My Mr. Artist

Chapter 43

The day of the wedding dawned bright, gilded in shades of gold and red. The Mahal shimmered like something out of a dream, its grand halls glowing under the decorations she had personally overseen.

For Kiyah, it wasn't a day of celebrations—it was silent work. From morning till evening she had moved through the venue like a shadow, checking the draping, the flowers, the lighting, the grand mandap glowing at the center of the courtyard. Every detail had her imprint, and now, as the guests arrived in shimmering silks and polished sherwanis, she stepped back to blend in with the crowd, no longer the architect, just another face among many.

Saransh had been absent the entire week. His mother had practically chained him to the office with Shivin, their elder brother, on one pretext or another. They had only met once or twice in stolen hours, and late-night calls had become their lifeline. She had teased him about it, both of them remembering those early days when they were students—overloaded with assignments, snatching moments between exhaustion, surviving on whispered midnight talks that had felt like their entire world.

After that night in the Awasthi mansion, she hadn't gone back. She had busied herself with packing, catching up on sleep, browsing rental listings—filling her hours with anything but the ache of distance. Meanwhile, Saransh was stuck under his mother's watchful eyes, as if she had hired invisible guards to make sure he didn't slip away.

And now, at last, the most awaited day had arrived.

Kiyah entered the hall, her heart strangely unsteady. Her gaze swept the venue—the venue she herself had dressed in beauty. The chandeliers bathed the guests in amber light, garlands cascaded like waterfalls, and laughter and music spilled everywhere.

The venue itself was unlike any ordinary wedding hall. The Mahal's grand courtyard had been opened only on one side, the rest stretching into a vast, echoing hall that shimmered under careful design. Though it looked every bit like a royal wedding setup, it also whispered of what was to come—the transformation into a luxury resort.

Kiyah knew it intimately; she had seen the blueprints, walked through the skeletal walls, touched the unfinished corridors. But today, standing as a guest, she realized how little the others knew. Only hints were visible—the sweeping arches that would later open into suites, the cascading staircase that would lead to private lounges, the intricate wall panels that doubled as design experiments for the resort interiors. Big reveals were kept tucked away, hidden behind silken drapes and clever partitions, waiting for the grand opening.

And still, the effect was undeniable. Guests whispered in awe, their gazes lifting toward the carved ceilings, the gilded balconies, the subtle but modern touches woven through the traditional architecture. Even without telling, the Mahal spoke for itself.

And in the middle of it all, her work breathed around her—every flower, every candle, every light angled just right.

Then her eyes caught him.

Saransh.

He stood a little apart, still wrapped in that unavoidable plaster, yet in his traditional kurta he looked devastatingly handsome, his presence pulling her like a tide. He was following his brother through the hall, greeting guests, bowing his head respectfully to elders. But her eyes... her eyes wouldn't leave him.

It was only when the two brothers stopped in front of her that she snapped out of her daze. Heart racing, she scrambled to her feet, unsure what to say.

Shivin, ever the composed elder son, spoke first. "The arrangements and everything are really top-notch. It's beautiful." His tone carried no excess emotion—just genuine acknowledgment. "Thank you. Everyone's eyes are darting around, and I'm also looking forward to seeing your work for our resort. For now..." He inclined his head slightly. "Enjoy the wedding."