Esha's POV
One month had passed since Aakash had left for his business trip, yet not a single day passed without the hollow ache of his absence. Our chats and video calls tried to shrink the distance between us, but their gentle glow could never truly replace the comforting warmth of his hand in mine or the steady reassurance of his gaze.
Today, our home was alive with devotion and festivity, as the Satyanarayan Puja brought friends and family together. I busied myself with the decorations. Soham had helped me with the rangoli. Meera Aunty arrived by cab, and though the gathering was warm, it felt incomplete without Aksh.
The priest's voice rang clear as the rituals unfolded—Ganesh Puja, Kalash Puja, then the sacred Satyanarayan Katha. Each story he told, every verse chanted, filled the room with a divine energy, a reminder of faith and hope. The Hawan and Aarti wove their magic, and when the Puja concluded, the laughter and chatter around lunch reminded me of life's simple joys. I departed for the garden.
In the garden, Meera Aunty's voice broke into my swirling thoughts. Compliments on my sweet dish brought a shy smile to my lips. As we walked amidst blooming flowers, our conversation drifted, light and soothing—her managing alone, Aksh's absence, everything.
Her sudden question felt like a soft ripple in still water.
"Aakash se baat ho rahi hain?" she asked, and I nodded quietly, my heart tightening at the unspoken implications.
("You are talking to Aakash?")
Evening shadows lengthened, guests departed one by one, and only Meera Aunty remained, her presence a quiet anchor. The cab was summoned; I offered to accompany her, but she refused gently. As Mumma and Papa chatted on, a call from a friend pulled me momentarily away from the growing tension within the room.
"Bhai Sahab, aap ko bura na lage toh ek baat puchu?" Meera Aunty asked Papa.
("Bhai Sahab, if you don't mind, can I ask you one thing?")
"Puch na," Papa replied softly.
("Ask")
Then came the question that stopped my heart.
"Chaar mahine ho chuke hain Esha aur Akash ko, ek dusre ko jante hui. Woh done ek dusre ke saath bhi khush hain aur close bhi hain. Toh mein kya kehe rahi thi, hum apni dosti ko rishtedaari mein badal le? Kya aap apni beti ka haath mere bete ke liye denge?" Meera Aunty asked Papa.
("It's been four months since Esha and Akash have known each other. They're happy and close together. So what I was saying is, should we turn our friendship into a relationship? Will you give your daughter's hand in marriage to my son?")
A minute later, Papa's steady voice responded, "Mujhe iss se koi aitraaz toh nahi hain. Par mein chahta hoon ki hum pehele dono se baat kare. Phir denkhenge ki kya karna hain."
("I have no objection to this. But I want us to talk to both first. Then we'll see what to do.")
A surge of joy mixed with electric excitement shot through me. I was happy and eager for the proposal, but a little scare lingered: what would Aakash's point be on this topic? Yet, deep down, I knew what his answer would be. But hearing it from him—that would sound even better.
"Theek hai, Bhaisahab. Mein Aakash se puchke batati hu ki who kya chahta hain. Agar dono ko thoda time aur chahiye toh, toh hum sochenge." Meera Aunty replied.
("Okay, Bhai Sahab. I'll ask Aakash to tell me what he wants. If both need a little more time, we'll think about it.")
I stood in a dilemma: should I ask him about this, or let Meera Aunty decide this with him?
The cab arrived, pulling me out of my thoughts. Everyone bid Meera Aunty goodbye.
As everyone was tired, we decided to have an early dinner and go to bed. After dinner, I changed into my nightwear and was about to lie down when I heard a gentle knock. I opened the door to see Papa standing there.
"Kya mein tere saath baat kar sakta hu ya subah baat kare?" He asked, standing near the doorframe.
("Can I talk to you, or should I talk in the morning?")
"Abhi kar sakte hain... agar aap ko theek lage toh." I was confused. Did he come to ask about that wedding?
("You can do it now... if you feel like it.")
What did he think about it? All these kinds of questions rushed into my mind. Papa came and sat on the bed. He made me sit in front of him.
"Aaj jab tu kitchen mein thi, tab Meera ne kuch pucha jo tere decision pe depend karta hain. Meera ne tera haath Aakash ke liye pucha. Mein ne kaha ki mein tujh se baat karke bataunga."
("Today, when you were in the kitchen, Meera asked something that depends on your decision. Meera asked for your hand for Aakash. I said I would talk to you and let you know.")
"Dekh beta, mana ki Aakash accha ladka hain aur tum logon ki jodi jamegi. Par phir bhi maine socha ki ek baar baat kar lu. Tujhe shaadi abhi nahi karni toh mein Meera ko bol dunga ki kuch saal ke baad iss bare mein sochte hain. Yeh sab teri marzi par dépend karta hain. Tu time lekar bata, koi jaldi nahi hai. Aise decisions sochkar aur samajhkar liye jaate hain." When Papa finally talked, my heart thudded with anticipation and worry. His words, filled with love and patience, relieved some of my fears.
("Look, son, I agree that Akash is a good guy and you two would make a good couple. But I still thought we should talk to him once. If you don't want to get married right now, I'll tell Meera that we'll think about it after a few years. It all depends on your wishes. Take your time; there's no hurry. Such decisions are made after careful consideration.")
"Aapko kya lagta hain, mujhe kya karna chahiye?" I asked Papa, trying to know what he feels about this matter.
("What do you think I should do?")
"Mujhe Aakash toh pasand hain. But mein tujh par chod raha hu ki tu kya karegi. Bohot raat ho chuki hain, mein chalta hu." I nodded my head and smiled. He acknowledged Aakash's goodness, emphasized my choice, and encouraged reflection without rush. His gentle advice wrapped around me like a warm blanket in the cold night.
("I like Aakash, but I'll leave it to you to decide. It's late, so I'm going.")
I lay on my bed afterwards, tracing patterns on the sheet as the weight of the word "marriage" settled in. The proposal was no longer just a thought—it was becoming a reality. Aksh's feelings, his views, the silent promises between us—all mingled in my heart.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel it— the future my father had just spoken of... with Aakash.
Meera Aunty's proposal wasn't a surprise—our families were close, and Aakash and I were close—but hearing the words spoken out loud by Papa made it real. It changed from a lovely, abstract possibility into a concrete path laid out before me. I had been worried about his decision.
A part of me ached for Aakash's presence, missed his comforting smile and steady companionship.
We hadn't spoken about marriage directly, but every conversation, every shared silence, every look—even the ones I avoided—had been building toward something permanent. The video calls weren't just about sharing my day; they were about bridging the distance and ensuring we remained connected.
Should I once call Aakash?
I opened my eyes and took my phone. As I took my phone from the corner of the bed, the ringtone filled the air. His name was displayed on the mobile.
"Hey," he said as soon as I picked up the phone. "How was your day? How was the puja?"
"My day was good and tiring. The Puja was also good." I answered. "Aur aapka?"
("And yours?")
"Fine," he said with a deep sigh.
"Maa ne mujhe bola ki unhone aaj puja ke baad hamare shaadi ki baad ki. Tumhe kya lagta hai iske bare mein?" He spoke. His voice was tentative yet sincere.
("Maa told me she proposed our wedding today after the puja. What do you think about that?")
"I am still confused," I confessed. "Aur aapko?"
("And you?")
"Mujhe lagta nahi hai ki mein isse sahi se kehe paunga, but.." He stopped.
("I don't think I can say it right, but...")
"But..?" she asked.
"Jab mein ne tumhe peheli baar baarish ki raat dekha, tab mujhe ek connection mehsoos hua tumhare saath. Mujhe use batana nahi ata. Uss din ke baad jab bhi koyi baarish ke baare mein baat karta tha, toh mujhe tumhari hi yaad ati. Mein tab use ignore karta tha. Par jab se tum mujhe Maa ke saath dikhi, tab se tumhe dimag se nikal nahi paa raha tha. Mujhe nahi pata tha ki yeh kya hain par itna pata tha ki kuch feeling hain mujhe tumhare liye. Jeet ki shaadi par jab humpe haldi giri, tabhi mujhe pata nahi kyu par accha feel hua. Aur jab mein ne tumhare sar par kaleerein girte hue dekha, tab alag hi bechaini thi mere dil mein. Mujhse raha nahi gaya. Ussi time mein ne mann banaya ki I will talk to you. Peheli coffee par jab tum aayi toh jo khusi mujhe hui woh aaj bhi mujhe yaad hain. Jab tum mere saath hoti ho ya mujhse baat karti ho tab alag hi sukoon milta hain. Aisa lagta hain ki bas baat karta rahoon. You make me alive, Esha. I want to tell you.I Love You." There was a profound silence. We didn't speak, letting the echo of those words and the weight of our charged silence speak for us. "I know ki mein bohot bura hu ki mein tumhe ye sab phone pe bol raha hu. Will you marry me?" He whispered finally, breaking our silence.
("When I first saw you on a rainy night, I felt a connection with you. I couldn't tell what. After that day, whenever anyone talked about rain, I remembered you. I ignored her then. But ever since I saw you with Maa, I couldn't get you out of my mind. I didn't know what, but I knew that I had some feelings for you. It wasn't until the haldi fell on me at Jeet's wedding that I felt unknowingly good. And when I saw the kaleerein falling on your head, I felt a different kind of restlessness in my heart. I couldn't control myself. At that very moment, I decided to talk to you. I still remember the happiness I felt when you came for our first coffee. When you are with me or speak to me, I get a different kind of peace. It feels like I should keep talking. You make me alive, Esha. I want to tell you that I love you.")
("I know I'm so bad that I'm saying all this to you on the phone. Will you marry me?")
Tears glistened silently in my eyes, happiness mingling with a sense of relief. Our silence held all the words we could not say out loud.
"Tum ro rahi ho?" He asked softly, concern tingeing his voice.
("Are you crying?")
"Aapko kaise pata?" I asked, smiling through my tears.
("How do you know?")
"Because I know you." He stated, with that solid confidence I loved. A soft chuckle escaped my lips.
"I Love You Too." I knew he loved me, but hearing the confession, raw and rushed, sounded different—it sounded like the truth. There was silence for a few minutes, a comfortable silence now, before I spoke again.
"Theek hai phir, kal baat karte hain. Aapko bhi kaam hoga." I said, trying to end the call quickly before my excitement got the better of me.
("Ok, then. Let's talk tomorrow. You might have work.")
"Madam aapne abhi tak jawab nahi diya." He countered, his voice playful.
("Madam, you still didn't answer.")
"Jawab kal tak aa jayega," I told him, a wide smile splitting my face, and ended the call, my heart soaring. The proposal was real, the love was confessed, and the uncertainty was gone. Tomorrow, I would tell him 'yes' and secure the "solid presence" I had missed for so long.
("Answer will come by tomorrow.")
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Hey Folks!!
Mubarak ho!! Confession ho hi gaya. What will happen the next day? How will his reaction be after listening to his answer? For that, stay tuned!!
Hope you like this chapter. If yes, please like the chapter and comment on your favourite part.
Also, comment on the theories you think would happen next. Would love to read them.
Thanks for reading ❤️...