The house was in chaos, a whirlwind of voices and hurried footsteps as everyone rushed to prepare for the evening's grand event. It was, after all, the first wedding of the younger generation, and every detail had to be perfect. Decorations draped the mansion in festive splendor, caterers moved in synchronized urgency, and stylists flitted from room to room.
Preeta sat motionless, as if untouched by the frenzy around her. She needed time to process, to push back the storm of emotions raging inside her. She willed herself to focus, to shove down the pain in her heart and deal with the present. Her gaze fell upon Karan. He was sitting beside her, head tilted back against the sofa, eyes closed. He might have looked calm to an outsider, but she knew better. She saw the way his jaw clenched, how the veins in his hands popped out from gripping his fists too tightly. He was trying to mask it, but she could better.
A lump formed in her throat, her vision blurring with unshed tears. He had set aside everything, even his brother's well-being, just to be here for her. That realization settled deep in her heart, wrapping around her like a fragile warmth amid the cold chaos. If he could do this for her, then she could be strong too just for a little longer. She straightened, drawing in a slow breath. She would stand by him, help him, and push through this together. And then, when it was all over when the noise faded and the lights dimmed, she would find a quiet, dark corner to lick her wounds no one else could see.
But then, Karan was here. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to heal alone.
"Karan, let's not waste time here. Let's find a way," Preeta whispered, her voice laced with quiet urgency.
Karan's eyes fluttered open as if pulled from a distant dream. He blinked, momentarily dazed. "Yeah... what did you just say?"
Preeta met his gaze, her resolve unwavering. "We must stop the wedding, Karan."
He sighed, pressing his fingers against his temples. "We should," he agreed, though exhaustion weighed down his voice. His eyes, red and weary, made Preeta's heart soften.
Her voice turned gentle. "Do you have a headache?" she asked with concern.
"A little... maybe I'll take some pill."
Without hesitation, she extended her palm. "Come here, I'll press it for you."
He stilled, momentarily dazed by the tenderness in her gesture. His gaze fell to her outstretched hand before he murmured, almost absentmindedly, "You're injured."
"Not really," she dismissed, shifting slightly to make space for him. Hesitant but unable to resist, he sat in front of her.
Then, with a quiet determination, Preeta picked up a pillow and placed it on her lap. She met his eyes, a silent invitation. Karan hesitated for only a second before lowering himself, resting his head on her lap, feeling the warmth of her presence surround him.
As her fingers pressed against his forehead with featherlight care, something inside him cracked. The weight of everything, the exhaustion, the longing, the emotions he had kept buried, threatened to break free. He wanted to turn, to bury his face in her lap, to tell her everything.
That he was in love with her.
That he wanted her, not as a friend, not as a passing moment, but as his, his lover, his wife, his forever.
That he would cherish her, hold her in his palms like something sacred, and spend his life making her the happiest woman in the world.
But how could he? How could he confess when she wore another man's ring? When she saw him as her closest friend? What if, in chasing his love, he lost the one thing that mattered most; their companionship, their bond?
