The illegitimate daughter of a powerful businessman, she was sent to live with her six half-brothers after her father's sudden death.
The boys were born from privilege, pride, and perfectly manicured bloodlines. No one welcomed her. No one cared.
De...
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The boutique smelled like jasmine sachets and freshly steamed fabric—an odd combination of weddings and wealth.
Sequined silhouettes hung like sleeping butterflies, frozen mid-dance. Soft indie music thrummed through hidden speakers, but Maheer barely registered any of it.
She sat on the plush cream sofa near the fitting area, legs crossed, phone untouched, letting her eyes wander across the rows of embroidered chaos. For once, her thoughts were quiet. Not dead quiet—but quieter than usual.
It felt normal.
Too normal.
Like she was borrowing someone else's life for the afternoon.
"Ready?" Kavya's voice called from behind the curtain.
Maheer didn't lift her head. "As ready as I'll ever be to watch you wear forty kilos of stitched bling."
The curtain swept open dramatically.
And there stood Kavya, in all her red-lehenga glory—zari shimmer, mirror-work blouse, and enough flare to smuggle a toddler under.
She did a spin.
"Ta-da!"
Maheer blinked. "Do they charge by square foot or just on emotional damage?"
Kavya snorted. "Please. This is a masterpiece."
"It's a moving tent with sparkle."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," Kavya grinned. "Not all of us want to be pastel brides."
Maheer made a face. "That trend is weird. Everyone out there looks like buttercream frosting instead of brides."
Kavya giggled. "You say that now. Wait till Veeransh proposes. You'll wear twelve kilos of embroidery just to say yes dramatically."
Maheer rolled her eyes. "I'll wear black and run."
"Into his arms?"
Maheer didn't reply.
But a ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips.
The boutique assistant appeared to adjust Kavya's lehenga trail, and Kavya attempted to make Maheer laugh about how grooms should stop wearing sneakers with sherwanis because "you're not running a marathon, buddy—it's a wedding."
Later, as sunlight stretched longer across the pavement, they found themselves curled into corner seats of a nearby coffee shop. The coffee was strong, the seats soft, and the mood blissfully untraumatized.
Until Maheer felt it.
A weightless kind of tug. The eerie sense of eyes on her.
She turned her head slightly and found Avni watching her from across the cafe.
