Where is bride mr. Mehra his father asked?
There parents are looking down they don't have words to say to them that there daughter run away from her own marriage...
Sorry Raghuvanshi sahab mai aapke hath judta ho mujhe maaf karde .
Ab kuch nhi ho sa...
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𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐇𝐔𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 | 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Morning light filters through the cream curtains, and I’m already dressed and ready, sitting in front of the mirror while fixing my dupatta. Today is not just any day—Dadi Bua is coming. The one everyone keeps warning me about. Strict. Disciplined. Royal. Someone who can silence a room with one stare.
Mujhe pata hai sab dar rahe hai... but I’m not. Nervous? A little. But scared? Nahin. (I know everyone’s scared… but I’m not. Nervous? A little. But scared? No.)
Because I know I won’t give her a reason to dislike me. I’ve made up my mind—today, she’ll only see the best version of her bahu.
I’m fixing the pleats of my saree, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear when Abhimanyu enters the room, buttoning his cufflinks.
“Anika,” he says, voice calm, crisp, as usual, “wallet kahan rakha hai mera?”
(Anika, where’s my wallet?)
I turn, pointing towards the dresser. “Wahin toh rakha tha… ek second, I’ll get it.”
(It was right there… one second.)
I pick it up and walk over to him. His phone’s already in one hand, and he’s fixing his watch with the other.
He’s always like this in the mornings—half his mind in meetings, half already on his office floor.
“Yeh lo,” I say, handing over the wallet.
(Here you go.)
But before he can grab it, it slips from my fingers.
“Oops!” I mumble, as the wallet falls to the floor with a dull thud.
I immediately bend down to pick it up before he can, careful not to ruin my saree pleats. I pick up the leather wallet, but as I go to dust it lightly, something peeks out.
A small square photo, slightly worn at the edges, right in the front slot.
My fingers freeze.
I pull it a little to confirm what I think I just saw.
It’s me.
A photo of me, smiling shyly, wearing that lilac dress from our first family dinner.
Wait… he keeps my photo in his wallet?
Front slot. Not hidden away. Not folded. Just… there.
I can’t explain what happens to me in that moment.
My heart skips one beat. Then another. And then it starts racing.
Why do I feel like my lungs suddenly forgot how to breathe?
I stare at the picture again—my picture. That’s definitely me. That evening when I had no clue someone was watching me with such attention that they clicked a photo and kept it so close.
