitted slightly.
"Where is he?" she murmured to herself.
At least he could bring water.
Or sit near her.
Or just exist in her line of sight.
Her stomach growled again, louder this time.
She was just about to call out—when a shadow fell in front of her.
A plate appeared.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
She looked up.
Shivansh stood there, eyes soft, lips curved into that familiar almost-smile.
"I know," he said quietly. "You're hungry."
Her eyes widened. "You—"
"I went to get food," he continued calmly, pulling a chair close and sitting in front of her. "Proper food."
She stared at the plate.
Dal makhani.
Paneer butter masala.
Naan.
Salad.
Her favorite.
"I know you're angry," he said quietly, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. "But you can't be angry on an empty stomach."
She didn't respond.
He placed the plate near her.
"You don't have to talk. Just eat."
She glanced at the food.
Then at him.
Then away again.
"…Fine."
She took a bite.
He smiled softly, relieved.
"There," he murmured. "That's better."
She muttered under her breath while chewing,
"You're still in trouble."
"I know."
"And I mean it."
"I deserve it."
She finally looked at him then, eyes softening just a fraction.
But she didn't smile.
"but You remembered? My favorite." she whispered.
He shrugged lightly. "You eat when you're emotional. And you're emotional today."
She laughed under her breath trying to hid her laugh. "You're impossible."
"And you're starving," he replied, tearing a small piece of naan. "Open."
She hesitated. "Shivansh—"
"Mehendi," he reminded gently. "kharab ho jayagi remember abhi apki mehendii artist kya order dia h no moment."
She obeyed.
The first bite made her close her eyes.
"Oh my God," she murmured. "This is so good."
He smiled faintly. "Slowly."
She chewed obediently, then pointed with her chin. "Dal bhi."
"Yes, madam," he said, dipping the naan carefully.
As he fed her, she kept talking.
"You know," she said between bites, "the dance was too long."
"You loved it."
"I was nervous."
"You were perfect."
She glanced at him. "You're biased."
He met her gaze. "Always."
She chewed, then added thoughtfully, "Paneer thoda zyada buttery hai."
"Next time I'll ask them to reduce butter."
She blinked. "Next time?"
He smirked slightly. "We're getting married again. There will be next times."
She laughed softly.
After a few bites, she frowned. "You also eat."
"I will."
"No," she insisted. "Now."
He paused, then took a spoonful from the plate.
Satisfied, she nodded. "Good."
He continued feeding her, patient, unhurried—like the world wasn't waiting anywhere else.
At some point, she sighed contentedly. "I'm full."
He leaned back. "Finally."
Then her eyes sparkled mischievously. "But…"
He narrowed his eyes. "But?"
"I want ice cream."
He looked around. "At this time?"
"Look at the weather," she said innocently. "It's perfect."
He scoffed. "You'll catch cold."
She pouted. "Please."
He hesitated.
She tilted her head. "Shivansh."
That was it.
"Stay," he said, standing up. "Don't move."
"As if I can," she replied smugly.
He returned a few minutes later with a small bowl of ice cream.
"You're spoiling me," she said softly.
He fed her the first spoon. "I intend to."
She smiled, savoring it slowly.
When they were done, he wiped her lips gently with his thumb—careful of the mehendi.
"Finished?" he asked.
She nodded, suddenly quiet.
Soon after, the families began preparing to leave.
Isha's family gathered their things.
Shivansh stood up and walked toward her.
"I'll carry you," he said simply.
"What?" she whispered. "Everyone—"
"I don't care."
Before she could protest, he slipped one arm behind her back, the other under her knees, lifting her easily.
Gasps.
Teasing whistles.
Soft laughter.
"Isha!" her mother called. "Sambhal ke."
"She's safe," Shivansh replied calmly.
He placed her gently inside the car, adjusting her dupatta, ensuring her hands were supported.
His family watched from a distance—smiling knowingly.
As the car door closed, he leaned down slightly.
"Rest," he murmured. "Tomorrow is another long day."
She looked at him, eyes warm. "Thank you… for everything."
He smiled faintly. "Always."
The cars parted ways.
Shivansh watched until Isha's car disappeared down the road.
And only then did he turn back—already missing her.
The palace had finally gone quiet.
Laughter had faded, lights were dimmed, and the exhaustion of the day had settled into every corner like a gentle hush.
In Isha's house in her room, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp remained.
She lay awake.
Not sleeping.
Not even trying.
Her anger from earlier had dulled, replaced by something heavier—confusion, embarrassment, and that familiar ache she hated admitting to herself.
The balcony door creaked open.
Soft. Careful.
She didn't turn. She knew who it was.
"Isha…" his voice came low, cautious, like he was afraid even sound might scare her away.
No response.
He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The room felt smaller with him in it—warmer, heavier, fuller.
"I know you're awake," he said gently.
Still nothing.
He moved closer, stopping beside the bed. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at her curled figure, the way her back faced him, the way her shoulders were tense even in rest.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said softly. "I shouldn't have pulled youbwhen you said no."
That made her shift slightly.
He took that as permission.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "Not the casual kind. The kind that comes from knowing I crossed a line… with the person I love."
She turned then—slowly—eyes meeting his.
"You embarrassed me," she whispered.
He nodded immediately.
"I know."
"You didn't even care that they saw."
"I cared," he said quietly. "I just didn't realize how much it would hurt you."
Her eyes softened despite herself.
He sat on the edge of the bed, close but not touching.
"I couldn't sleep," he admitted. "The thought that you went to bed angry because of me… I couldn't let that stay between us."
She swallowed.
"So you came here?"
"I came to apologize," he said. Then, after a pause, "And maybe… to remind you that I'm yours. And I don't ever want to be the reason you feel unsafe with me."
Her breath hitched.
He lifted his hand slowly, giving her time to stop him. When she didn't, his fingers brushed her cheek—barely there.
"I love you," he murmured. "Even when I'm stupid."
That earned the faintest smile.
"I wasn't planning to talk," she said softly.
"I wasn't planning to talk much either," he replied.
He leaned closer—not rushing, not demanding. His lips brushed her temple first. Then her cheek.
An apology written in gentleness.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
She closed her eyes.
His lips moved lower, to the corner of her jaw, lingering just enough to make her inhale sharply. He kissed her there—slow, reverent.
When he reached her neck, he paused.
"If you want me to stop," he said quietly, breath warm against her skin, "say it."
She didn't say anything.
So he kissed her neck—not hurried, not desperate. Just a soft press of lips, a promise rather than a claim.
She let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into his kurta.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
He smiled against her skin.
"Neither is missing you when you're right in front of me."
He kissed her again, slower this time, letting the silence between them speak. His hand rested at her waist—not pulling, not trapping. Just there.
"I don't want to fight with you," she said, voice fragile now.
"Neither do I," he replied. "I want to fight for you. Every day."
She finally turned fully toward him, forehead resting against his chest.
"I was just embarrassed," she admitted. "Not because we kissed… but because it felt too exposed."
"I understand now," he said, kissing her hair. "And I won't do that again. Not without you wanting it."
She nodded, eyes closing.
They stayed like that—quiet, close, breathing each other in.
No rush.
No demands.
Just reconciliation.
After a while, she whispered,
"You should go before someone actually catches you."
He chuckled softly.
"I already have a reputation tonight."
She smiled, finally.
Before leaving, he kissed her forehead—slow, lingering.
"Sleep," he murmured. "Tomorrow will be another long day."
She watched him go, heart lighter than it had been all evening.
For the first time that night, she slept
The old courtyard of the Delhi palace had woken up before the sun.
Thick stone pillars stood tall, carrying centuries of weddings, laughter, and rituals within them. Fresh marigold garlands were tied around the arches, mango leaves hung from the balconies, and the air smelled of turmeric, sandalwood, and something unmistakably nostalgic.
This was not a modern haldi.
This was royal, old, sacred.
The morning sun poured over the old courtyard of the Delhi palace, hitting the yellow-and-gold draped pillars and the marigold garlands swaying gently in the soft breeze.
The courtyard smelled of turmeric, rose petals, and sandalwood—a heady mix that immediately made anyone smile and feel festive. The entire palace staff was bustling, making sure every corner of the space was ready for the first ritual of the Haldi—the groom's Haldi.
In the center of the courtyard, a raised wooden platform had been prepared. Brass bowls filled with haldi paste sat beside earthen pots of rose water. Traditional copper vessels gleamed under the morning light.
And on that platform sat Shivansh Raghuvanshii.
Dressed in a simple white kurta and dhoti, bare-footed, sleeves rolled up, he looked… unusually calm.
Too calm.
Shivansh, standing in the center of the courtyard in a pristine white kurta, looked like a statue—hands folded, face serious, hair perfectly styled—completely unprepared for the chaos about to ensue.
"You look far too calm," whispered Aviyansh from the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"I am calm," Shivansh said flatly, not even looking at him. "Unlike some people who are already planning to make a mess of my morning."
"Oh, trust me, shiv, we are not planning anything," Ranveer chimed in, smirking. "It's just… accidental fun."
Shivansh's jaw tightened. "Accidental fun, you say?" He knew exactly what that meant—both of them were trouble waiting to happen.
Shivansh glanced at them lazily.
"Some people meditate in the morning."
Aviyansh scoffed.
"You don't. You plot."
Shivansh smirked.
"Then you should be scared."
Before Aviyansh could reply, Shivansh mother walked in, holding a brass thali, her eyes softening the moment she saw her son.
"Sit properly," she scolded gently. "Today is not about attitude."
Shivansh straightened immediately.
"Yes, Maa."
His grandmother followed, tapping her walking stick lightly on the stone floor.
"Beta," she said fondly, "today, every drop of haldi is a blessing. Don't joke too much."
Aviyansh muttered under his breath,
"Define 'too much'."
The priest began chanting mantras, his voice echoing softly in the courtyard.
Shivansh's father stepped forward first.
He dipped his fingers into the haldi, paused, then applied it gently on Shivansh's forehead.
"May all darkness leave your life," he said quietly. "And may you always protect the woman you're marrying."
Shivansh's throat tightened.
"I will," he replied, voice low but firm.
One by one, the elders followed—grandmother, grandfather, aunt, uncle—each blessing him, touching his cheeks, shoulders, arms.
Then came the younger generation.
And that's when everything went downhill.
Ranveer grinned wickedly.
"So… should we be respectful?"
Aviyansh picked up an entire bowl of haldi.
"No."
Before anyone could stop him, he smeared a thick line of haldi straight across Shivansh's cheek.
Before he could protest further, Aviyansh grabbed a small silver bowl of turmeric paste. "bhai sa, my dear brother, just a little dab on your nose," he said, grinning.
"Aviyansh!" Shivansh barked, but it was too late. A smear of bright yellow haldi landed on his nose, and before he could react, Ranveer squirted a small spoonful onto his shoulder.
Shivansh blinked.
"…You're dead."
Ranveer burst out laughing.
"Bhai, rules say you can't hit back!"
Shivansh smiled slowly.
"Oh, I won't."
Avyansh felt a chill.
"Why do I feel threatened?"
"I—" Shivansh started, but Arjun, Dhruv, and Arav joined in, smirking, taking leftover haldi from the plates nearby. "We're just making sure tradition is followed," Arjun said innocently, but the smirk gave him away.
"Tradition, yes," Shivansh said through gritted teeth. "Where the tradition is ruining my perfect morning?"
The courtyard erupted with laughter. Ishika, and Prisha, were watching from the sides, holding trays of haldi and water. "Oh, look at him!" Prisha giggled. "He's getting a proper welcome, isn't he?"
They came here to take leftover haldi but they Arav, Arjun and Dhruv saw Aviyansh doing that they decided to join in.
"It's supposed to be holy and serene," Shivansh muttered, dodging a splatter of haldi thrown at him by Aviyansh.
"Oh, holy," Ranveer laughed, smearing some on Shivansh's kurta. "Yes, it's very holy… holy yellow mess!"
Shivansh finally gave up trying to stay composed. "You will pay for this."
"Not until you admit it's fun!" Aviyansh countered, dabbing some haldi on Shivansh's cheek.
The chaos intensified as someone accidentally knocked over a small pot of water, splashing it near Shivansh's feet. He jumped back, spluttering, while Arjun and Dhruv laughed so hard they almost toppled over themselves.
That's when Ranveer lifted a copper lota.
"Aviyansh," he said sweetly, "remember when you said 'haldi is holy'?"
Aviyansh turned.
"Yes?"
Ranveer poured the water.
Straight. On. Shivansh.
The courtyard exploded.
"I told you… holy fun!" Ranveer shouted, tossing another small handful.
ARE YOU INSANE?" Shivansh shouted, drenched.
Aviyansh stared in horror.
"YOU TURNED HALDI INTO HOLI!"
Shivansh bus sa gasped.
"Arre! The haldi paste!"
Shivansh wiped water from his eyes, haldi dripping down his jaw.
"Congratulations," he said coldly. "You've activated me."
What followed was absolute chaos.
Shivansh grabbed a bowl and flung haldi at Aviyansh.
Avyansh dodged—slipped—and landed straight into a pile of turmeric.
Ranveer laughed so hard he fell against a pillar.
By now, Shivansh's grandparents, parents, and aunt-uncle were all laughing along. His father even added to his wife, "Rani sa, see? The family is enjoying themselves! Let loose a little!"
Shivansh groaned but couldn't help laughing at the chaos. For a brief moment, he forgot all the stress of wedding preparations, the protocols, and even the past shadows—they were just having fun. Pure, chaotic, messy fun.
Then Aviyansh, never missing a chance, said: "Careful, bhai sa. Someone might turn this Haldi into a full spa treatment!"
"Not if I catch you first," Shivansh muttered, though a twinkle in his eyes betrayed him.
Shivansh's grandmother shook her head, amused despite herself.
"Every generation ruins something new."
Someone turned on the old hand-pump nearby.
Big mistake.
Within seconds, water splashed everywhere. Haldi flew. White kurtas turned yellow. The sacred courtyard echoed with laughter, shouting, and mock threats.
"I SWEAR I WILL RUIN YOUR MARRIAGE SOLO!" Shivansh yelled at Dhruv
Dhriv wiped his face, grinning.
"DO IT AFTER MARRIAGE, JIJAJI!"
Shivansh froze.
"…Jijaji?"
The teasing stopped for half a second.
Then everyone laughed again.
The courtyard smelled of turmeric, laughter, and flower petals. The old-tiled floor was painted with splashes of yellow and water, and in the middle of it, Shivansh stood with his kurta half-covered in haldi, glaring at everyone—but laughing too.
For now, though, the holy chaos had won. And Shivansh, despite himself, enjoyed every moment.
Shivansh sat back down eventually, soaked, stained, and glowing.
As the final haldi was applied properly—this time carefully—his mother leaned close and whispered,
"You look happy."
He smiled softly.
"I am."
His eyes drifted unconsciously toward the palace gate.
Thinking she will appear from their.
Not here.
But felt everywhere.
The priest concluded the ritual, chanting blessings for prosperity, protection, and love.
As flower petals were showered over him, Shivansh closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, the weight on his chest felt lighter.
Perfect, I understand exactly the tone you want for Part 2 – Isha's Haldi:
soft, teasing, affectionate
emotionally warm, not loud chaos
focus on mehendi symbolism, feminine teasing, family love, and quiet romance
playful but non-vulgar, more feelings than noise.
Morning light slipped gently through the sheer curtains of Isha's room, painting soft gold patterns on the walls. The air still carried a faint trace of henna—earthy, warm, intimate. Isha sat on the edge of her bed, her dupatta loosely draped over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on her palms.
Her mehendi.
Dark.
Almost impossibly dark.
She slowly turned her hands, admiring the intricate patterns—the peacocks, the vines, the tiny paisleys hidden between curves. Her fingers trembled just a little as she traced the edge of a design with her eyes.
"So dark," she murmured to herself, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
Behind her, a soft laugh echoed.
"Oh ho," Ishika teased, entering the room and leaning casually against the doorframe. "Someone's mehendi is very dark."
Isha glanced up, instantly flushing. "Don't start," she warned, but there was no real protest in her voice.
Ishika walked closer, lifting Isha's hands dramatically. "You know what this means, right?" she said with mock seriousness. "Your husband loves you too much."
Isha's cheeks burned. "Ishika!"
Prisha, who was adjusting her earrings near the mirror, turned around and gasped theatrically. "Wait—this dark?" She squinted. "No, no. This is dangerous level love."
Isha tried to pull her hands back, embarrassed. "You both are impossible."
"But correct," Ishika added with a grin. "Look at this colour. Shivansh doesn't just love you—he's completely gone."
Isha looked down again, her smile softening. Somewhere in her chest, something warm bloomed—quiet, steady, reassuring.
Before she could say anything, a gentle knock came at the door.
"Isha," her mother's voice called softly. "Beta, Haldi is ready. Everyone is waiting in the garden."
Isha inhaled deeply. "Coming, Mummy."
Her mother stepped inside, her eyes immediately falling on the mehendi. She smiled—the kind of smile only a mother gives. "It's beautiful," she said softly, brushing a thumb near Isha's wrist. "Very dark."
Isha looked up. "Is that… good?"
Her mother chuckled. "It means you are loved. And protected."
Those words settled deep.
The garden was bathed in sunlight, marigolds lining every corner, petals scattered across the grass. Yellow drapes fluttered lazily as soft music played in the background. A low wooden platform was placed in the center, surrounded by cushions and silver bowls filled with turmeric paste.
Isha stepped out, dressed in a yellow sharara that glowed against her skin. Conversations paused. Heads turned.
"Wow," Prisha's mother whispered from behind. "She looks… unreal."
Isha tried to ignore the attention as she took her seat, her heart thudding softly.
That's when Dhruv appeared—holding a bowl of haldi.
"Well," he said, eyes twinkling, "delivery successful."
Arav followed, grinning. "We survived Shivansh's Haldi chaos."
"And brought the leftover," Dhruv added proudly. "Pure tradition."
Isha laughed quietly. "You look like you were attacked."
"Attacked is an understatement," Arjun muttered. "Ranveer bhaiya threw water like it was Holi."
The women gathered around her—her mother, Ishika, Prisha, prisha's mother—each taking turns applying haldi gently to her arms, cheeks, shoulders.
"You're glowing," someone said.
"Bride glow," Ishika whispered.
Isha closed her eyes as haldi touched her skin—cool, fragrant, grounding.
From the side, Dhruv watched her, his expression unreadable but soft. "You're okay?" he asked quietly.
Isha nodded. "I am."
And she meant it.
Laughter floated around her, teasing remarks followed, someone hummed an old wedding song. At one point, Ishika leaned down and whispered, "Your husband is probably dying to be here."
Isha smiled, eyes lowering. "Let him."
As the ritual wound down, haldi stains on everyone's clothes and joy lingering in the air, Isha looked down at her hands once more—mehendi dark, haldi fresh.
She didn't say it out loud.
But somewhere between yesterday's mehendi and today's haldi, she felt it clearly—
She wasn't stepping into a wedding.
She was stepping into a life.
The laughter in the garden had softened.
Not disappeared—but slowed, like it knew something sacred was unfolding.
Isha sat quietly now, haldi drying on her skin, the yellow deepening against her arms and cheeks. The music had lowered. Conversations turned hushed. Somewhere, a breeze rustled the marigold strings, and for the first time that day, Isha felt the weight of it all press gently against her heart.
This was her last haldi here.
At home.
Her mother sat beside her first.
She didn't say anything immediately—just lifted her dupatta slightly and wiped a smudge of haldi from Isha's jawline with her thumb. The touch was familiar. Intimate. The kind only a mother could give without asking permission.
"You remember," her mother began softly, "when you were little… you hated haldi."
Isha smiled faintly. "Because it stained my frocks."
Her mother chuckled, eyes glistening. "You used to cry and say, 'Maa, I don't want to be yellow.'"
"I still don't," Isha whispered, voice breaking just a little.
Her mother laughed—but it came out shaky. "Now look at you," she said, cupping Isha's face. "You look like sunshine."
Isha blinked rapidly.
Her father stood a few steps away, pretending to be deeply invested in adjusting a flower vase that clearly didn't need adjusting. Dhruv noticed—and moved closer to him.
"Papa," Dhruv murmured, "she's not going anywhere far."
Her father swallowed. "I know."
But his eyes never left Isha.
He finally walked toward her, sitting on the low stool in front of her. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he reached out and took her hands.
Her mehendi-dark hands.
Hands he had once held while teaching her how to write her name. Hands he had held crossing roads. Hands he had placed on her head every time she left for an exam.
"Beta," he said, voice firm but emotional, "do you know what hurts the most?"
Isha shook her head slowly.
"That you don't need me the way you used to."
Her lips trembled. "Papa…"
"No," he said quickly, squeezing her hands. "That's not a complaint. That's pride."
He smiled—soft, broken. "You became strong without realizing it. And now… you're ready to be someone's wife."
Isha's tears fell freely now.
"I'm scared," she admitted quietly.
Her father nodded. "I was too. The day you were born."
That broke her.
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder, crying silently. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, pressing a kiss into her hair.
Dhruv looked away.
Arjun didn't.
Arjun moved closer, sitting on the grass near Isha's feet. "Hey di," he said gently, trying to smile. "You're not losing us."
"I know," Isha whispered, wiping her cheeks. "But everything is changing."
"That's okay," Prisha replied. "You're allowed to miss this version of you."
Ishika joined them, sitting beside Isha. "You'll still be you," she said softly. "Just… loved in a different way."
Dhruv finally knelt in front of her.
"You know," he said lightly, though his eyes were suspiciously wet, "I still remember the day you learned to tie your own hair."
Isha laughed through tears. "You pulled it so hard I cried."
"And you still didn't complain," Dhruv said. "That's when I knew—you'd survive anything."
He took some dried haldi from her arm and pressed it gently onto his wrist. "But remember this," he added, voice dropping. "No matter whose house you go to… I'm still your brother."
Her breath hitched. "Always."
Their mother stood up then, clapping her hands lightly—not to end the moment, but to seal it.
"Alright," she said softly. "Enough crying. My daughter is glowing, not drowning."
She leaned down and kissed Isha's forehead. "Go. Laugh. Be happy. But don't forget—this house is always yours."
Isha looked around the garden.
The flowers.
The laughter fading into warmth.
The people who made her her.
And for the first time that day, she truly understood—
Marriage wasn't about leaving.
It was about carrying everything with you.
She inhaled deeply, wiped her tears, and smiled.
"Okay," she said softly. "I'm ready."
Not just for the haldi.
For the life waiting beyond it.
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