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"What are you doing here?" he asks me, his eyes raking over my drenched body and widening. Instantly, he opens the door further, allowing me to slip inside and grab a towel from somewhere, handing it to me.
My sobs may have taken a backseat f...
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I’m walking down the stairs, fresh from a cold shower, droplets still clinging to my damp hair, when Ma spots me.
“Oh, Anaya, thank God you’re here. Come on,” she says, waving me over.
She and Janki are perched on one side of the sofa, their heads bent over something, so I slide in next to Aayansh on the other. A glossy magazine is sprawled open between them like a sacred text. Confused, I glance at Ma.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice cautious.
“We were just flipping through some bridal wear designs,” Ma says, eyes twinkling with excitement. “See if you like anything. We need to start preparing for your Haldi, Mehendi, Sangeet, wedding, and reception. Arjun just called—pandit-ji has given us an auspicious wedding date right after Diwali, early December.”
She beams like she’s just handed me a winning lottery ticket.
“That gives us four months. A lot of time but not nearly enough. Are you okay with a December wedding?”
I blink. Once. Twice. Did I just nod? Am I dreaming?
We’re already picking out bridal aesthetics a day after my engagement—sorry, engagement of convenience—and barely a few hours after agreeing to go on one date with Aayansh?
A bead of sweat trickles down my neck, disappearing into my kurti. My stomach tightens, warm and uneasy, a faint nausea creeping in.
The magazine is stunning—every page a riot of color and embellishment—but I can only fake my enthusiasm. Janki coos over every lehenga with the kind of excitement I should be feeling, and Ma’s busy swiping through designs on her iPad, adjusting embroidery styles and color palettes.
Aayansh, however, is silent.
Every now and then, his hand brushes against mine. He interlaces our fingers gently and gives me a soft, reassuring smile. It’s as if he senses my panic, the storm building inside me, the realization settling hard in my chest.
I’m getting married in four months.
To Aayansh Singhania.
And did Ma just say there’ll be a massive Sangeet, with performances and games and me dancing in front of everyone?
Why the hell am I still nodding?
My marriage to Neil had been a quiet affair—simple, clinical. No Haldi, no Mehendi, no Sangeet. Just a quick three-hour ceremony, Vidaai, and done. I had dreamed of more, of course—celebrations, color, chaos—but none of it was welcomed.
I thought I loved him. I thought he’d want those things with me.
Now, I’m getting all of it. The dream wedding. A family that feels like home. A sister-in-law who is also my best friend. A fiancé who is respectful, kind… supportive.
