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...
The glimpse of the next chapter is up on my Instagram! Check it out and don't forget to follow me there for more updates. Instagram I'd - Melodyofcyra
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Dulhe ki saaliyo, oh hare dupatte valiyo,
jute de do paise lelo..."
The music blared, and before I could even process it, Veeransh appeared out of nowhere, a green dupatta rolled neatly in his hand. His eyes glinted with mischief.
Next thing I knew, he flung the dupatta toward me. It wrapped around my waist effortlessly, the silk cool against my skin, and before I could react, he was holding the ends tight, leaning slightly forward, pushing me closer than absolutely necessary.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at my lips.
The way he moved, so theatrical, so filmy, it made my heart beat faster.
My hands instinctively went to the dupatta—then, just as the lyric hit its peak, I wrenched free, pushed him hard in the chest, and sang back, matching his tone:
"Dulhan ke devar, tum dikhalao naa yuun tevar, paise dedo jute lelo..."
I barely caught my breath from my little victory over Veeransh when Kabeer, with his trademark flair for chaos, suddenly yelled,
"Main bhi hoon, saali!"
Before I could even blink, he had snatched a green dupatta from someone's shoulder and draped it over his head like a tragic Bollywood heroine from the '80s.
Then, striking a pose so dramatic it deserved background violins, he declared, "Kuchh thanda pee lo!"
Across from him, Veeransh tilted his head slightly and hummed. "Mood nahin hai..."
"Dahee vade lo!" Kabeer sang next, hopping in rhythm.
"Mood nahin hai," Veeransh repeated, poker-faced.
"Kulfi kha lo!"
"Bahut kha chuke," Veeransh deadpanned.
But Kabeer wasn't giving up. "Pan kha lo!"
Without missing a beat, Veeransh replied, "Bahut kha chuke, bahut kha chuke, bahut kha chuke!"
Kabeer's expression—theatrically wounded—was too much.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, Eeshan—the sensible one, or so I'd thought—snatched the same dupatta from Kabeer and threw it over his own head like a coy bride.
He even picked up a bowl of rasmalai, holding it out toward Veeransh with the solemn grace of a newly wedded bride offering milk on her suhaag raat.
"Ajee, rasmalai," Veeransh sang, pretending to be utterly clueless.
