Sita Mathur, IAS. An honest, loyal, dedicated, intelligent, kind, and fierce IAS officer to the outer world. But, a sweet, loving, bubbly, cute, and obedient girl for her family.
Ram Raghuvanshi. A strict, powerful, emotionless, and ruthless "RR" of...
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13 NOVEMBER 2024, 10.30 am.,
The sun peeked through a veil of cottony clouds, casting a golden light over the mehendi venue, of Ram and Sita. Their vast yard was alive with colour, an explosion of white and golden drapes billowing gently in the morning breeze. The melody of laughter mingled with the soft chatter of about a hundred guests, filling the air with joy.
At the heart of this vibrant celebration, Ram stood in a pastel green tailored kurta, embodying confidence with a hint of apprehension. He watched the women of his family, dressed in resplendent saris, perched on plush cushions, their hands swirling with intricate designs of henna. Each stroke seemed to weave stories of love, tradition, and new beginnings.
"Look at how beautifully the mehendi of your name is being inscribed on her hands! Bhaiya, wait till you see it!" Yuktha, Ram's cousin, chirped excitedly, peering eagerly into the circle of women. Ram smiled.
Seated among the women, Sita was the epitome of beauty, her laughter ringing like a melody that danced with the passing wind. Her hands, already showcasing a masterpiece of intricate mehendi patterns, were lifted high as she admired her mother's mehendi. "Look at this! It is stunning; did anyone expect anything less from our family's mehendi artist?" she declared, beaming.
"Ram!" His mother's voice sliced through his reverie, drawing him back. She waved to him, an invitation to join them.
"Come see your future wife! Is it not spectacular?" she teased, the mischief in her eyes evident as she giggled, motioning him to sit beside her as the ladies admired her henna.
Ram settled into the space beside her, still somewhat bewildered by the overwhelming tapestry of thoughts whirring in his mind. "It looks amazing, Sita," he replied earnestly, even as some anxiety played at the edges of his mind.
"Just wait till they're dried up, I know it will be in the darkest shade." His mother said, her enthusiasm was infectious, pulsing through the delightful chaos of the ceremony.
As the henna artist worked meticulously, applying the finishing touches, Ram attempted to shake off the unease bubbling within. His friends had been teasing him about the impending challenges of balancing work and family, noting how often marriage meant compromise. Yet, the moment he caught her radiant smile, a wave of reassurance washed over him. Sita understood the strain of ambition. She, too, was navigating the demands of leadership.
"Do you think we will manage?" Ram asked suddenly, drawing the attention of the group around them.
Sita tilted her head, her brow furrowed slightly as she contemplated his question. "Manage what, Ram?"
He took a moment to gather his thoughts. " supporting our dreams, jobs, and handling the expectations of our families?"
The moment hung between them like a fragile promise. Her fingers clad in dried henna found his, a gentle squeeze that seemed to anchor his swirling doubts. "I believe we will, Ram. Just as we support each other now, we will always find our way forward—together," she reassured him as if reading the uncertainty etched across his features.
