'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
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AUTHOR'S POV :
"Ab aap dono phero ke liye khade ho jaiye," pandit ji announced, his voice echoing through the mandap.
(Now, both of you please stand up for the wedding rounds.)
Ishan sat before the sacred fire, his face carved into a mask of stone. After the explosive argument with Shivay-and the bitter taste of yet another betrayal adding itself to the long chain already choking him-he had surrendered. Without a word, he had returned to the resort, dressed himself in silence, and taken his place at the mandap like a man awaiting his sentence.
"Ishan-" Sunaina's voice broke softly, almost fragile against the weight in the air.
He exhaled deeply, the sound carrying more defeat than breath, and rose to his feet. But not once did his eyes flicker towards Aadhriti-not when she entered, not when she sat across him, not when the rituals began. His gaze stayed far away, pinned on some invisible horizon, as if even acknowledging her presence would shatter the fragile wall holding him together.
Around them, life moved mechanically. Relatives murmured, priests chanted, and the ritual fire burned brighter, uncaring. Shekhar and Abhinav had withdrawn into a corner, their postures slouched, disinterest etched into their every movement.
Shivay stood at the edge of the mandap, shadows clinging to him. His eyes glistened, a thin sheen of tears threatening to spill. His throat worked against the hard lump that refused to dissolve. He pressed his lips together, fighting it, but the dam inside him was cracking.
Nitya, who had been observing him from afar, noticed the shift-the heaviness in his stance, the hollow curve of his shoulders but thinking it as the result of her brother's presence she dismissed. Quietly slipping away from the crowd, she reached him, tugging him gently into the dim corner of the hall. Her heart fluttered with the mischief she intended, a moment of lightness amid the chaos of the unfolding marriage.
"Dulhan ke devar ko, dulhey ki jutiya nahi bachani kya?" she teased, her eyes sparkling.
(Doesn't the bride's brother-in-law have to steal the groom's shoes?)
But the sparkle died the moment she saw him unmoved. His lips didn't quirk, his eyes didn't even shift towards her. He stood frozen, drowning in a world she couldn't yet see. This wasn't her Shiv-not the man who always teased back, who always met her gaze with warmth.
Her smile faded, concern replacing playfulness. She stepped closer, her tone firm but laced with tenderness. "Shiv, look at me."
He didn't. His eyes remained fixed somewhere else, heavy with a storm he couldn't let out.
"Shiv-" her voice softened, trembling now, as she lifted both her hands to cup his face. Her palms pressed against his cheeks, coaxing him gently, forcing him to face her.
