[FEATURED IN OFFICIAL WATTPAD AMBASSADORS PROFILE]
This is one of the books in the series: Destined To Be. (can be called a collection of books)
The story can be enjoyed as a standalone. You can find more details on my profile.
# HEAVY EDITING START...
Follow me on Instagram for story-related updates, some creative content and to rant your heart out - handle is- suganthii.writes
--
As Nishita crossed the threshold into Jagdish's realm for the very first time, she couldn't help but marvel at the pristine orderliness of his abode—it was as immaculate as a museum gallery the morning after an overnight deep clean. Every cushion was perfectly fluffed, every book spine aligned like soldiers at attention, creating a stark contrast to her own home, which was a bustling bazaar of memories and souvenirs, where each cluttered corner told a story and chaos was the curator.
She briefly entertained the thought that Jagdish's love for order might just skirt the borders of OCD. His apartment was a temple of tidiness, where not a single misaligned coaster or rogue dust bunny dared to make an appearance. Could his need for neatness be a silent symphony, each item an instrument perfectly poised to play its part? Nishita mused on this as she tiptoed through this cathedral of cleanliness, half expecting to disrupt the sacred harmony with her mere presence.
Nishita's gaze was magnetically pulled toward a grand family portrait that commanded attention in the living room, the ancestors in their finest garb, framed by Jagdish's collection of awards and medals arranged with military precision. It was like stepping into a gallery where each accolade was a testament to victories in battles of intellect and perseverance.
The room itself was a study in minimalism, where stark white walls and strategically placed furniture sang an ode to simplicity and order. The ambiance was crisp, the decor whispering tales of the man who dwelled in this sanctum of serenity. Each piece of furniture was positioned just so, as if Jagdish had used a ruler and spirit level to ensure everything was perfectly aligned, creating a space that felt both invigorating and intimidating in its meticulousness.
This minimalist mantra extended to even the smallest details. There wasn't a cushion out of place, nor a magazine lying askew. The air seemed to carry a quiet authority, the kind that hushed louder, messier realities at the door. As Nishita took in the carefully curated tranquility, she could almost hear the silent hum of order, the kind that could make a chaotic soul like hers feel both out of place and utterly fascinated.
This was no ordinary neat freak's haven; it was an architect's dream of geometric peace. Nishita's mind, a vibrant tapestry of color and cacophony, found both wonder and a whisper of worry in Jagdish's methodical world. How would her spirited clutter mesh with his disciplined order? The thought tickled her curiosity as much as it challenged her—this was a love story set on a chessboard, where every move promised a dance of opposites.
Nestled comfortably on the sofa, Jagdish's grandmother welcomed Nishita with a warm, crinkly-eyed smile. "Beta, you traveled all the way to Mumbai by yourself?" Her voice carried the gentle weight of old-world concern.
With a casual shrug that masked her amusement, Nishita responded, "Oh, it's just the next city over. Plus, it was your grandson's big day. I planned to spring a surprise on him, but as it turns out, I'm the one left wide-eyed and startled!"
The room filled with chuckles, slicing through any remnants of awkwardness. Nishita, riding the wave of mirth, quipped, "Well, at least I've got all you wonderful folks for company, or else I'd be out there, lost in Mumbai, parading around in this outrageously elegant saree!"
Yashoda gave Nishita a sweeping once-over, her eyes twinkling with a mix of surprise and sly amusement. "I thought you were allergic to sarees," she teased, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "But look at you, draped in my son's favorite color and style. What a sight!"
Shit!
Nishita's response was a flustered jumble of syllables as heat pricked the back of her neck. "I...I..." she faltered, her words tangling like a kite caught in a summer breeze. The saree, meant to be a bridge to Jagdish's world, now felt like a spotlight pinning her on stage.
"Do you want tea?" Yashoda cut in, slicing through Nishita's tangled words. "I'll get a pot going for the three of us."
From her strategic corner perch, Maithali, always the sharp-eyed orchestrator at family gatherings, flashed a smile that hinted at secrets yet to be shared. "Yashoda, make it five cups, and let's spice it up with some ginger—that's how Chandrakant loves it. Oh, and speaking of, he's coming over with Jagdish. They gave me a ring a few moments ago."
"Oh, got it," Yashoda replied with an understanding nod, turning on her heel. She glided towards the kitchen, her sari elegantly trailing behind her like the train of a royal gown, leaving Nishita and Maithali alone in each other's company.
--
A/N
I really appreciate this mix of three generations—Nishita, her mother-in-law, and grandmother-in-law—gathering together. It's always a joy to engage with women from older generations; they bring such rich perspectives to the table. Sure, we might not always see eye to eye, but there's so much to learn from their experiences. And when they're as open-minded as Yashoda and Maithali, it's a two-way street—they're just as eager to glean insights from the younger generation. This kind of intergenerational exchange is truly invaluable.
"Janeman" is a truly underrated treasure! It perfectly croons about two lovebirds building their nest and basking in shared happiness. I can totally picture Jagdish and Nishita swaying to this melody as they craft their own cozy little world together.
Vote share comment :)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
