Four best friends.
One wedding.
A reunion that was never meant to happen.
Time changed everything. But not their pasts. Not the glances that still sting.
Not the love that never really left. One waits for her, clinging to a love that never faded. O...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The air hummed with anticipation, thick as the royal silks draping the palace's grand halls. Haldi—my absolute favorite ritual in this whirlwind of wedding splendor, had me buzzing like a bee drunk on jasmine nectar.
The colors exploded everywhere. Saffron-streaked fabrics swirling like fire-kissed sunsets, brass lamps flickering gold against marble pillars etched with ancient vines.
Isha had picked my sherwani herself, of course. Her touch lingered in every fold, a secret promise stitched into the cloth.
I strode through the palace's opulent atrium, where marigold garlands cascaded from arched ceilings like liquid sunshine. Incense coiled lazy tendrils of sandalwood and clove, wrapping around me, pulling me deeper into the heart of it all. Laughter echoed off the vaulted domes, a symphony of joy from cousins in embroidered lehengas with booming voices.
But my eyes? They betrayed me. Locked on her. God, how I ached for her nearness, yet here we were, worlds apart in this sea of silk and smiles, the ritual demanding its poetic distance.
We stole a handful of photographs first, the photographer's lens capturing stolen glances that said everything words couldn't. Then, the elders stepped forward, their palms blooming with turmeric paste, golden as the palace's hidden vaults.
One by one, they approached. Family, friends, the weight of generations in their gentle touches. The paste smeared across my cheeks, my forehead, warm and earthy, marking me for this new dawn.
Blessings rained down next, voices weaving spells of prosperity and passion. I felt it all. Gratitude blooming fierce in my chest like the lotuses in the palace fountains. And then.
Splash.
One of Haldi's wicked delights, right up there with the turmeric's sultry glow. Water arced through the air in crystalline arcs, cool against sun-warmed skin, turning us all into laughing, dripping gods and goddesses.
I bit my lower lip, a chuckle escaping despite myself. My mind wandered, unbidden, to Isha. Drenched, curves kissed by the spray.
I'd be the first to douse her, a torrent from my cupped hands, watching her emerge like some forbidden deity, fierce and flushed. Heat coiled low in my belly at the thought.
Stop.
What is this? Ayaan and Rohan's brand of mischief rubbing off? These friends of mine.. they'll corrupt a saint yet.
A shadow fell across my view, yanking me back. I sighed, sharp and impatient. It happened again, another bulk eclipsing her like a storm cloud over the moon. "Dammit, just move," I muttered, craning my neck.
Then I looked up. Of course. Ethan, Rohan, and Ayaan grinning like fools, shoulders bumping in that effortless brotherhood of theirs.
"Yo," Rohan drawled, eyes gleaming wicked. "Your stare's about to bore holes through her, brother. Eyes popping like fireworks."
