Since it's been so long since the last update, I'm dropping a massive chapter—9,000 words. Enjoy!
Also, before we dive in, I'd love a suggestion from you all: Do you want me to skip over the wedding part, or should I actually write about the rituals and the fun surrounding it? It won't be too detailed, but I'll make sure to include all the important moments. What do you think?
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Nitya glances out the car window as the unfamiliar landscape rolls by. "Adwait, where are we going?'
I catch her gaze for a split second before looking back at the road. "We're heading to pick up Adya."
She turns fully to face me now, suspicion pooling in her dark eyes. "But this isn't the route to Virat and Arushi's house. What's happening? Is she somewhere else?"
"Patience, love," I murmur with a chuckle, lifting her hand to my lips.
She nods faintly, her lips twitching in a tired half-smile before she leans her head back against the seat. Within moments, her eyes flutter shut and sleep pulls her under. I don't wake her. How could I? Last night, I knew she hadn't slept—too scared I'd do something reckless again.
And maybe she wasn't wrong to worry. Even now, as I glance at her peaceful face, my chest tightens with the memory of the night before. I don't know what came over me.
It wasn't about right or wrong—those words felt meaningless in the moment. All I craved was freedom. Not the kind that comes with rebellion or escape, but a deeper kind. The kind that loosens the chains inside your own head. Freedom from the weight pressing against my ribs, from the whispers of memories that gnaw at the edges of my sanity.
Call it weak, call it cowardly—hell, call it anything you want. It doesn't matter. Because no one, no one, can understand the depth of a person's pain except the one who's drowning in it. And last night, I was sinking fast.
I park the car in the lot, cutting the engine with a low rumble. Stepping out, I make my way around to Nitya's side, opening the door carefully. "Sweetheart," I brush a strand of hair from her face. "Wake up."
She groans. "What is it?" Slowly, her eyes flutter open, squinting against the light. "Where are we?"
"Family court," I offer my hand to help her out of the car.
"Court? Why?"
Before I can answer, a joyful squeal reaches us. "Mamma! Papa!"
We both turn, and there's Adya, running toward us with Virat close behind. She's almost at our feet when she stops, looking at our joined hands. Her wide eyes drift to Nitya, taking in every detail of her mother's appearance—the saree, the bangles, the red vermilion in her hair part, and the nuptial chain resting around her neck. It's the first time she's seen her mother this way.
A slow, awe-filled smile breaks across her face, and without hesitation, she reaches out to hug our hands by pressing her cheek against them. I feel a familiar warmth of nostalgia. She's still the same little girl who once grasped our hands just like this, back when she was two and Nitya and I had finally started dating. Now, here we are, married, and she's right here with us.
