An arranged marriage isn't something everyone wants. It's a big chance that not everyone would take. Will this one work out, or will it not?
Can love really grow when you didn't choose who you marry?
Will they be happy together? And in the end, wil...
Let me start by saying that perhaps this chapter is not as good. My exams are about to start, and I am stressed. Writing during such a tense time is very difficult, but I will still try my best.
Also, I'm sorry for the delay. You all are so lovely; you vote and comment, and I appreciate that.
Now, if you want chapters this month, they won't be edited, meaning they might be a bit rough. I don't want to turn my beautiful story into trash, so I'm putting it on hold for now.
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KARTIKEYA'S POV
"Did I say you have to blurt everything in front of everyone?" I groaned, looking at Kabir, who was smiling mischievously. "I specifically told you to keep it a secret," I added, trying to hide my frustration. Kabir's carefree attitude always seemed to clash with my more cautious nature.
"You are acting like you have committed a crime; it's a birthday," Kabir teased, raising an eyebrow.
"I know, okay, bastard, but I just prefer to keep certain things private," I snapped, crossing my arms defensively. He took sips from his whisky glass, tsking, and forwarded a glass for me to join him.
"Come on, loosen up a bit," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"No thank you."
"First groom who doesn't want to join his wedding night,"
"Bhabhi must be waiting, go bro, don't keep her waiting," he said with a smirk, taking another sip of his drink. "Besides, it's her birthday today, and she deserves to have a memorable night."
"Can you please stop whatever you're thinking?" I said, looking at him. He only replied with a mischievous grin.
"Break the celibacy," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"That's what we call control, which is something you lack," I arched my brows, smiling at him with a tight lip.
"Where's the fun in having control all the time?" he retorted, leaning back in his chair.
"You're a manwhore," I smirked.
"It's a compliment," he chuckled, his mischievous grin widening.
"Seriously, but I visit 1 or 2 times a month; that's hardly a manwhore status. It's not like I'm sleeping with every person I meet."
"Whatever," I rolled my eyes, unimpressed by his attempt to defend himself.
"Shut up; at least I can show my wife some skills, not like someone who doesn't even touch a woman," he retorted, challenging me.
