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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𝐀𝐁𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐔 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐇𝐔𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈 | 𝐏𝐎𝐕
The air in the haveli feels different today.
There's an energy-a blend of celebration, tradition, and a bit of chaos. Today is my younger brother Reyansh's engagement. My mother has been moving around since morning like a storm, and Dadisa has taken over the entire management of the puja ceremony. She believes no event is complete without blessings and rituals. And truth be told, she isn't wrong.
Every corner of the haveli is decorated with marigold garlands, the floor patterned with fresh rangoli. Priests are arranging everything in the mandap in the inner courtyard, and all the ladies in the house are dressed in vibrant Rajasthani poshaks.
Including me-I'm in a cream-colored kurta with an embroidered angarkha and a golden safaa (turban) on my head. The entire family looks like a walking slice of Rajasthani heritage.
But my eyes... they are searching for only one person.
Anika.
She had told me last night that she would wear a traditional Rajasthani poshak for the morning puja and change later into a saree for the engagement. I remember teasing her, saying, "Dekhta hoon, tum us heavy lehenga mein chal bhi paogi ya nahi."
("Let's see if you can even walk in that heavy lehenga or not.")
And she had rolled her eyes, saying, "Tum bas dekhna. Sambhal loongi."
("Just wait and watch. I'll handle it.")
But now, standing in the courtyard, surrounded by family and relatives, I suddenly realize I'm holding my breath. Waiting. Anticipating.
Because I've never seen her in a Rajasthani poshak before.
"Bhaiya, aarti le lo," Riya hands me the thali, but I'm barely able to focus.
That's when I hear the soft sound of payal (anklets) echoing from the stairs. I instinctively turn my gaze toward the main haveli entrance.
And then I see her.
Anika.
Descending slowly, carefully... each step calculated.
She's wrapped in a royal red Rajasthani poshak, with mirror work shimmering under the golden sunlight filtering through the jaali windows. Her long dupatta is pinned over her head like a queen's veil. Her neck is adorned with traditional Kundan jewellery, bangles stacked over her wrists, and her hands decorated with mehendi still fresh from yesterday's function.
But my attention isn't on her clothes.
It's on her face.
Eyes lined with kohl, a soft blush on her cheeks, and nervousness flickering in her eyes as she holds the banister for support.
